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    You should have let him marry you off, you selfish beast. He would have stayed if you had. And you would have gone.
    She shook her head, refusing the image and clearing her throat, suddenly tight and painful.
    “Marriage is not the answer, Lara. Do you really think anyone with the means to help us would consider marrying the twenty-four-year-old, never-seen-the-inside-of-a-London-ballroom daughter of the Wastrearl?”
    “Of course they would!”
    “No. They would not. I’ve no skills, no training, no dowry, nothing but a houseful of women, most of whom are in hiding, a handful of them illegally. How do you propose explaining such a thing to a prospective suitor?” Lara opened her mouth to answer, but Isabel pressed on. “I’ll tell you. It’s impossible. No man in his right mind would marry me and take on the burdens that I carry. And, frankly, I am rather thankful for it. No. We shall just have to try a different tack.”
    “He would marry you if you told him the truth, Isabel. If you explained it all.”
    Silence fell between them and Isabel allowed herself to consider, fleetingly, what it would be like to have someone with whom she could share all her secrets. Someone to help her protect the girls … and rear James. Someone who would help her to shoulder her burden.
    She pushed the thought aside, immediately. Sharing the burden of Minerva House would require sharing its secrets. Trusting someone to keep them.
    “Must I remind you of the horrid creatures that Minerva House has shown to us? The ham-fisted husbands? The villainous brothers and uncles? The men so deep in their cups they could not find time to put food on the table for their children? And let us not forget my own father—willing to sell his children for funds enough for another night on the town, unable to support his estate, entirely willing to leave it penniless and without reputation for his child-heir.” She shook her head firmly. “If I have learned one thing in my lifetime, Lara, it is that the lion’s share of men are anything but good. And those who are tend not to be out searching the Yorkshire countryside for spinsters like me.”
    “They cannot all be bad …” Lara pointed out. “You must admit, Isabel, the girls who come to Minerva House—well—their tables must be the worst of the lot. Perhaps men like the ones in there”—she indicated the magazine—“perhaps they are different.”
    “While I doubt it, I shall give you the benefit of the doubt … but let us at least be honest with ourselves. I am not exactly the type of woman who could land a lord. Let alone a lord deserving of a magazine article to tout his exceptional qualities.”
    “Nonsense. You are lovely and smart. And incredibly competent. And the sister to an earl—even better, an earl who hasn’t ruined his name yet,” Lara said emphatically. “I am certain London’s Lords to Land would be quite enamored.”
    “Yes, well, I am also two hundred miles north of London. I imagine that these particular lords have already been landed—by a collection of lucky young ladies with subscriptions that do not travel by mail coach.”
    It was Lara’s turn to sigh. “Perhaps not these lords. Perhaps the magazine is merely a sign.”
    “A sign.”
    Lara nodded.
    “You think”—she paused to check the name of the magazine— “Pearls and Pelisses … is a sign. Why do we even receive this rubbish? ”
    Lara waved a hand dismissively. “The girls like it. And yes. I think it is a sign that you should consider marriage. To a good man. One of means.”
    Isabel softened. “Lara, marriage would only bring more trouble upon us. And even if it would not, do you really think good men of means are lining up in Dunscroft waiting for me to sally into town? ”
    She opened the magazine, considering the description of Lord Nicholas St. John, the first of London’s Lords to Land. “I mean, really. This man is the twin brother to one of the wealthiest peers in