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great bear of a frame.
    "Daughter, do not be beguiled by that one!" Her father wagged a gnarly, arthritic finger at Caul-field as Nels escorted him from the drawing room. "He's a Papist, I tell you! They're all about the place. He'll kill the Queen." The rest of her father's deprecations faded as he was led upstairs.
    "My sincerest apologies. My father is not himself these days." Meredith was helpless to suppress her embarrassment, which only angered her. Her father had once been a great man—pious, quick-witted, admired by many. True, he had been stern and not the most affectionate of fathers, but he was the only one she would ever have, and his condition was no fault of his.
    "No need to apologize, my lady," Caulfield said as he straightened his cravat, his lips twisting with a wry smile. "I don't expect your father really meant to kill me."
    "Oh, my lord," Aunt Eleanor gushed, clapping her hands. "You are all that is kind and good. Not everyone possesses such patience and understanding." She nudged Meredith sharply. "Is he not kind, Meredith?"
    "Yes, most kind," Meredith echoed, shocked by her aunt's sudden change of sentiment. Only hours ago she was cursing Caulfield as the lowest sort of scoundrel.
    "I say, my lady, I am concerned. I had not realized your father had succumbed to such a low state." The solicitor's appalled tones rang out in the drawing room. "I am most grievously concerned for your ladies' safety. And you must think to your child now. Having one given to violence under your very roof is an unnecessary risk. Perhaps you should consider an asylum—"
    Anger spiked through Meredith at the suggestion. "Have you any idea the deplorable conditions of asylums? It is worse than Newgate prison, I am told. Besides, my father is not a threat. Age and disease have made a victim of him. God willing, should such a fate befall you, I hope your relations are compassionate enough not to lock you away."
    Caulfield's eyes raked her with something akin to approval. Grimley opened his mouth, no doubt to put forth further unwanted opinions, but Caulfield smoothly intervened, his voice matter-of-fact as he said, "This is a family matter, Grimley. Trust that I'll see to the safety of those under my protection."
    Seemingly mollified, the solicitor nodded and made no further comment. Meredith bristled indignantly at such high-handedness, even if it did appease Grimley and put an end to his badgering. When exactly had she become subject to Nicholas Caulfield? Especially when her sole goal had been independence?
    A flicker of apprehension coursed through her… and something else, something she could not put her finger on. It had been years since she relied on anyone. Not since she was a little girl and her father had been hearty and whole. Nicholas Caulfield's words echoed in her mind.
Under my protection
. What would it feel like for a man to protect her, look out for her, claim her as his own—
    Meredith veered sharply from such unsettling thoughts. Dangerous thoughts. She'd had thoughts like those before. When she married Edmund. And what a colossal mistake that had been. No, better she maintain control of her own life than be cast to the whim of another Brookshire. Glancing at a maid cleaning the broken china, she asked with forced lightness, "Shall I send for more tea?"
    ***
    He couldn't sleep. Not in this house. Funny that he had not considered what it would feel like to be back here again. He had not anticipated the resurgence of memories—memories that still occupied the nether regions of his mind. Apparently, the past wasn't dead. Not as he'd told himself all these years.
    He paced his room still dressed, tempted to march downstairs, saddle his horse, and depart from this place. Nick sighed and rubbed his forehead tiredly. That would be too easy… and too cowardly. He had to see this through. If luck was on his side, Lady Brookshire would deliver a healthy son and he could return to his own life.
    On the surface, the