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my fortune?"
              Silverware fell to china with a
clatter as Percy seemed to realize his tactical error. "You misunderstand
me, my dear Psyche."  
              Feeling her situation pressing on
her like a weighted cloak, Psyche turned away as a servant removed her plate. "I
may be immoral, but I am not dim-witted." She raised one hand to stifle
his protests. "No, Percy. I understand you perfectly."
              It was a great relief when Aunt
Sophie signaled to the other women that it was time to rise and leave the men
to their brandy and odorous Spanish cigars. When Psyche followed the other
women obediently out of the dining room, she could not help throwing one
appealing glance back toward her fake lover, even as Uncle Wilfred was
announcing, "Picked out this port myself."
              Don't push it too far, she wanted
to beg the impostor.
              To her fury, Gabriel met her
beseeching look with one of cool amusement. And even more infuriating, one of
those deep blue eyes dipped into a wink.
              The nerve of that man! She was
docking his payment for failure to follow her careful instructions. Seething,
Psyche went reluctantly into the drawing room. And now that the women were alone,
all the younger relatives drew close.
              "Do tell us more about how
you met him, Psyche," cousin Matilda begged. "And how he was so
thoughtful and so amenable to your every wish–"
              Thoughtful? Amenable? The actor
was making a mockery of her tales!
              "It's the most romantic
story!" Matilda continued. "I am so pleased that you have found a
true love, not–not just a cousin who–"
              "Who wishes to feather his
own nest. But I never thought you would do anything so risqué as contracting a
secret engagement," Aunt Mavis said, her tone still unappeased. "I
admit the man has charm, but what do you really know of him?"
              Exhausted by the trials of the
dinner and her own nervous qualms, Psyche was for once at a loss. While she
hesitated, help came from an unexpected quarter.
              "Leave the girl be,"
Aunt Sophie commanded. "Psyche, come and sit by me, child."
              This was going from the kettle to
the cooking fire with a vengeance, Psyche thought, trying not to show her
apprehension. She sat down in a narrow chair next to the bigger armchair with
carved crocodile feet that her aunt had as usual claimed–Aunt Sophie always
took the most comfortable piece of furniture in the room–and waited, her throat
tight, for the inquisition to begin.
              But her great-aunt surprised her
once again.
              "I no longer wonder what you
see in him," Aunt Sophie said, raising her lorgnette and peering at Psyche
with eyes that hardly seemed to need the aid. "I think he has charmed all
the females of the family, even–" Aunt Sophie glanced across at Aunt Mavis,
who sat stiffly with her usual expression of peeved disapproval–"even Mavis,
though she will not allow her prune-face to unbend enough to show it. The men,
now, the men will not be appeased by a handsome face and delightful manners. They
will want to check out his background, your uncle Wilfred especially."
              "But–" Psyche had to
swallow her protests. Why was this so complicated? It had seemed like such a
simple plan. "His–his family is all dead, I believe. That is why–this is
why he has gone abroad, to escape the memories."
              "Indeed?" Aunt Sophie
fanned herself and waved away a footman with a tray of raffia. "No, go
away, man, can't abide that stuff. Bring me some proper brandy, and not the
poor stuff Wilfred brought, one of my own bottles."
              When the servant had retreated,
she went on, "He doesn't seem like the kind of man to run away, I would
have said. Though there's something familiar about that name."