The pity in Jack’s voice nearly undid her. He wasn’t sneering, wasn’t even threatening. In his way, Jack was reminding Ellie that when all of society turned their backs, family was still family.

“I’m careful, Jack. You be careful too.” She opened her reticule, intent on passing him a few coins, because Jack would never admit if he was down on his luck. He had much more of a conscience than Mick did, though that wasn’t saying a great deal.

He stayed her with a hand on her wrist. “I am always careful, dearest Ellie.” He touched his hat brim and sauntered off, taking a portion of Ellie’s hard-won peace with him. When they’d courted—such as the destitute courted—he’d had the same ability, like a soldier marching to war. His partings were a little wistful, a little brave, and entirely for show.

Ellie could never hate him—she had tried to—but she could resent him, and be terrified of his endless capacity for illegal schemes. Mick was a thoroughly charming bounder, while Jack was shrewd, occasionally ruthless, and oddly principled. Mick would leave Jack to deal with consequences, and Jack, being Jack and the oldest of the cousins, in-laws, and step-relations, would take those consequences on the chin without complaint.

Ellie’s father had had the same stoic quality, and just look how that had turned out.

*  *  *

“I do fancy a proper dinner,” Cousin Howell said, grabbing for a strap as Rex’s coach swayed around a corner. “Excellent wine, everything served hot, pretty ladies to keep the mood cheerful.”

“You fancy Lady Joanna Peabody,” Eddie replied.

Howell and Eddie were brothers, and Rex had long ago concluded that it was the sworn duty of siblings to provide truth at the most inconvenient public moments.

Rex’s oldest sister, Rachel, leapt into the affray. “Lady Joanna is lovely,” she said. “Quite accomplished on the violin, an excellent watercolorist, and more witty than the two of you combined. Of course Cousin Howie fancies her.”

Howell and Eddie were not twins, but they might as well have been, so closely did they resemble each other. They were blond, a touch over medium height, and blue-eyed, a matched set sharing the backward-facing seat with Rex.

Their wardrobes told a different tale. Howell was sober to a fault, his linen tied in a simple knot, his walking stick a plain oak article with a dull pewter handle. He’d been dubbed Howell the Hopeless in the schoolyard. Eddie, by contrast, cut a dash and had styled himself Edward the Elegant. His cravat pin, sleeve buttons, watch chain, and walking stick all sported ornate gold fittings. Howell wore no boutonniere. Eddie’s lapel was adorned by a bouquet of tiny purple orchids with gold foil wrapped about the stems.