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complete lack of the means of support make him entirely resistible to women.”
    “Did he ever fall in love with you?”
    “For about a week, after Robert discovered him and invited him to the house. He recovered quickly. He always does. Until two days ago, he was in love with Lady Windermere and then, voilà, you appeared, and poor Cynthia was forgotten.”
    “Lady Windermere doesn’t seem upset.”
    Caro stopped laughing. “No, and I’m worried. Oliver was a nice safe flirt for her. Perfect for a lady not used to London wickedness. But Julian . . .”
    Neither was Anne used to London wickedness. She was a little shocked by this easy attitude to dalliance. “But she’s married. Surely her husband is alive.”
    “Windermere is very much alive, not that he’s had the decency to keep his wife informed. He has neglected her horribly, and it would serve him right if she gave him a pair of horns.” Caro stood up and strode around the room. Anne, who had never heard her sound so wrathful, knew what she meant by horns and couldn’t contain a little shocked gasp.
    “You are such a country mouse, love,” Caro said. “You don’t know the depraved ways of town. Not that I encourage infidelity, unless a man deserves it. He left her alone and pregnant, and she lost the child.”
    Caro, too, had given birth to a stillborn child. Anne knew little of such matters herself but supposed it must be painful. But Caro never mentioned it; nor did she give the impression of being greatly affected.
    “To think he used to be a friend!” Caro continued. “It goes to show how much a man can change. I don’t give a fig for Windermere, but I fear Julian will break her heart. He’s a very bad man. And before you raise your brows at me and ask why I let him in the house, let me remind you that I like bad men.”
    Anne tried to disentangle this ill-tempered speech, detecting some deeper emotion. Yet it was so unlike Caro not to say exactly what she thought. It had something to do with Robert Townsend and his friends, who had turned all London on its ears as wild youths. In addition to Denford and Windermere, there had been a fourth member of the set, Marcus, who lived abroad. She remembered Caro’s breathless letters about the quartet. And about the wonders of Robert. Anne hadn’t known Robert well. Her grandfather hadn’t liked him, said he was a scoundrel, albeit a charming and gifted one. After the marriage, Caro didn’t visit Camber often, and usually she came alone. Fond as he was of his brother’s only child, Anne thought her stiff-necked grandfather might have turned his back on her if it hadn’t been for his delight in vexing his sister-in-law, Caro’s mother, who then and still refused to speak to her daughter.
    “Was Robert bad?” Only to Caro would she dream of posing such a daring question.
    “My darling Annabella,” Caro replied lightly, “only a very bad man would elope with a seventeen-year-old. But we were madly in love. I never regretted it until the day he died. I only wish you may find a husband who makes you as happy.”
    “I suppose I’d better find myself a ‘bad man’ then.” Anne gave a spurt of laughter at the probable reaction of her guardian, a man who made her grandfather look like a freethinker. “I doubt Lord Morrissey would permit it.”
    Caro waved her hand dismissively. “If necessary, we’ll get around him. Didn’t we manage to bring you here despite his disapproval of everything about me?”
    “Perhaps I should set my cap at Denford and save Lady Windermere from sin.”
    “No, love. It’s different for you. You’re an heiress and have responsibilities. No rogues for you. I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for a man of solid worth. I don’t see why you shouldn’t fall in love with one, with just a little effort. Do you think Castleton handsome?”
    “Not at all.”
    “Are you sure? His appearance isn’t striking, like Robert’s, or Julian’s for that matter, but I