"Leaving you in the firing line."
Lucifer stopped dead. "Good God."
She managed to keep him grumbling about the twins all the way to where her carriage waited. Deftly dropping a kiss on his cheek, she snagged her books from under his arm.
He frowned at her. "What was that for?"
"Just for being you." Safe in the carriage, the books on the seat beside her, she smiled gloriously.
He humphed, shut the carriage door, and waved her away.
She was still smiling when she crossed the threshold of Morwellan House; she nodded brightly to Crisp as he held the door. Stacking her books on the table beneath the mirror, she reached up to remove her bonnet.
"There you are, dear."
Serena stood in the drawing room doorway. Placing her hat on top of the books, Alathea crossed the hall. "Do we have guests?" she whispered.
"No, no. I just wanted to speak with you." Serena stepped back into the drawing room. "It's about your father."
"Oh." Following her and shutting the door, Alathea raised her brows.
"He's in one of his states." Serena raised her hands helplessly. "You know-under the weather but not ill."
"Has anything happened?"
"Not today. He was a little quiet when he came in yesterday, but he didn't say anything. You know he would normally be at White's by now, but instead he's sitting in the library."
They looked at each other, concern mirrored in their faces. Then Alathea nodded. "I'll go and speak with him."
Serena smiled. "Thank you-he always listens to you."
Alathea hugged her stepmother. "He always listens to you, too, but we talk about different things."
Her smile strengthening, Serena returned the hug. "Have you learned anything more about this promissory note?"
Alathea nodded. "I think we've found a way-a legal way-to have the note declared invalid, but I don't want to get anyone's hopes up yet."
"That's probably wise. Just tell us when we're free."
They exchanged quick smiles, then Alathea headed for the library.
The door opened noiselessly; she slipped in, noting that the curtains were open, the room bright, not shrouded in gloom. A good sign. While her father did not make a habit of succumbing to the blue devils, he had, she knew, been inwardly berating himself over the wretched promissory note. He'd put on a brave face for her sake and Serena's, but he would feel the sense of failure, of self-reproach, deeply.
Sitting in his favorite armchair, the earl was looking out over the back lawn. Mary and Alice were cutting roses, each girl as delicately beautiful as the blooms they laid in their baskets. Beyond them, Charlie was teaching Jeremy the rudiments of cricket while Augusta and Miss Helm were seated on a rug in the sunshine, reading a book. The garden was enclosed by stone walls, visible here and there between trees and thick bushes. The scene could have been a painting depicting fashionable family life, but it wasn't a figment of anyone's imagination-it was real, and it was theirs.
Empowering certainty filling her, Alathea touched her father's shoulder. "Papa?"
So engrossed had he been, he hadn't known she was there. He looked up, then his lips curved ruefully. "Good morning, my dear."
Catching her hand, he squeezed it; he continued to hold it as she sat on the arm of his chair. Alathea leaned her shoulder against his, comforted by the solidity beneath his coat. "What is it?"
He sighed, the sound deep and defeated. "I really hoped you'd be wrong about that company-that the Central East Africa Gold Company would ultimately turn out to be legitimate. That I hadn't made yet another mistake."
He paused; Alathea held his hand firmly and waited.
"But you and Wiggs were right. It was all a hum. Chappie I met at White's yesterday told me so. He was from those parts-Central East Africa. He knew the company. Condemned it as a racket set up to gull simpletons into parting with their brass." He grimaced. "I could hardly disagree."
"You couldn't have known…" Alathea blinked. 'This man, who was he?"