“The molly houses pay something,” Naylor said. “For a while. Then your looks begin to go, and the patrons aren’t as generous. Bon voyage.” He smiled and waved the money before James’s nose.

Elsmore said nothing to that horrific taunt, so James snatched the banknotes and fled.

*  *  *

Rex spent the night wandering the streets of London. He avoided the worst neighborhoods, but he would have welcomed an opportunity to pummel a foolhardy footpad or two. None had obliged him, more’s the pity.

His bank was riddled with problems. His close relatives had betrayed him, and the one person whose welfare most concerned him was probably not speaking to him.

As the first glimmers of light streaked the eastern sky, he found himself at his own front door, though he didn’t particularly want to go inside. He did anyway, because all the problems he faced affected his family, and it was with them he proposed to embark on a few solutions.

“Mama. Good morning. Couldn’t you sleep?” He’d come directly to the breakfast parlor from the front door. A few cups of hot tea were in order—or a few pots. A yawning maid was only beginning to lay out the buffet on the sideboard, but she took one look at Rex and slipped away.

The duchess wore a dressing gown and shawl, her silver hair hung in a single, thick braid. The hour was early enough that candles were lit on the sideboard, while the sun had yet to break the horizon.

“I missed you at the theater last night,” she said. “Your sisters are so much better behaved when you escort us. Are you only now finding your way home, Elsmore?” She perused his attire, the dark, nondescript ensemble Jackson Naylor had insisted upon.

“Is this place home?” Rex asked, pouring a cup of tea from the silver pot on the sideboard. The sole purpose of the silver was to keep the tea hot longer than a ceramic pot would have. Had Eleanora ever used her silver teapot for that reason? He put a currant bun on a plate and looked around for the butter because Eleanora did love her butter.

“I don’t know if this is home, but we certainly spend a fair amount of time here,” Mama said, taking up the cup and the currant bun. “Do your sisters’ situations have you considering taking a bride?”

“Yes and no.” Rex braced himself for one of Mama’s usual homilies. Lady Joanna Peabody was gracious, tolerant, and pretty. Miss Nehring was only the daughter of a viscount, but her family’s lineage went back to the Conqueror himself, and their resources were impressive. Then too, she was an only child, poor dear, Mama’s genteel reminder that Miss Nehring was an heiress.

“Shall we sit?” Mama asked. “You can tell me about the yes part.”