“No, but I don’t see why they should be either. We’re not,” Fen said, with a matter-of-factness that took Pat’s breath away. “I can’t say I’m more impressed by Jimmy’s behaviour in the light of this, but it’s no worse. Oh, no, but it is though, because your poor brother has been looking like a kicked dog since he got here. Why on earth did he come? This must have been awful for him.”

Pat put a finger under Fen’s chin, tipped her head up, and kissed her firmly. Fen responded with enthusiasm. “Mmm. What was that for?”

“You are without a doubt the loveliest person I’ve ever met.”

“I know.” Fen dimpled. “And I certainly don’t—” The flirtatious look dropped away from her face. “Oh. Oh dear. Pat?”

“What?”

“Haworth talked about Jimmy’s illicit trysts. I remember because that was what made me think it must be a married woman. You don’t suppose he knows, do you?”

“Dear God.” Pat remembered—it seemed months ago, somehow—the conversation she’d heard. Haworth threatening someone with exposure. “Oh God, no.”

“No wonder Jimmy looked sick.”

“I can’t have this. I won’t. If Haworth threatens my brother I’ll shoot him myself.”

“Yes, but don’t,” Fen said firmly. “Not yet, anyway. We need to talk to your brother, to both of them. Preferably when they have some clothes on.”

Pat couldn’t help a splutter of laughter. Fen cast up a roguish glance and added, “I suppose it would be indelicate to comment—”

“Yes, it would.”

“But one sees classical statuary all the time. We’re positively encouraged to appreciate naked male bottoms.”

“Marble ones. Whereas that was Jimmy’s, and I have never aspired to see it, and I wouldn’t put it in a museum either,” Pat said, and couldn’t help but join Fen as she went off into a peal of laughter. Nothing about this was very funny at all, but she’d rather be laughing than crying.

***

THEY LURKED IN FEN’S room, alternating quiet talk, comfortable silence, and kisses until the dinner hour, then came down as late as they felt was compatible with good manners. Even so, only Victoria and Preston were in the drawing room, and the rest of the guests didn’t make an appearance until the dinner gong had sounded. They filed in silently and sat, with one notable omission.

“Where’s Maurice?” Jimmy asked after a few moments.

“I’ve no idea,” his sister replied with glacial disinterest.

“Perhaps he prefers to eat in his room,” the Countess said. Nobody chimed in to say they supported his preference, but the sentiment floated around the table like a ghost.

“Is Mr. Haworth eating upstairs?” the Earl enquired of the footman.

“I’m not aware, my lord.”