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they can afford to take proper care of you.”
    “And Father’s debts?”
    “No, I am talking about your life. What? Do you believe Mr. Higley is as knowledgeable as London doctors? You’d be wrong. Do you believe I don’t notice those times when you are fatigued? You seem strong now, but there are moments you are very pale. If you marry well, you can have the very best of care. The most comfortable life. To be blunt: A fat purse might save you, Jenny. And we do not have that kind of money.”
    “But what value is there to life if I find myself strapped to a man who barely acknowledges me as little more than a possession? My life may be short, Mother, but I want it to count.”
    Her mother’s lips parted as if she would protest, but then she closed them. She placed her hand against the side of Jenny’s cheek, a tender gesture, then she stepped back. “I will see if I can remove your father from the gaming room. However, you must stay until the end of this evening so as not to give insult to Lord Stowe. You understand?”
    “I understand. Thank you, Mother.”
    Her mother left the hall.
    Jenny knew she should return to the musicale. Instead, she moved along to the hall to a door leading out into the garden. The fresh night air felt good on her heated skin. It felt honest, something she didn’t feel inside.
    If he’d been here, the good doctor Higley would have reprimanded her about the dangers of an excess of emotion. He’d always been warning her.
    But she didn’t care. In fact, it had felt good to act on her impulses. Good to speak her mind to her mother. The days when her skin was tinged were long behind her, and the last thing she wanted to think about was death.
    Her hosts had not planned on anyone’s visiting the garden. There were no lights other than from the windows. Otherwise, there was just blessed darkness and peace.
    The door opened.
    She could see a man’s silhouette as he stepped out in the garden. He shut the door behind him. She recognized him immediately.
    “My father wants me to marry for money, Mr. Morris.”
    “I have money,” he answered.
    “Yes,” she agreed sadly. “But he considers you an enemy.”
    “I know.”
    And then she ran to him.

 
    Chapter Six
    S HE WAS COMING to him .
    Fyclan opened his arms, unbelieving at his good luck.
    He had not been able to take his eyes off Jennifer Tarleton from the moment she had stepped into Lord and Lady Nestor’s house. She was grace personified even though he had sensed an air of turmoil around her.
    Yes, he was that attuned to her spirit.
    Tillbury had expected him to impress the Marquess of Stowe and assure him that Stowe’s money could be placed in Fyclan’s trust. Fyclan didn’t give a damn for Stowe or his money. He’d come here to see her. He wanted to believe the connection he felt for her was mutual, and now here was proof.
    And then, right before she could step into his arms, she pulled up short. She stood poised, as alert and fragile as a newborn foal trying to make sense of the world. She held her hands up, palms facing him. “Mustn’t.”
    Such an ugly word.
    “You can trust me,” he answered, his voice barely a whisper lest he startle her and she run off.
    “This is madness,” she replied, half to herself.
    “It is, but it is a good madness. In fact, it is the sort of madness that makes the world seem right.”
    She shifted her weight back. “Did you know who my father was when I met you today?”
    He was tempted to lie. He didn’t. “Yes.”
    “Do you wish to destroy him?”
    “No.”
    “But you understand he is set against you.”
    “Yes.”
    Miss Tarleton took a moment to digest this. He could feel her doubts. Trust was a fragile, and valuable, commodity.
    He knew.
    Fyclan also knew he could not let her go.
    “Father has taken Sir David’s book from me.”
    Here was an acceptance, an opening, and yet he understood he must treat this small gift with the respect it deserved. “Does he know of our meeting