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for nothing, while Tramore, the actual heir of the estate, had buried his mother along the roadside and scrounged for his very existence in the street.
    Holland met Powerscourt’s dark stare, but not another word passed between them. After a moment’s pause, Tramore promptly quitted the breakfast room. In angry silence, Holland watched him go.
    His conscience told him there was no way to avoid returning to Powerscourt and the disagreeable tasks that awaited him there. But as he made to leave the opulent London manse, Holland consoled himself with one thought. Perhaps by being at Powerscourt, he could change the marquis’s mind and avert disaster for the Alcesters.
    Perhaps.
     
    “We must sell Violet Croft, Lissa. That’s the only way,” Evvie stated as she bent over her knitting.
    Lissa watched her purl and sighed. They’d been discussing their future for almost two weeks now and not once had they agreed on what would be best.
    It was a cold afternoon and the two women were sitting in the parlor, warming themselves before the peat fire. Lissa was too agitated to knit, so she sat on the sofa, tapping her fingers on the sofa’s worn, doily-clad arm. George was due home from the Nodding Knoll school any moment, and they both looked to his arrival to cheer them up.
    “We cannot sell the cottage. We could never afford another. Besides, it’s all we have left of Mother and Father’s estate.” Lissa shook her blond head.
    “But Violet Croft is what’s been keeping us here all along, and it’s been miserable. We’ve never belonged in Nodding Knoll, not since The Scandal.” Evvie’s needles stopped clicking. She grew quite sober. “I know how they talk, Lissa. I may be blind, but I’m not deaf.”
    “It’s not been so bad,” Lissa refuted, though only halfheartedly.
    “Not been so bad! It’s been torture and I know it!” Evvie looked toward her sister and implored her, “Don’t you think I know old Widow Tannahill crosses the street every time she sees us? You’ve been telling me she’s been nodding in greeting these days, but why don’t I feel her footsteps pass? Why don’t I hear her crinoline sway? Why do I feel you tense whenever she’s about?”
    A tiny furrow lined Lissa’s brow. She’d always wanted to protect Evvie from the scorn of the little town, and she’d obviously done a poor job of it. “She’s never really said anything since the funeral. I can live with her avoiding us. In fact, I think I prefer it.”
    “She said you’d turn out just like Mother.”
    She couldn’t bear to hear Evvie’s words. Her hands shook with anger at the old widow’s cruelty. “But I haven’t. Isn’t that enough? Let’s not talk about it.”
    “But she won’t let it go, Lissa. The town won’t let it go. So let
us
go.”
    Lissa shook her head. “We can’t. We’d get a pittance for this cottage, and then live a mean existence indeed, for we could never afford to let another cottage for long.” She released a long, drawn-out sigh. The weeks of worry since they’d received Great-aunt Sophie’s post were beginning to show. Pale lavender smudges had appeared beneath her eyes, a sure sign that she hadn’t been sleeping well. “I do have another idea, however,” she mentioned hesitantly.
    “And what is that?”
    “Wilmott Billingsworth.”
    Evvie let out a terrible groan. “I shall not listen to you speak that vile man’s name ever again! And to have you talk about sacrificing yourself to that—”
    “He’s not so terribly bad,” Lissa interrupted. “And you know he’s always had a fancy for me . . .”
    “A fancy for you! He’s a lecher, sister. Pure and simple. And his watch fob is made out of human hair.”
    “You make too much of that. I shouldn’t have told you. Besides, it’s all the rage now. Even Arabella Parks wears earbobs made from her own red hair.”
    “Delightful,” her sister exclaimed sarcastically. “That makes it all so much better. Now I won’t have to worry