“We could invite her to stay with us,” Alexander’s mother said. “Westcott House was always her home when she was in town, after all. It would be familiar to her. Perhaps Viola would come with her. She and I have always been on the best of terms.”

“One would hate to expose either one of them to possible unkindness, though, Althea,” Cousin Mildred said. “And we all know how many high sticklers there are in the ton and how much influence they wield. We would all rally around them, of course, because they are our family and we love them, but—”

“I hate the ton,” Jessica blurted out from her perch on the window seat close to Netherby. She had her knees drawn up before her, her arms wrapped about them. “I hate people, and I hate this place. I hate London and the stupid, stupid Season. I want to go home, but no one will take me.”

“Jessica.” Cousin Louise’s voice was both stern and strained. “There is no call for such an outburst.”

“There is every call. I hate, hate, hate everything,” Jessica said, pressing her forehead to her knees.

“If hatred would solve all the world’s hurts and injustices, Jess,” Netherby said on a languid sigh, “they would all have been solved long ago. Unfortunately, it only seems to make matters worse. Your mother has called the family together in an effort to see if any workable solution can be found.”

“Well,” she said, looking up and glaring over her shoulder at her half brother, “is there a solution, Avery? The world in its oh-so-righteous wisdom has chosen to call Abby a bastard—and no, Mama, I will not avoid the word just because it is ungenteel. That is what she is called, just because Uncle Humphrey was mean and selfish and I am glad I never liked him and always felt sorry for Aunt Viola. I am glad she was never really married to him—though that, of course, means Abby and Harry and Camille are bastards. Don’t tell me it is pointless to hate. Do you think I do not know that?”

Netherby looked at Anna, who bent over him and took the baby from him, leaving behind a noticeable wet patch on the lapel of his coat. He got up, swung Jessica’s legs off the window seat, sat beside her, and wrapped one arm about her shoulders.

“This is the problem, you see,” Cousin Louise said, indicating her daughter. “Abigail was to make her come-out last year but had to postpone it when Humphrey died. Jessica was overjoyed at the prospect of the two of them making their come-out together this year. But it was not to be. And now Jessica is unable to enjoy her own. She has become more and more unhappy in the past few weeks until it has come to this in the past day or two. She demands to go home to Morland Abbey.”

“She is young, Louise,” the dowager countess said. “The young believe they can make the world a perfect place merely by wishing it or by expecting that justice will always be done. It is rather sad that as we grow older we come to understand that it can never happen. Perhaps you should do as she wishes and take her home. Invite Viola and Abigail to come and visit you there. Let the girls enjoy each other’s company where the world of the ton is not constantly threatening them. They are both very young.”

“I would have to agree with Mama,” Cousin Mildred said. “There will be time enough for Jessica to find a husband, Louise. She is only eighteen. She is also very pretty. And even if she were not, she is the daughter and sister of a Duke of Netherby. There will be no lack of suitors when she is ready for them.”

“I will never be ready,” Jessica said into the side of Netherby’s neck. “Not without Abby.”

“Perhaps we do need to consider some sort of solution for Abigail,” Alexander said. “It is too easy, perhaps, to assume that she must be happy now that she is back in her old home with her mother. Jessica is the only one among us honest enough to confront a problem we need to help solve together, as a family. Perhaps they will agree to come for a visit to Westcott House, and perhaps we can arrange some social functions at which they will be welcomed and made to feel comfortable. Illegitimacy surely does not fall into the same category as smallpox or the plague. Collectively we wield a great deal of influence. Shall Mama write? And Elizabeth too? Shall I?”

Jessica was gazing mutely at him.

“They will probably not come,” Cousin Matilda said. “You might as well save yourself the effort, Althea.”

“I can be very persuasive, Matilda,” Alexander’s mother said, a twinkle in her eye.

“In the meanwhile,” Elizabeth said, “why do you not come to Westcott House with us for some air and exercise, Jessica? We have a guest staying with us, a neighbor of Alex’s at Brambledean. She is a rather lonely lady who lost both her aunt and her uncle, her only relatives, within a few days of each other a little over a year ago. Alex will be coming too, I daresay, to pay his respects to her, though he will be staying with Sidney Radley while she is here. He will walk you home later.”

Cousin Louise was looking at Elizabeth with obvious gratitude. Jessica was frowning. “Is she young?” she asked. “Or is she old? Not that it matters. I will come anyway.”

“She is about Alex’s age,” Elizabeth said. “Is that horribly old, Jessica? I beg you not to say yes, for I am older than Alex.”

“Not horribly old,” Jessica conceded.

“Just old,” Alexander murmured.

Five minutes later they were on their way to South Audley Street, Alexander’s mother on his arm, Elizabeth and Jessica walking ahead of them.

“Poor Jessica,” his mother murmured. “And poor Abigail. I have been trying not to think about her. I do hope I can persuade Viola to bring her to us.”

Alexander was wondering how Miss Heyden would receive him. And how would she react to meeting yet another member of his family?

* * *

Wren was indeed enjoying her time alone. She was sitting in her room, a book open on her lap. It was a spacious, light-filled chamber, the perfect place in which to relax. She was not really reading. She was thinking about the wonder that was St. Paul’s Cathedral and the even greater wonder of the fact that she had gone there in the company of a friend. And she thought of her embarrassingly lengthy weeping spell this morning, the first and only time she had wept over Aunt Megan’s and Uncle Reggie’s deaths. But it was not of the actual weeping she thought but of the way Mrs. Westcott had been transformed into a mother figure almost as endearing as Aunt Megan herself.

She refused to feel guilty either about being here or about forcing the Earl of Riverdale out. He had asked her to come, and Lady Overfield had asked. He had met her in the park yesterday and repeated the invitation. It was as simple as that. She would stay, perhaps for a week, and see everything on her list, and then she would go home. And she would write to both ladies afterward. Friends were too precious to be squandered.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a light tap on the door. Lady Overfield answered the summons to come in.

“Ah,” she said, “I was afraid you might be having a nap. We neglected to tell you, I believe, that you must feel free to use the drawing room or the library or any of the other day rooms at any time. You must not feel obliged to remain here when we are out. Although neither are you obliged to leave here if you do not wish.”

She smiled and her eyes twinkled. “It is late for tea, but we are going to have some anyway. Alex has returned from Archer House with us and we have also brought young Jessica—one of our second cousins. She is eighteen years old and had a serious case of the blue devils. She made her debut into society this year—with great success, it must be added. She could probably be married thirty times over by the summer if she chose and if it were allowed. But she is desperately unhappy nevertheless, as only the young can be under such circumstances. Her cousin and dearest friend is unable to be here with her. That is Abigail, whose illegitimacy was discovered last year. Jessica wants to go home and bury herself in the country, and the whole family has been thrown into consternation. For she has reminded the rest of us that all is not well in one segment of the family and we really ought to do something about it—if anything can be done, that is. But I am rambling. We invited Jessica to come here with us for an hour or so. We told her we had a visitor staying with us, and I hope you will come down. But you must not feel obliged to.”