The stiffness disappeared from her back and became the grace he had first seen in her when he had been drawn to her sense of humor, and the innate dignity that was her loveliest gift.

Now he found his anxiety slipping away. They would negotiate the evening, whatever challenges it offered. It was a family occasion; the past and its unproved accusations should be left behind. To entertain them was unjust.

“Come.” He offered her his arm. “The carriage will be at the door any moment.” He smiled at her and saw the answering pleasure in her eyes.

THEY ARRIVED JUST AFTER Margaret’s elder sister, Gwen, and her husband, Wilbert, and followed them into the long oak-paneled withdrawing room. Wilbert was thin, fair-haired, and rather earnest. Rathbone had never discovered exactly what occupation he followed, but apparently he had inherited money and was interested in politics. Gwen was only a year or two older than Margaret, and not unlike her to look at. She had the same high, smooth brow and soft hair; her features were prettier, but lacked a little of Margaret’s individuality. Because of that, to him she was less attractive.

The eldest sister, Celia, was already present, sitting on the couch opposite her husband, George. She was the handsomest of the three. She had beautiful dark hair and eyes, but Rathbone noticed that she was beginning to thicken a little in the waist and was already more buxom than he cared for. The diamonds at her ears must have cost as much as a good pair of carriage horses, if not more.

Mrs. Ballinger let go the embrace of her middle daughter and came forward to welcome Margaret, the last of her daughters to achieve matrimony, but also the one who had done the best. Rathbone had not only money, but now a title, and he was very personable into the bargain.

“How lovely to see you again, Oliver,” she said warmly. “I am so happy your commitments allowed you time for a little pleasure. Margaret, my dear, you look wonderful!” She kissed Margaret on both cheeks and offered her hand to Rathbone.

A moment later Ballinger himself was shaking Rathbone’s hand with a firm grip. However, his eyes were guarded, offering no clues as to his inner thoughts. Had it always been like that, or was Rathbone noticing it now, because of Phillips’s death and Sullivan’s accusation?