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on his gambling obligations.”
    “He’d rather be known as a murderer than a shirker?”
    “He was sailing down River Tick straight for debtor’s prison, so he had no alternative but to flee. Since he was going to be leaving the country anyway, he must have decided to take a bit of satisfaction in his leaving. The family has holdings in Scotland, I understand.”
    “Mona will be distraught. She adores London, with all its, ah, diversions.”
    “Then Lady Paige should be delighted her husband did not take her along.”
    “You mean the nodcock fought a duel over her honor and then left her behind?” Ian added a dash of brandy to both his and his friend’s coffee.
    “With the bailiffs at the door. The jade will find someone to keep her, never fear, but think what a good turn that rotter Paige did for you.”
    “I cannot think of any reason I should be grateful to that swine.”
    “Ah, but now if anyone hears of the misfortune with the youngster, they will place the blame on Paige, thinking that was the reason he left the country. Fleeing makes him appear guilty, don’t you see.”
    “Yet you wanted me to sail off on your yacht.”
    “I was offering an option, nothing else.”
    They both considered the situation while they cut and chewed, ate and drank. After a while, Ian said, “The sister arrived. A little dab of a thing, from a harum-scarum household. Young Renslow was right that she could not be left on her own.”
    “That reminds me of the other bit of news I discovered this morning: Are you going to eat that last bit of meat pie?”
    Ian passed over the plate and waited. When Carswell finally wiped his beringed fingers on the linen napkin and delicately patted his mouth, Ian asked, “Your other news?”
    “Oh, yes. I made a discreet inquiry about the Renslows of my cousin, who has his Debrett’s memorized, I’d swear. Do you recall a Viscount Rensdale?”
    “Runty fellow, some years our senior, sobersided and clutch-fisted? Had a limp, if I recall. I can’t remember seeing him in town. Too frivolous and expensive, I’d guess.”
    “That’s him. Spartacus Renslow, Viscount Rensdale of Derby.Your houseguestis his heir.”
    Spartacus, Athena, Troy…even the dog was named Roma. “Damnation.” In a different world, a viscount’s son would be no more important than a blacksmith’s, but not in this world. Then Ian did the mental arithmetic and found it just barely possible, if Rensdale had been a lusty youth. He could not imagine the dark-haired viscount begetting the turquoise-eyed pair upstairs, especially the little blonde with the flyaway hair. “You say Troy is his son?”
    “No, a half-brother by his late father’s second wife. She died in childbed.”
    Ian could not help feeling relieved. “Then Rensdale can beget his own heirs.”
    “Can’t.” Carswell offered Ian snuff from an enameled box, which matched his waistcoat, of course. Ian refused, but had to wait while his friend indulged in the revolting but fashionable habit of sneezing until his eyes watered. “Rensdale’s wife never conceived after years of marriage. She was one of Harcourt’s daughters.”
    Ian shuddered. “If she is anything like her sisters, I cannot imagine Rensdale trying very hard.”
    “According to my cousin, she was an antidote, and a shrew besides. Went through four Seasons without an offer, so Harcourt doubled the dowry. Rensdale jumped at the bargain.”
    “A fine bargain: a harridan for a wife and no heir. I hope that dowry was worth what he is paying now. No wonder the youngsters came to stay with their uncle, though, with that pair as guardians. Unfortunately the uncle is away, busy fighting a war. I shall have to write to Rensdale, I suppose.”
    “He won’t be happy.”
    “Well, I am not happy, either. He should have taken better care of the lad then, instead of letting him run loose in London on his own.”
    “The thing is, the boy is sickly, my cousin says. He came to town to consult the