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estate, nor do I have any knowledge of them,” she said.
    “I know you share no guilt, Lottie.”
    She suddenly remembered something else Ralph had said. “What do you mean by ‘for one ’? Is there some other sin you’re holding against me?”
    Ralph blushed, and with this involuntary act, Lottie guessed the essence of the other sin. If people around Wiltshire knew of Mrs. Lancashire …
    But even so … Lottie had heard gossip about more than one of the gentry set. Although she found such indiscretions repulsive, it should not be the cause of—
    “Your father is being named in a divorce suit.”
    “Named?”
    “By the husband of the adulterous wife.”
    “I …” She didn’t know what to say, how to respond.
    “People have their dalliances, but to be named is a scandal, and that, added to the financial issues …” His face softened. “I am surprised your parents haven’t told you something about it, if for no other reason than to warn you of forthcoming repercussions. I feel bad you’re the one having to suffer.”
    Her thoughts rushed from the unfathomable news to the intense desire to find comfort in his arms. “Then don’t make me suffer a moment longer, Ralph.” She stood and went to him. “I care for you, and you care for me. We—”
    Suddenly, through the French doors, Lottie caught sight of a woman in the garden beside the house. Lottie rushed to the glass and pointed. “What is Edith Whitcomb doing in your garden?”
    “She just stopped by and—”
    Edith saw Lottie and scurried behind a rhododendron. Friends who just dropped by didn’t scurry.
    Lottie whipped open the doors and entered the garden. “Olly olly oxen free.”
    Edith stepped into the open, her eyes seeking Ralph’s direction.
    “Well, well, well. Who do we have here?” But even as Lottie said the words she wanted to retreat and unsay them all. She couldn’t stand to hear more unpleasant truths. If only she’d never seen Edith, if only she’d pretended she hadn’t seen Edith.
    Edith’s face revealed her panic, and she ran to the safety of Ralph’s arms.
    “There, there,” he told her, stroking her hair.
    And there it was. As painful as a slap to Lottie’s face.
    She felt the life drain out of her. With a simple breeze she would dissolve into a puddle of empty clothes. She didn’t even have the strength to voice a question.
    And perhaps there were no questions to voice. The situation was abundantly clear: on this day, on her birthday, her life had been forever changed.
    She heard herself speak in barely a whisper. “I have to go now.”
    Ralph relinquished Edith to herself. “I’ll see you out.”
    “No!” With a rush Lottie found herself again. “I don’t need your help or your pity. Good day, Mr. Smythe. Miss Whitcomb.”
    She strode back into the drawing room, detoured to claim her book, then with great drama flung open the double doors. Walters had to scramble to open the front door for her.
    She barely let the footman help her ascend the carriage, took her place beside Dora, and thrust the book into her care.
    Lottie shook the reins and the carriage jerked into motion, taking them home.
    Her parents had some heavy explaining to do.

Chapter Two

    The journey home from the Smythes’ was accomplished in silence. Dora had a thousand questions, but by the look on Lottie’s face, now was not the time to ask—or offer condolences. Whatever had transpired with Ralph had not been good.
    The return trip was made at the same speed as the trip away, but this time Lottie surrendered her hair to the wind and pulled it completely loose, letting it flow in odd hanks behind her. Dora had the feeling if Lottie could have removed all her clothing and flung the pieces to the wind, she would have. Whatever had happened had shut a door—and locked it.
    When they reached the Gleasons’ home, Lottie got out first and uttered her first words. “Meet me upstairs.”
    Mr. Davies helped Dora to the ground, but instead of