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  And Lujan, lounging across the room in a large leather chair, saw it, too. Hugo the Stoic, the martyr father, bearing the burden of a terminally ill wife, and terminally feuding sons. Hiding, watching, waiting—

  For what?

  Dear God, he didn't like the thought that slammed into him like a bullet. Jancie! But Jancie was his, just ripe for the plucking after all the time, all the energy and patience he had put into seducing her to this point—

  —and here was his father thinking—what?

  Oh, Hugo was a deep one. Wholly removed from any of them. Never a father, really. Just a figurehead full of demons and expectations that were impossible to meet.

  Maybe that was why he had become the bad one—there had never been anything for him here—not a father, not a mother, just a perfect, willing, and good younger brother, and the ghost of another who haunted them all.

  So what was really on his father's mind? He wondered what Kyger was thinking. He looked at Kyger, and he knew. Kyger thought nothing would change. Olivia would pass away and he, Lujan, would blast back to London like a cannon and never look back.

  Kyger expected it, counted on it.

  And Hugo would—

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  What would Hugo do? What would Jancie do, for that matter, once Olivia was gone?

  Oh, here was a fanciful idea—she could marry Kyger. They got along all right, neither had any expectations, and they could rub along nicely at Waybury taking care of his inheritance.

  He rather liked the idea, actually. After he got through with her, because, of course, she wasn't nearly the blueblood his wife must be.

  Well, that solved that.

  Except—Hugo. Hugo was eyeing Jancie like she was a morsel waiting to be devoured. And as Lujan stared at him, Hugo's eyes skewed away suddenly as if he had been caught peeking in the cookie jar.

  Well, he had. Lujan could see it, he hadn't imagined it. He felt sick, he felt a rising fury.

  Why had he never noticed before?

  Hugo looked guilty because Hugo was having prurient thoughts about Jancie, and this wasn't the first time, either.

  Oh, Jesus lord—the unthinkable was true: Hugo had to have been thinking for a long time now that right under his nose he had a convenient replacement for Olivia. Someone young, beautiful, nubile, and fertile. Someone still able to bear children. Able to have endless expendable sex. Someone he could root in and produce another half-dozen sons with .. .

  Cutting his oldest son out and down.

  Shit.

  A whole other family to mold to his heart's content.

  NO!

  Goddamn his soul to hell. NO!

  NO!

  NOOOO!

  Dear Father, Jancie wrote.

  Things are coming to a head here. Olivia is that much more diminished. It is only a matter of time. The entire family is here— in fact, you will be surprised to hear that Lujan has spent the better part of two years here, attending to his mother's needs and taking an interest in his birthright. The family has been inordinately kind, and it is so hard to hold on to the reality that all

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  Hugo has should be half ours. I know not how to rectify this or even discover if his stories of thieves and kidnappers is true. I only know I am feeling bereft already at the thought of Olivia's passing, and that I may well be sailing for India sooner than ever I imagined—

  ******************

  The house was too quiet.

  Olivia was asleep after having dined. Jancie had seen to it herself; as Olivia's appetite waned, she made sure that Olivia got the nourishment she had started denying she needed—or wanted.

  But Jancie wasn't going to let her die of malnutrition.

  And so, Olivia now ate earlier than the rest of the household, with Jancie spoon-feeding her, giving her her medicine, and making sure that Emily was tucked in by her side.

  You see? I knew she needed me.

  Jancie needed Emily, too, but she bowed to her cat's superior wisdom. Emily would come when her task of taking care of Olivia was done.

  And truth to tell, this little thing that Jancie could do, feeding Olivia, was hardly anything in the scheme of things. Emily was doing much more for her now than Jancie could.

  So she went, as she did every night now, and washed, brushed her hair, pinched her cheeks, then made her way down to the dining room.

  As always, it struck her how quiet the house was. And yet there was something palpable in the air. She didn't know quite when she comprehended there were things bubbling beneath the surface that had not at first been obvious, but she was aware of it now.

  Or maybe it was that she was so taken with Kyger, and so immersed in her ridiculous feelings for Lujan that she just wasn't paying attention.

  Yes, that was it—she hadn't been paying attention, between Olivia's illness and her trying to keep the right balance between being a companion and being treated as a servant. . .

  Perfectly understandable that she hadn't noticed Hugo watching her. Or Lujan watching Hugo. And Kyger keeping a skeptical eye on all of them.

  "You are an innocent in a nest of snakes," Kyger had whis-

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  pered to her one evening as they came down to dinner. "Look at Father."

  It was the first time he had ever made such a comment. So she looked. Hugo was on the threshold of the dining room, looking up at the staircase, waiting for them.

  But what did she see? An impatient old man waiting for two youngsters who were inexcusably late for dinner.

  "Do you not see how he's looking at you?" Kyger whispered.

  "No, he's looking at you, and wishing his more responsible younger son were the older one," she retorted,

  "Oh, he's thinking of his mortality, all right, but it has nothing to do with me."

  She hadn't liked the comment. She hadn't wanted to think about what it could mean, but as she came downstairs alone tonight, and Hugo suddenly appeared on the threshold, she saw what Kyger had seen—how Hugo's eyes lit up, how his gaze followed her as she descended and walked across the foyer, how he held out his hand to take hers as she crossed into the dining room, as if he were looking for any excuse to touch her.

  All that she saw, and Kyger's knowing I-told-you look as she came into the room. She looked at Lujan, who was slouched at the far end of the table, and his burning gaze seared her.

  Lujan knew. He knew what she felt, what she wanted, what his father was thinking, what Kyger was hoping, and there was nothing she could hide from him. And she didn't want to. Not now.

  Dinner was quiet, too quiet, with all that emotion simmering under the surface. Lujan stared at Hugo; Hugo deliberately averted his eyes. Kyger grinned at Jancie, and Jancie wished she could take her meals up in her room altogether.

  It was an effort to eat. No one attempted conversation—there really was nothing to say, with Olivia dying, and Hugo already thinking about his life after she was gone.

  Oh, she hated him for that. But it was all of piece. If Hugo was the kind of man who wouldn't stop at attempted murder to steal a fortune in diamonds, then certainly he'd have no compunction about plotting a future before his wife was in her grave.

  And who knew what other crimes he might have committed?

  Because Jancie was certain he was that kind of man, and time

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  was running out and she was never going to find out how much he had stolen from Edmund and her. When Olivia passed, she would have no other choice but to leave, too.

  Ow...

  So there was no point making conversation. After the fact, things would go on as they always had. She would have been only a diversion for Lujan; she was smart enough to know that. Something to amuse him, give him something to chase after, something on which to focus his pent-up sensuality, something to do.

  Ow.

  . .. But once Olivia died, she would revert to being a dirty girl again. She would leave Waybury with some fancy dres
ses and a nice number of pounds in her pocket. She would go to India. Live like a queen, just as she'd always planned .. .

  Ow.

  She looked up then. Emily was sitting in the doorway.

  Ooowww.

  They all looked at each other.

  "Olivia—" Jancie whispered, and bolted out of her chair.

  Ow.

  Emily was already in the hallway, at the base of the stairs, waiting for them, and as they followed, she dashed up the stairs.

  They pounded into Olivia's room, scared at what they would find, and gathered around the bed. It wasn't the end. But soon, soon.

  Emily jumped up next to her. I'm here . . .

  Olivia put out her hand and Emily ducked under it, so that Olivia could hold onto her for security, for safety, in these last minutes.

  J won't leave you .. .

  Olivia looked around at her sons, at Jancie, her vision dimming, her fingers convulsing on Emily's neck. She took a deep breath, as if she wanted to say something, and couldn't summon the strength . . .

  And then she turned her gaze on Hugo. Another breath, more determined this time.

  "Gaunt," she whispered on the exhale, and then, she was gone.

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  All things must end.

  That was the eulogy, the message of faith.

  Jancie stood apart from the family at the gravesite of Olivia's ancestors, and listened to the vicar intoning the age-old words of comfort.

  Ashes to ashes . . .

  There weren't that many people there: three or four friends from church, a neighbor, the vicar's wife . . .

  She had to leave.

  .... give our beloved Olivia to God . ..

  Today .. . this minute—she couldn't stand it; she was drowning in tears, in regrets, in guilt that she couldn't have done more for Olivia.

  But there had never been any other possible outcome. It was just as Kyger had said: they had known the inevitable ending; they didn't want to believe it, they pretended it wasn't going to happen—and now . . .

  All things must end. Reality always intruded. Her time at Waybury was over, and she had to get out of there, fast.

  Kyger read her mind. Read her eyes, really, and the devastated expression on her face. "Don't do anything yet," he whispered.

  "I have to go."

  "Not today."

  She gave him a mutinous look. "An unmarried woman alone in a house with three unattached men—are you crazy?"

  "Stop it.. . just—"

  "I'll go to the vicar."

  . . . may she find her place in heaven .. .

  "Stop it. You're not going yet..."

  . .. I give you peace .. .

  There would be no peace. She had to get out of there, away from her father's unmet expectations, Lujan's hot eyes, and Hugo's glimmering hope.

  She had failed so miserably. At everything.

  And then there was Kyger—dear Lord, Kyger . . .

  Ow.

  Emily, appearing out of nowhere, sinuously winding her body around a nearby tree.

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  Ow. Sitting on her haunches, watching the last moments of the service, before they all would turn away . ..

  Amen.

  Over, everything over.

  Ow.

  Maybe it was too easy to leave Olivia?

  Emily stood up, arched her back, looked at Jancie. /'// stay with her.

  Jancie turned away, tears streaming down her cheeks, and followed the mourners, keeping several respectful steps behind, through the grounds toward the village, where the vicar's wife would serve tea.

  Mrow.

  Emily, softly, saying her own good-bye.

  Good-bye, good-bye, amen . . .

  ******************

  It was excruciating, sitting in the vicarage parlor, sipping tea she didn't want and being stared at by strangers. She could almost hear them whispering: That one was the companion. Too young, too pretty for her own good. Who knows what really went on there? And she's going hack to a household of men tonight, is she? And the lady not dead and in her grave a day . . .

  Even a dirty girl had more sense than that. All she had to do was ask the vicar's wife. There would be no problem, none. Everyone would understand. But no one would, if she elected to go back to Waybury House with Hugo, Lujan, and Kyger.

  One death made all the difference. It wiped away lust and kisses, it washed away unholy expectations and irrational excuses. It made everything she'd thought possible the stuff of foolish dreams.

  She'd had no idea what the impact of Olivia's death would be. Now she knew: death buried those dreams, as surely as if she herself had died.

  Mrow.

  Emily, at the parlor door, somehow having snuck in, and searching for Jancie, now that her vigil was over. Ow, as Jancie picked her up and carried her out of the house.

  "We have to stay here," she whispered into Emily's neck. "We

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  can't go back, and there isn't anywhere to go forward. I failed. At everything. I failed ..."

  Mrow . .. soft, consoling. Wait till tomorrow.

  "Jancie, my dear." Here came the vicar's wife, to tell her, she was certain, that cats didn't belong in the parlor.

  "Yes, ma'am?" She kept Emily firmly against her chest.

  "You'll stay with us tonight, of course. Tomorrow we can decide what to do. I'll send someone for your things."

  "Yes, thank you. I was thinking along those lines myself."

  The vicar's wife smiled. "A cat is such a comfort, isn't it?" she murmured, running her hand along Emily's back. Emily purred. "We'll have a light dinner, and you can retire early. It will be for the best."

  Jancie closed her eyes as a tremor ran through her. For the best?

  For the best.

  Emily again, slanting her golden gaze up at her, humming and purring against her heart. A solace for her—and for Olivia, in her final moments.

  "You're right. It's for the best."

  She bent over and set Emily on the floor; Emily promptly ducked under a table. Jancie rose and nearly elbowed Kyger in the belly. He grabbed her by the shoulders, held her close to his chest for a moment, and then released her.

  "Keeping you prisoner here, are they?"

  "It's for the best," she murmured, a little shaken by his nearness. Why not Kyger? Why couldn't she have those deep, fluttery, squirmy-dart feelings for Kyger?

  "Because they're taking wagers which of us would bed you first if we took you back to the house?"

  She felt heat wash her face. "Something like that."

  "One of us would," Kyger said. "Maybe two of us."

  "But not you."

  He raised an eyebrow. "Don't be so certain I’m not one of those two."

  "Kyger, don't. Not today."

  "No," he said gently, feelingly, "not today."

  She looked at his face closely. He'd cried for Olivia, she was absolutely certain, and she knew with the same certainty that nei-

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  ther Hugo nor Lujan had. Why couldn't she have feelings for him?

  Those feelings, as opposed to other feelings—warmth, camaraderie, deep knowledge of who he was and what kind of person he was. That was what she should fall in love with, not the smug womanizer that was Lujan. Oh, dear heaven .. . why not Kyger? They were suited, they were equal, he cared about her .. . she could feel it, she would feel it forever. Kyger could love her, if only she would let him.

  Why Lujan, and not Kyger? Why was she looking over his shoulder, and hoping that Lujan would come? It wasn't fair, it wasn't logical, it wasn't right. .. Kyger was the good brother, the moral brother, as handsome and raffish as ever Lujan was, and you knew he would never hurt you, never betray you—

  And Lujan would.

  And still, she yearned for Lujan. Wanted Lujan. Could never be satisfied with less than Lujan.

  She watched Kyger move away to accept condolences from a neighbor. Lord, she must be out of he
r mind with grief for Olivia to be thinking like this; that had to be the reason, and in the morning she would see everything more clearly. Especially a mile away from Waybury House, where Lujan didn't suck up all the air and her every thought.

  "Jancie."

  Oh, good God. Hugo.

  "Yes, Hugo?"

  It was those glimmering eyes, skimming over her like she was something luscious and almost irresistibly desirable.

  This soon—? Too soon, she thought.

  "I'd like you to consider not leaving us," he said obliquely.

  "But I must," she murmured. "I should."

  "Even if there were a reason for you to stay .. . ?"

  "Hugo, truly—"

  "I am not at liberty to speak so soon, Jancie, but you must not leave us, not yet.. . Please consider—you must understand what I am hinting at."

  "I do, and it distresses me no end."

  "But it makes such perfect sense. Am I not still in need of. . . of all those things that must accrue to a man in a marriage? Does

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  that die when his wife leaves him? Is every feeling, every need, every desire buried as well?”

  "Hugo, I beg you .. ."

  "I beg you think about it. I have stated my case as plainly as I can under the circumstances. There is so much for you to gain by not rushing off so precipitately. And I promise you, Jancie, you will not like India as much as you think you will."

  Oh God—this could not be happening. Everything she feared, nothing she wanted. She would have to leave, and that had been the last measure of her plans.

  But then, what did she know about stroking a rake and making him come to point? She knew nothing, she'd been playing with fire, she had no idea how to blow it into a conflagration, and so it had all turned to embers and ashes.

  Sackcloth and ashes . ..

  And yet—the offer was on the table. And there was nothing to stop her from accepting it. She could stay at Waybury forever, share his bed—how bad, truly, could it be?—bear him a child, perhaps, if that was his wont.

  It would make Lujan very unhappy. Lujan looked murderous already, so he must have a very good idea what Hugo had said to her.

  Perhaps all was not lost yet. Certainly if she married Hugo, she would be near Lujan, for however often he might grace Waybury with his presence.