Lottie shook her head as her mind whirled. There was so much Mrs. Houston didn’t know. “This morning Uncle Alfred told me I was to marry Mr. Wetherby. This afternoon.”

Mrs. Houston’s teacup clattered against the saucer. “What?”

Lottie explained her uncle’s reasoning, along with Mr. Wetherby’s role in the charade. “I think Uncle Alfred has been in decline for much longer than anyone realized,” Lottie added, voicing the theory she had been piecing together since the previous night. It was the only thing that could explain his increasingly erratic behavior over the past year. “Mr. Wetherby likely knew from the start because they work so closely together. That meant he could manipulate the situation for his own gain.”

Which explained why Mr. Wetherby’s aunt, of all people, had been deemed a proper companion for her. And why they needed to be married while her uncle still had some control over her finances.

Mrs. Houston brought a hand to her mouth. “Oh, Lottie,” she gasped. “I—I think you’re right. I saw he was growing more short-tempered, more forgetful, but I thought it was just due to his age. And Mr. Wetherby always seemed so competent. I thought he was good for Sir Alfred.”

Lottie furrowed her brow. “The only part that doesn’t fit is sending Alec for me. That could have ruined Mr. Wetherby’s plans.”

“That was my idea,” Mrs. Houston said sheepishly. “Your uncle was so worried. Mr. Wetherby offered to go, but he had never been to Italy and—and Alec was already there. It seemed like the best choice. He went searching for you immediately. Your uncle fell ill only a few days later.”

Lottie recalled the torturous look that had briefly passed over Alec’s face as he related all this to her only days before:

When I received Sir Alfred’s telegram, I nearly—

Nearly what?

Now she would never know.

“What caused you two to quarrel?” The cautious hope in Mrs. Houston’s eyes was even more wrenching.

“It doesn’t matter,” Lottie groused. “No one seems to care about what I want, or consider what I might think is best for my life.”

Mrs. Houston listened patiently to her little outburst. “Your uncle has always believed he knows what’s best for everybody,” she gently explained. “But that also comes with a sense of responsibility when things go wrong.”

Lottie sniffed at the idea. “He isn’t God.”

The hint of a smile touched Mrs. Houston’s lips. “No, he most certainly is not. I think he has finally started to realize that.” Then she hesitated. “Did you know your dear mother lingered for nearly a day after the accident?”

“I…I try not to think of that day very often.”

Or ever.

Mrs. Houston gave a thoughtful nod. “As well you should. Your father died right away, bless him. But your mother was brought to your uncle’s town house, as it was nearby. I’ll never forget that night as long as I live. They had always been so close. And after your grandparents died, he was more of a father to her than a brother. Sir Alfred did not leave her side for more than a minute. He called in every last favor he ever had and brought in every doctor available.” Her eyes lowered. “But you know how it ended.”