Jeremiah laughed, remembering how George Stanhope had trembled and squeaked while he was being robbed. Amazing he’d recalled enough to tell the magistrate.
“This is serious, you great oaf!” whispered Desire urgently. “They’ve put a price on your head!”
Jeremiah’s laughter vanished. “They’ve put a bounty on me because I took a worn-out purse with a handful of guineas and tossed it in the poor box?”
“You can forget being Robin Hood, at least as far as George Stanhope’s concerned, and he has friends enough to make it stick. No English gentleman wants to be at the mercy of some roving brigand, and they’ll hang you for certain if they catch you.”
He set the cup down on the table, his pleasure in its contents abruptly gone. “But they don’t know this thief’s name, do they? They won’t come looking for me here without it.”
“I can’t protect you in this, Jere,” she said wearily as she rubbed her back with both hands. “With a new war coming, the whole countryside’s suspicious of foreigners, even Americans like us. The only thing worse would be if we were French.”
“Amen to that,” he said gruffly. This whole conversation made him uncomfortable. All their lives, he’d been the older brother watching over her. Now Desire seemed somehow to be chiding him for irresponsible behavior, and with every right, too.
“French or American, you’re the man that’s described on that handbill. Anyone who knows you would recognize you at once. You’re not exactly the kind of man who can lose himself in a crowd.”
She glanced around the kitchen and sighed. “For all I know there’s someone on my own staff who’ll put those hundred pounds before their loyalty and turn you in. They might be doing it even now.”
“I’m sorry, Des, as sorry as can be.” He’d been wrong to underestimate Stanhope; the man was more clever—or just plain mean—than Jeremiah had given him credit for. The last thing he wanted was to put his sister and her children at risk, and by simply being here in the house he was doing just that. “Who’d have thought it would come to this?”
“I tried to warn you, Jere, but you’ve always been too stubborn to listen to anyone, even when your own neck’s at risk.” Her initial anger gone, she brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead. “And now there’s this other rumor that Captain Richardson’s wife is busy whispering upstairs, that the wicked highwayman has stolen some poor lady from her bed! How their hearts are racing over that one!”
Jeremiah drew in his breath, wishing he’d something else to offer than the truth. “It’s not a rumor, sister mine. Not exactly.”
Her mouth dropped open in disbelief. “Oh, Jere, you didn’t! Not after you’d promised me you’d stay clear of that woman’s business!”
“Oh, my lady, please don’t blame him!” cried Caro, rushing forward, unable any longer to keep on the far side of the cupboard where Jeremiah had told her to wait. “It’s all my fault, every bit of it!”
“Lady Byfield,” said Desire faintly. “I must admit I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Jeremiah groaned, wishing Caro had been able to contain herself until he’d had time to prepare his sister. Desire didn’t need shocks like this, not this near to her time, and from the way she was staring at Caro, her cheeks flushed and her eyes a little too wide, she’d definitely been surprised. He slipped his arm around Desire’s waist, startled by how readily she leaned into him for support. “Come along, Des, let’s find someplace where you can put your feet up.”
“I’m not an invalid, Jere,” she said with halfhearted rebellion. “But a bit of privacy would not be amiss. I don’t think Mrs. Curlew would object to us using her parlor, there, to the right. Lady Byfield, you come. too. You’re already so thick in the middle of my brother’s affairs that I’d scarcely want to leave you out now.”
Caro bowed her head contritely, her humility increased by the woebegone bonnet. Jeremiah tried to catch her eye over Desire’s head and couldn’t, not with her head ducked so low. He remembered how she’d been scorned by other “ladies,” and he feared she was assuming the same with his sister. He’d put an end to that as soon as he could; Caro was every bit as good as her so-called betters, and he was too much a New England democrat to believe otherwise.
Yet in the housekeeper’s small, cluttered parlor, Caro refused to take the chair that Jeremiah offered, preferring instead to stand by the wall near the canary’s cage as she watched Desire try to make herself comfortable in an old-fashioned wing chair. Though obviously in the last month of pregnancy, far beyond the time most ladies retreated from the world, she was still dressed with quiet elegance in a dark red kerseymere pelisse over a white muslin gown, and the resemblance between her and Jeremiah was striking. Nor was there any mistaking the bond between brother and sister as Jeremiah tucked another pillow into the chair behind his sister’s back, a bond that Caro noted with both wistfulness and growing dread.
She had met Lady John Herendon once before, at a ball in honor of some naval victory or another, and had been struck not only by her beauty, but by the knowledge and confidence with which the American woman could speak as easily of politics and ships with the gentlemen as the other women spoke among themselves of their modistes. There was no other woman in the county—perhaps even in all the country—quite like her.
But Lady John had warned her brother against Caro, had referred to her as “that woman” in a manner that was all too familiar to Caro. Not that Caro could fault her. How could she, if Lady John loved her brother as much as it seemed?
“You mustn’t blame Captain Sparhawk, Lady John,” she said, speaking up before her courage faltered. “All of this, from the very first, has been my doing.”
“Here now, Caro, no more of this Lady This-and-That,” said Jeremiah sternly. “No more ‘Captain,’ either. If you felt free enough to call me your darling Jeremiah last night before a score of witnesses, why then, you can do it again when it’s just us—though you’d best leave off with the ‘darling’ for your poor true husband’s sake. And my sister’s Desire, nothing more or less.”
Twisting her bonnet strings uncertainly, Caro looked to the other woman for reassurance.
“‘Tis well enough with me,” said Desire with a little shrug. “Though you’re the countess, wife to a peer, and by rights we should be deferring to you instead.”
Caro shook her head vigorously. “I’ll do whatever you wish, Lad—Desire.” She blushed self-consciously at the intimacy of the given name. Titles still intimidated her, it had taken her two years of marriage before she’d been bold enough to call her husband Frederick instead of Lord Byfield. “But as for all the rest—”
“I’ll tell her, Caro.” And tell her Jeremiah did, in a far different version than Caro would have dared tell, herself. There was no mention of the kiss in his chamber in this very house, not a word of the undignified scrambling through the Yellow Room at Blackstone, and nothing at all of the two sailors who’d attacked them in the street or the awful scene in the stable. Instead he spoke of how badly George had treated her and how important it was that she find Frederick and his crew mates. Caro listened, bewildered. Was he only protecting himself, or did he care enough to shield her too?
“I had no choice but to bring her back here with me, Des,” he argued. “If she goes back home, Stanhope will only cart her off again.”
“Just the way you did,” said Desire,