"God's mercy, Imogen," he repeated, falling back against the pillows, gently pulling his hand free. He wiped the palm of his hand down his sweat-drenched face and lay staring upward, gathering himself together. He thought he was probably still drunk, but his head was now as clear as a bell.

He had a propensity for vulgarity. He began to laugh again. Maybe he was still drunk, but this glorious laughter was an utterly sober reaction to the truth.

"Gareth, stop!" Imogen bent over him, her face haggard, her eyes filled with anxiety. This strange merriment was something she didn't know how to deal with. "Why are you laughing?"

"Fetch me the brandy, Imogen." He sat up again. "There's no cause for alarm, sister. I'm quite in my senses. In fact," he added with another little chuckle, "I'm probably in my senses for the first time in years."

"I don't know what you mean." Imogen brought him the flagon of brandy. "You were having the nightmare about Charlotte again."

"Yes," Gareth said softly, sliding to the floor. "But I truly believe it was for the last time, Imogen." He set down the brandy flagon untouched.

Imogen regarded him with deep disquiet. She didn't believe him, and the terrifying thought occurred to her that he might have become truly unhinged. She began to speak urgently, trying to force him to acknowledge the facts that would bring him back to reality. "I have always looked after you, always taken care of your interests, Gareth. I knew that something had to be done about Charlotte-"

"Imogen, that's enough!" Gareth's voice cracked like a whip. But his sister didn't hear him.

"It had to be done. I did it for you, brother." Her words tumbled forth heedlessly and Gareth let them come. He had avoided this truth for too long, and now it was time to hear it, to accept it, and to accept his own guilt. Until he did so, he would never be able to rebuild his life.

"She was no good for you. She was always drunk, always opening her legs for anyone who took her fancy. She was laughing at you and that poor young de Vere. She had just destroyed him as she was destroying you. Standing in the window, drunk, swaying. A little push… that was all… just a little push." She gazed up at him, her eyes flaring wildly. "She was no good for you. I did it for you, Gareth."

"I know," he said quietly. "I have always known."

"Everything," she said with a sob. "Everything has always been for you, Gareth."

"I know," he repeated, taking his sister in his arms. "And I love you for it, Imogen. But it has to stop now."

Gareth held his sister until the deep well of her tears had dried, then he took her back to her chamber and helped her to bed. She would suffer for that great outburst of emotion with one of her vicious headaches, but it would relieve her as it always did. He knew his sister rather better than she knew him, he reflected, returning to his own room.

He had no desire to sleep now. No desire for brandy. He felt only the sweetest sense of release. For the first time in a very long time, he knew what was vital for his happiness and he knew that any sacrifice was worth achieving it.

I loved you.

Could the past tense be repealed? Had he injured that open, loving soul beyond reparation? Beyond the willingness to believe that he too loved.”.

Chapter Twenty-four

"Do you remember anything of that night?" Maude leaned back against the tree trunk on the riverbank, taking a large bite out of the very crisp green apple that went by the name of breakfast.

"No." Miranda tossed her apple core into the stream, watching the circle of ripples expand on the brown surface as the core sank. "Do you?"

Maude shook her head. "No. I don't remember anything about France at all. My first memories are all of Imogen and Berthe." She wrinkled her small nose. "Not very auspicious, really."

Miranda chuckled. It was a rare sound these days and Maude sat up, hugging her knees to her chest. She knew that somewhere in the middle of the astounding story Miranda had told her there was something buried that her twin was not confiding. Something that was making her unhappy.

"Are you certain you want to go back with the troupe?"

"Yes, of course." There was the hint of a snap in the rapid response. "They're my family." Miranda picked a daisy from the bank and tossed it into the stream, watching it swirl away on the current's eddy.

"But-"

"But nothing, Maude." Miranda jumped up. "Come on, the sun's high and we want to reach Ashford tonight."

She whistled for Chip, whose small face appeared above them as he pushed aside the leaves of the tree.

Maude scrambled to her feet, holding up a hand to the monkey, who leaned down to take it, then swung with a gleeful gibber to the ground.

"How are we going to get to Ashford?" Maude hurried after Miranda. She was still unaccustomed to the freedom of skirts without farthingales and couldn't keep up with Miranda's long, loping stride even after two days of practice.

"We're not going to walk all the way, are we?" She caught up with her sister, who had stopped at the edge of the field to wait for her.

Miranda seemed to consider the question. She glanced up at the cloudless blue sky. "It's a lovely day for walking."

"But Ashford is miles away. We're only just outside Maidstone!" Maude wailed, then caught the glint in Miranda's eye. "It's not fair to tease me," she grumbled.

"You only think that because you're not used to it," Miranda pointed out, clambering over the stile into the lane. "You can tease me as much as you like, I won't mind."

"But I don't have anything to tease you about," Maude stated, joining her in the lane. "I don't know anything about this traveling life and you know everything."

"We'll wait here and get a ride from the next carter's wagon," Miranda said.

"Why can't we go to an inn and hire a gig or something? It would be so much quicker and surer than begging rides from passersby. It isn't as if we don't have money."

Miranda frowned. How to explain to Maude that she was in no hurry to reach Folkestone? She had enough difficulty admitting it to herself. "I like traveling slowly," she temporized. "It's part of the fun not knowing where the next ride is coming from, or who you might meet on the way."

Maude made no reply, but she cast her sister a quick, appraising glance. "After you've met up with your family and explained things to them, you could always come back to London with me."

"I'm not suited for that kind of life," Miranda replied, stepping into the road to wave vigorously at an approaching hay wagon. "It was all very well for a short time, just as a game. But now you're prepared to marry Henry…" She broke off to hail the driver of the wagon. "Can you take us as far as you're going on the Ashford road, sir?"

"Aye, above five miles," the man said amiably, jerking a thumb toward the back. "'Op in."

"My thanks, sir." Miranda jumped agilely into the back of the wagon and leaned down to give Maude a hand. Chip bounded up beside them. The driver stared at the monkey, then shrugged, shook the reins, and set the horse in motion.

"I didn't say I was prepared to marry the king," Maude declared, when they were comfortably ensconced among the hay. "There's still this question of religion, in case you've forgotten."

"It's all the same God," Miranda pointed out. "It seems a lot of nonsense to me."

This was such astounding heresy, even from Miranda, that Maude was silenced. She sank into the cushion of hay, knowing from experience now that she had to let her body roll with the wagon's uneven motion over the rutted lane if she wasn't to end the day aching and bruised in every limb.

"People died for that nonsense," she said soberly. "Our mother died for it." She drew from her pocket the serpentine bracelet where she kept it for safekeeping. It would draw too much unwelcome attention on her wrist while they were traveling in this haphazard fashion. She held it up to catch the sun's rays. "It's so beautiful, yet it's so sinister. Maybe it's because of all the blood and evil it's seen. Do you think that's fanciful?"

"Yes," Miranda said, holding out her hand for the bracelet. Maude dropped it into her open palm. It was fanciful, but she couldn't deny that the bracelet gave her the shivers. She traced the shape of the emerald-studded swan with the tip of her finger, thinking of her mother… of her mother's violent death and all that had resulted from that murder.

Tears pricked behind her eyes and she blinked them away. If that dreadful night had never happened, she wouldn't now be so completely adrift. She belonged nowhere anymore. She was no longer suited for the life she had always known, and she couldn't enter the one that was her birthright because…

Because she had been betrayed by the man she loved. She had offered her heart and her soul and the gift had been swept aside like so much dust by a man who didn't know the meaning of love.

She couldn't go back to London because she couldn't live in the same world as the earl of Harcourt. Her hand closed tightly over the bracelet as she fought back the threatening tears, the great wall of misery that threatened to fall and suffocate her.

Maude laid her hand over Miranda's. It was all she could think of to do until her sister chose to share her pain.

"Good Lord above!" Mama Gertrude flung up her arms in astonishment. A few gull feathers had settled into her piled coiffure, looking strangely at home with the grubby lace cap she wore. Without the gold plumes, she appeared somewhat diminished.