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Octavia Belmont, known to many as the Dowager Viscountess St. Maur, sighed in satisfaction and propped her feet up on the fender.

Outside, darkness was crowding in, a flutter of rain idly hitting the windowpane. It was good to be home.

The Duke of Thornbridge’s vast house was nice enough, but really, once a woman got to a certain age, there was no place like home. There was also a certain comfort in knowing that two out of her three daughters were well-married. Todukes, no less.

Not bad for a trio of girls with no money and the reputation for leaving and being left at the altar.

They were rich now, thanks to Anna’s marriage, and now with two duchesses as her sisters, Emily would be a highly sought-after lady.

But then was she free to marry? Octavia wasn’t sure. Emily hadn’t explained justwhathad gone on with that wretched Duke of Clapton. It was clear that some force was compelling the girl down the aisle for starters, but the twins had been uncharacteristically troublesome and had told neither their mother nor sister what was going on.

She sighed.

They’re too insular, those girls.

Blackmail was the obvious thing, but what could Emily possibly be blackmailed about? And why would a man like the Duke need to blackmail his wife? And why Emily, in particular?

At least the Duke of Thornbridge’s motivations for marrying Daphne were reasonably straightforward. He was compromised, she was compromised, and they had to marry. That was that.

Is that a good thing? What if he despises her?

Octavia shifted again, a pang of guilt returning. She had intended to tell Daphne that she could live in disgrace if she couldn’t bear to marry the Duke, but really, she had been so relieved when the offer was not accepted. It hardly mattered now. The wedding had happened, it was official, and that was that. Daphne was married. She was no longer Miss Belmont. She was the Duchess of Thornbridge.

No longer my little girl.

That was an upsetting thought. Octavia glanced across at her other daughter, the only one remaining at home.

The four of them had once made the little parlor seem overfull, but now with just her and Emily, there seemed to be more space than she had imagined.

Emily was reading, of course, the firelight glinting off her round spectacles. Sensing eyes on her, she glanced up and gave a smile.

“What’s wrong, Mama?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Octavia murmured. “I was only thinking about how quickly children grow up.”

“Well, I suppose that’s natural.”

I was also thinking about why you won’t tell me what exactly is going on with you and the Duke of Clapton. There’s no talk of an engagement. Is he too humiliated to try again? I’m not sure I want to wrangle a duke with a grudge. I’m too old for this nonsense.

“Emily,” Octavia said, as firmly as she could imagine. “Emily, it’s time for us to talk.”

“Oh?” Emily did not look up.

“Put that book away, dear. Now, you and the Duke…”

Emily’s head shot up.

Aha!Octavia felt a flare of triumph.We’re getting somewhere.

“Yes, I wanted to ask?—”

“Mama, hush.”

Octavia choked faintly. “Don’t you tell me to hush!”

“No, Mama, can’t you hear that? Carriage wheels outside, coming up the drive.”

Octavia paused, and then she heard it too. Gravel crunched, and a horse whinnied. Both of them were on their feet immediately, rushing over to the window. Their breaths fogged up the glass, but Octavia spotted the blocky shape of the coach, slick with rain.