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knows of my brother's death?"
    Servant and mistress were of much the same height, and their eyes were nearly on a level. Jem glanced at her, his brow deeply furrowed.
    "No one in England, Miss Gabby, save you and me. I wouldn't be talking to strangers about family business, on the ship or anywheres else, now would I? A few know in Ceylon, I reckon, but mostly natives and such."
    "Then I am going to ask you to do me a very big service." Gabby spoke rapidly, before her nerve could fail her. "I am going to ask you to pretend that you left my brother's side immediately after you received these letters, and never witnessed his death at all. I am going to ask you to pretend that, as far as you know, the earl is still alive and in Ceylon and will be home in his own good time."
    Jem's eyes widened. As he met her determined gaze, his lips pursed in a soundless whistle.
    "Miss Gabby, I can do that, and for you I will willingly, as you knows, but the truth of it is bound to come out sooner or later. Such like that always does, and then where will we be?" Jem's low voice was both alarmed and cautionary.
    "In no worse case than we are right now, and perhaps a great deal better off," Gabby said firmly. "All we need is just a little time, and a little luck."
    "Gabby, aren't you excited? We're going to London," Beth exclaimed rapturously, springing up from the arm of the chair and dancing forward to envelop her oldest sister in a suffocating hug. "Claire will have her season, and we'll get to see the sights. Oh, Gabby, I've never been beyond Yorkshire in my life."
    "None of us have," Claire chimed in. Her eyes were glowing with anticipation and her step was light as she joined them, although, conscious of her status as a mature young lady, she refrained from jumping up and down with the heedless abandon shown by Beth.
    "London will be a treat for all of us." Gabby, returning Beth's hug, managed a credible smile. A sideways glance showed her that Jem was looking at her with as much alarm as if she'd suddenly grown horns and a tail.
    "Does this mean we can have some new gowns?" Claire sounded almost wistful. Claire loved pretty clothes, and had upon many occasions spent hours poring over the fashionable sketches in such publications as the Ladies' Magazine that, banned from the house by their father, still had chanced to come her way. Without being overly vain, Claire was very aware of her own beauty, and such matters as the latest hairstyles, or the design of a gown, were important to her. She had longed for a season in the worst way, but given their circumstances had known that her chances of ever having one were remote. To her credit, she had been very good about the prospect that it was never to be. But now— now she could have one after all. Despite the risks, Gabby was suddenly fiercely glad to be able to provide Claire with such a chance.
    "Certainly we may," Gabby said, refusing to look at Jem again as she well and truly threw caution to the wind. "An entire new wardrobe, in fact, for each of us."
    The fire in the hearth popped loudly and flared again just then, causing Gabby to jump. As her sisters exclaimed more over their unprecedented good fortune, Gabby could not forbear casting the hearth a sideways, slightly nervous glance.
    Why could she not escape the feeling that, no matter how pure her motives, some sort of hellish bargain had just been made?

 
    2
    A little more than two weeks later, the earl of Wickham's ancient coach lumbered clumsily over rain-pitted roads, bound for London. Stivers and Mrs. Bucknell, the housekeeper, along with a footman and a maid, had been sent on ahead a few days before to open the family townhouse on Grosvenor Square, which had been closed for more than a decade, and engage such additional staff as was deemed necessary to run it. Still muttering dire warnings whenever Gabby came within earshot, Jem rode on the box beside John-Coachman, his hat brim pulled low over his eyes to shield against the