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gentleman from an old, distinguished family,” Penny said. “He is also unmarried. In addition, he was involved in a great scandal several years ago when his fiancée stood him up at the altar. That combination makes his private life a matter of considerable interest in certain circles.”
    Amity blinked. “He was left at the altar? You never mentioned that.”
    “The young lady ran off with her lover. It’s been a few years now but there was a great deal of speculation about the event at the time.Everyone wondered why the woman would abandon a gentleman of Stanbridge’s rank and wealth.”
    “I see.” Amity gave that information some thought. “Perhaps she got tired of having him disappear on her the way he did on me.”
    “Indeed.”
    “Yes, well, I knew him as Mr. Stanbridge, an engineer who happened to be traveling in the Caribbean,” Amity said. “He never bothered to mention his finances or his social connections. As I was saying, the gossip about our so-called affair on board the
Northern Star
was certainly annoying, but I had hoped it would dissipate before my book was published. Unfortunately, the lurid reports of my escape from the Bridegroom don’t show any sign of diminishing. They may prove to be the ruin of my career as a travel guide writer.”
    “For heaven’s sake, Amity, you were very nearly murdered,” Penny said. She put down her fork, anxiety and alarm shadowing her eyes. “According to the press, you are the only intended victim of that dreadful monster known to have escaped his clutches. You must expect to find your name in the papers. We can only be grateful that you are alive.”
    “I am grateful—exceedingly grateful. But I do not enjoy seeing myself pictured on the front covers of the
Illustrated Police News
and the
Graphic
. Both of those magazines portrayed me fleeing from the killer’s carriage dressed only in my nightgown.”
    Penny sighed. “Everyone knows those periodicals are prone to exaggerated, melodramatic illustrations.”
    “When will it stop?” A sense of foreboding settled on Amity. “I fear that my career as an author of guidebooks for ladies is doomed before my first guidebook even appears. I expect it is only a matter of time before Mr. Galbraith sends word that he has decided not to publish
A Lady’s Guide to Globetrotting
.”
    Penny smiled reassuringly from the other side of the breakfast table. “Perhaps Mr. Galbraith will look upon the uproar in the press as good publicity for your travel guide.”
    That was Penny for you, Amity thought. Her sister was always a model of grace and serenity, regardless of the disaster at hand. But, then, Penny was a paragon of feminine perfection in all things, including widowhood. Six months ago she had lost her husband after not quite a year of marriage. Amity knew that her sister had been devastated. Nigel had been the love of her life. But Penny concealed her grief behind an air of stoic fortitude.
    Fortunately, Penny was riveting in black. But, then, she looked spectacular in virtually any color, Amity thought. Nevertheless, there was no denying that the deep hues of mourning set off Penny’s silver-blond hair, porcelain skin and sky-blue eyes, bestowing upon her an ethereal quality. She could have stepped out of a Pre-Raphaelite painting.
    Penny was one of those women who drew every eye in the room—male and female—when she entered. She was not only lovely, she possessed a natural charm and a kind heart that endeared her to all she met. What most people failed to realize, Amity thought, was that beneath all the beauty and fine qualities, Penny was also endowed with a decided talent for investing. The ability had stood her in good stead after Nigel had broken his neck in a riding accident. He had left a fortune to his wife.
    Unlike Penny, who took after their mother, Amity was well aware that she owed her own dark hair, hazel eyes and decidedly assertive nose to their father’s side of the family.