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Stubing said, “you might lose your head
     when we need you to keep it.”
    All three of his fellow members of the Brotherhood looked at him with skeptical concern.
    “I said I’d handle it.” He was annoyed with himself for confessing. “We’ve gambled
     long enough. Pritchard’s our priority. All others must fall by the wayside, including
     my future in the Brotherhood and—” He paused. “—my foolish interest in Lady Eleanor.”
    “It’s not foolish,” said Patrick quietly.
    “It is when the lady despises you,” said James, “for good reason.”
    “But James—,” Stubing began.
    James held up his hand. “I’m not at liberty to correct her perception of me. I knew
     that when I signed up for this duty.” He knew he was glowering, but so be it. “Let’s
     move on. Reeves, who’s the latest dandy to fall into serious debt?”
    <#>
    The drawing room at the Brady mansion was overflowing with morning callers when Eleanor
     arrived. She couldn’t help feeling a bit nervous. This self-reliant household was
     one of the most popular among the beau monde, and for good reason.
    The blended family the Marquess and Marchioness of Brady had created when they wed
     was charming, each member colorful and compelling—especially as they refused to kowtow
     to the bland expectations of the polite world.
    It seemed the only approval they required for being who they were was each other’s.
    No wonder outsiders wanted to become a part of the Brady world in any way they could.
    “Lady Eleanor Gibbs,” their butler, Burbank, announced to the crowd.
    The marchioness, her vivid blue eyes sparkling and her white-blond hair coiled high
     on her head, looked up from her conversation with a matron in an emerald gown and
     a peacock feather in her hair. “Why, Lady Eleanor,” Lady Brady said, “it’s been such
     a long time!”
    Everyone else in the room seemed to stop and stare. Eleanor wasn’t exactly a social
     butterfly. Much like her father, she enjoyed her own company. When she wasn’t occupied
     with obligatory social functions, she preferred to meet one or two friends at the
     circulating library or for walks through the park. And when she was entirely alone,
     her favorite pastime was to sit at her desk and write stories about a mysterious tattooed
     hero and his daring lady love.
    So far, she’d sold three, anonymously, to a small publisher in London.
    “It’s lovely to be here,” she said as two golden-haired young ladies sprang from their
     chairs, came one on either side of her, and took her elbows.
    “You must sit by me, Eleanor,” the younger one said. She was Cynthia, and probably no more than fourteen.
     “Mama said I could join her today. The Jensen sisters always demand toast and need
     help preparing it. And Mrs. Pepper is here. She always talks Mama’s ear off—”
    “Cynthia,” said the other young lady—Janice, a lithe beauty who must have been home between
     terms at her boarding school in Switzerland. As Eleanor recalled, she probably would
     make her come-out the following year.
    Cynthia blushed. “Sorry,” she whispered.
    “You can sit between us, Elly,” suggested Janice, and gave her arm a squeeze. “You
     know we always love to see you. You’re like a sister, you know.”
    Their enthusiasm touched her heart. Eleanor didn’t know what it was like to have a
     sister who genuinely cared for her.
    “Yes, we’ve all taken baths together,” said Cynthia stoutly, and plopped down on the
     sofa. “At least that’s what Mama told me. I don’t remember. I was too young.”
    Eleanor and Janice laughed.
    “Yes, we did bathe together,” said Eleanor lightly. “How we all managed to fit into
     the copper tub is beyond me. Marcia and I took turns holding you. That was the secret
     to our success.”
    Cynthia giggled.
    Janice and Eleanor exchanged a fond look. Those days were long ago, when Eleanor’s
     father had been alive and he and Mother had often taken her to stay with