“Puck.” Her voice was resigned. He was far away now. But never mind that. What mattered was that they were unhurt. She’d retrieve Puck, and all would be well. Better yet, she’d have quite the excuse for why she wasn’t at the house for the duke’s visit.

“All will be well,” she repeated quietly to herself as she followed the horse’s path down the hill. There Puck stood, on the edge of a pond with the sun gleaming off his chestnut coat. How beautiful he looked. How she loved him.

But then he turned—and all was not well.

Her father was asleep when she walked into his bedroom—but he wasn’t alone. Not one but two women lay beside him, neither of them Elisabeth’s mother. The room was elegantly decorated, like every room her mother had touched, but strewn with wineglasses and empty bottles. As she slipped into the darkness, Elisabeth stepped gingerly over the clothes that should have been on the two women—but were most certainly not. Her father was entangled in arms and legs, breasts, and the contours of exposed thighs. The hills and curves that comforted her father were not the same ones Elisabeth sought out.

The room smelled of sex, stale wine, and cigar smoke. Elisabeth’s nose wrinkled involuntarily as she stepped up to the foot of the bed and was greeted by the nipples of a third woman she hadn’t immediately seen.

And this was why Elisabeth refused to marry for anything less than love. She didn’t want a life like her mother’s, pretending not to notice that her husband was entertaining other women in her own home. And she didn’t want a life like her father’s, constantly seeking comfort from outside his marriage because he’d never loved her mother one day in his life.

It wasn’t the sex that bothered her. She hadn’t been with a man yet herself, but her father’s reckless behavior meant that she knew a lot about it. She wasn’t a prude; she wasn’t afraid. She just hated the way it underscored the lack of love between her parents—two people who were supposed to love each other first and foremost.

But Elisabeth didn’t have time to dwell this morning. Puck was injured. Besides, it wasn’t the first time she had encountered her father in this state, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last.

She spoke into the darkness. “Papa? I need your help.”

Groggy, he opened his eyes. As usual, his look was brazen rather than sheepish. Her father, the rake.

“Puck’s injured,” Elisabeth whispered.

Her father didn’t answer—only sat up and began to untangle himself from the snarl of limbs on the bed. Elisabeth turned away. She’d seen enough already.