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name?”
    “Kensington. Jack Kensington.”
    “Not a Scotsman, then.”
    “No. He is English.”
    “Ah, well, I am sure he is quite nice anyway.”
    “Aunt Elizabeth . . . he is not a friend of Andrew’s. He met him at a club. A gambling den. He— Andrew wageredBaillannan, and he lost. Mr. Kensington owns our home now.”
    Her aunt said nothing, merely stared at her in white-faced shock. After a long moment, she said, “Oh.” She looked away, her hands knotting in her lap. “Oh, dear. I . . . I cannot think quite what to do.”
    “For the moment we are doing nothing. I will ask Mr. Kensington for leave to stay here a time so that we can get our things together.” Isobel debated whether she should tell her aunt of her plans to write their solicitor. Would it be worse to get her aunt’s hopes up or to leave her worrying? Finally, she went on, “Do not trouble yourself over this. I will find a way, work it out somehow. We will be all right.”
    “Of course you will, dear.” Elizabeth gave her a wan smile. “Poor Andrew. He must be heartsick over this.”
    “He should be,” Isobel snapped. “Since he threw away our home on a card game.”
    “I am sure he did not mean to lose it. He has always been too impulsive.”
    “Unthinking is more like it. Or uncaring.” Isobel drew in a calming breath. It would do her aunt no good to see Isobel’s distress—or to hear criticism of her beloved nephew.
    “Don’t worry.” Aunt Elizabeth reached out to take her hand. “We will come about. I am sure of it. You have always been a clever girl. God does not close one door without opening another.” She smiled.
    “Well, I wish I knew where it was.”
    “We shall just have to put our minds to it.” Elizabeth glanced toward the clock. “Oh, my, ’tis getting late. We must get dressed for dinner. We should look our best, you know, to face Mr.—what did you say his name was, dear?”
    “Kensington, Auntie. Mr. Kensington.”
    “A very nice name.” Her aunt rose, then said softly, “I wish your father were still here. John always knew just what to do.”
    “I wish he were, too, Auntie.” Isobel squeezed her aunt, her heart aching at the sight of tears welling in her aunt’s eyes. “But you are right. We will come about.”
    Isobel was late going down to supper, having spent several minutes composing a note to her father’s lawyer—and another few minutes giving in to the tears that had been threatening to overwhelm her ever since Mr. Kensington’s arrival. She changed into a more formal evening dress, draping her best shawl over her arms against the chill, but she did not waste time trying to improve her appearance as her aunt had suggested. She could not imagine Mr. Kensington would be any more amenable if she looked prettier, and she was not about to try to charm the man who was taking away her home.
    Her stomach was a nest of nerves as she hurried to the dining room. She found herself growing increasingly on edge in social situations with her aunt, for she had to be on alert to smooth over any mistakes Elizabeth might make, and tonight would be even worse, for Isobel could not bear to have this strange man witness her aunt’s confusion or distress. And the strained, even antagonistic conversation between her and Kensington this afternoon could make polite dinner conversation awkward.
    When she stepped into the dining room, she saw with a sinking heart that both Kensington and her aunt were already there. She could only hope that Elizabeth had not said anything untoward. Isobel sneaked a look at Kensington asshe took her seat, but she could see nothing in his face to indicate his mood. Her insides clenched even tighter.
    “My, don’t you look lovely, dear.” Elizabeth smiled at Isobel. “Don’t you agree, Mr. Kensington?”
    “Indeed, Miss Rose. Your niece is a vision well worth waiting for.” His compliment was swift and practiced, as was the smile he aimed at Elizabeth. “Of course, it is