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moment, as if debating an answer, and then looked away. “Perhaps, but it isn’t feasible at this time.” She sensed that he didn’t believe his own words. He looked back down at her. “Of course, if you marry a man with the right resources, anything is possible.”
    “We obviously hold a difference of opinion, Mr. Morgan. I think marriage should be something more than a sham.”
    His eyes hardened, and she noticed that they darkened with emotion. “Marriage is a perfectly respectable way for a person to advance in this world.”
    Phadra held up her hand. “You may call a cold, impartial alliance a marriage. I cut to the heart of the matter and call it a farce.”
    His eyes flashed. “You are naive, Miss Abbott. I like to think that Lady Miranda and I will make a good marriage, one based upon mutual respect and not upon strong, often errant, emotions.”
    “Now that sounds boring,” Phadra retorted before thinking of the wisdom of her words.
    He looked as if she’d slapped him, and he took a step back, as if needing to remove himself from her presence. “You don’t believe I’m good enough for Lady Miranda?”
    The gravity in his tone startled Phadra. An angrymuscle worked in the side of his jaw. But then some little mischievous imp inside her, recalling Miranda’s house-shaking tantrum, caused her to say, “Oh, no, Mr. Morgan. If anything, I think the two of you are very well suited for each other.”
    “You do?” he asked, and then his eyes narrowed, as if he suspected a hidden meaning.
    “You do what?” Miranda asked, coming up behind them.
    “Miss Abbott thinks you will make a beautiful bride,” Mr. Morgan said smoothly, surprising Phadra by the honeyed warmth in his voice. Miranda preened under the compliment, and Phadra found herself more than irritated with him.
    “What are you going to do with my possessions, Mr. Morgan?” she asked, her words now clipped and businesslike.
    Her sudden change of topic appeared to surprise him. He glanced at Miranda, as if to see whether she needed to be included in the conversation. She was no longer listening. Sophie had started talking about her engagement ball, and Miranda had stepped away from them and joined the little group around Sophie.
    “Most of them will be auctioned,” he answered.
    Suddenly she felt a painful sense of loss. “All of them?”
    He paused, seeming to want to soften the blow. “Most of them. I’m sorry.”
    “Why should you be sorry? I’m the one who ran up the debts—or at least part of them.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice and had to look away, her eyes blinking back the sting of tears. “May I at least have my books?”
    “I will see what I can do.”
    “Thank you,” Phadra said, the sound coming out in a whisper as she realized how difficult things were going to be. Her reversal of fortune had happened so fast that when she and Henny had returned to her townhouse with Sir Cecil to pack a bag, she hadn’t been able to think of what she was losing. Fortunately she’d had the presence of mind to pack her small silver box, with the few mementos it held of her mother like the emerald earrings and pin that matched the set in the bank’s vault, but she hadn’t thought to bring anything else.
    Such as her books. Or the wooden horse that her father had sent to her mother years ago on the occasion of Phadra’s birth. That, along with her debts, was her only link to her father. Could she ask for the wooden horse also? She had no idea how matters worked with creditors and bankers.
    Unfortunately Sir Cecil interrupted any further discussion by announcing that an engagement ball would be held the next month in Grant and Miranda’s honor. Miranda squealed her delight.
     
    “Phadra…Phadra, wake up.”
    Phadra came awake slowly. Morning couldn’t have arrived this quickly. Again she felt someone shake her shoulder.
    There was light in the room. In the dim recesses of her sleep-fogged brain, Phadra knew