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“ I f I didn’t know it to be impossible, Emmeline Templeton, I’d think you were burying bodies back there.”

Emmeline startled, then smothered a yelp at the sudden, sharp sting in her thumb.

Drat. Cursed thorns.

She caught the drop of blood on the tip of her tongue and scrambled to her feet, her lips curving in a grin when she saw Lady Fosberry standing on the other side of the rusted iron gate that surrounded the walled garden. “Perhaps I am burying bodies. How can you be so certain it is impossible?”

“Because there isn’t a spare body to be had within two counties of Hambleden Manor.

” Lady Fosberry waved a hand at the deserted garden before turning her attention back to Emmeline, a disapproving frown on her lips.

“Come out from behind that shrub at once, and let me see the worst of it. Do you suppose you can hide from me?”

Emmeline had supposed so, but she should have known better.

Lady Fosberry could spot the flutter of a butterfly’s wings from miles away.

“I beg your pardon, my lady.” Emmeline made a futile attempt to brush off the dirt smearing her pinafore.

“If I’d known you intended a visit today, I would have made myself presentable. ”

“My dear child, we both know that to be an egregious lie.” Lady Fosberry took in Emmeline’s unruly hair and muddy boots with a despairing shake of her head.

“You’re an utter fright, just as I suspected.

You must stop digging in the dirt in this outrageous way, Emmeline.

Young ladies shouldn’t behave like common laborers. It’s unbecoming.”

As she was the only one who ever labored in the walled garden since they’d lost their groundskeeper two years earlier, Emmeline supposed she was common enough, and it wasn’t as if there was anyone about to see her.

No one ever came to Hambleden Manor anymore.

Emmeline couldn’t imagine why Lady Fosberry still bothered with them, but she’d been a dear friend of their father’s, and had proved a steadfast friend since scandal chased the Templetons out of London three years earlier.

“I just popped in to have a look at my father’s roses.” What’s left of them. Neglect and disease had reduced what was once a blooming garden to a few sickly canes and a handful of withered leaves. “It’s dirty work, I’m afraid.”

Lady Fosberry’s face softened at the mention of James Templeton. “You’re a good girl, Emmeline, for all your odd ways.”

Emmeline smiled at that. Lady Fosberry would think her even odder if she knew Emmeline had been digging in the dirt beneath her father’s roses for most of the afternoon, and enjoying every muddy, thorny moment of it.

“I’m surprised to see you, my lady. We didn’t expect you in Buckinghamshire until the season ended. ”

“What, and let Helena leave without bidding her goodbye? No, indeed.”

Emmeline’s smile faded. Her younger sister Helena was leaving Hambleden Manor in a few days to take up a new position as a governess with an acquaintance of Lady Fosberry’s, and there was no telling when the five of them would all be together again.

If ever.

Their futures looked grim, indeed. What had once been a handsome fortune had dwindled to nothing. One by one, they’d all be forced out to work, and their beloved home would fall prey to decay until there was nothing left?—

“I’ve brought a dozen of Helena’s favorite teacakes from London, with Cook’s compliments, and of course she’ll have my coach for the journey, with two of my footmen.”

“You’re very good, my lady,” Emmeline murmured past the lump in her throat.

“Nonsense.” Lady Fosberry waved aside her own kindness, as she always did. “Quickly, now, dearest. There’s a juicy tidbit in The Times , and a devilish bit of nonsense in The Morning Post I’m certain you’ll find diverting.”

Emmeline never found gossiping diverting, but she allowed herself to be dragged inside, where she deposited Lady Fosberry in the drawing room, then dashed upstairs to tidy herself.

By the time she returned all four of her sisters were there, with the eldest, Euphemia, in her usual place in front of the fireplace.

“Emmeline, here you are at last! Goodness, that took an age. Come here, child, and sit by me.” Lady Fosberry patted the empty space beside her on the settee. “Now, shall we see what wicked gossip The Times has for us today?”

“Yes, yes!” Mathilda, the youngest of them all at age sixteen, let out an excited squeal as Lady Fosberry handed her the paper.

“Is it terribly wicked?” Juliet, who was seated on the other side of Emmeline tried to read the print over Tilly’s shoulder. “What is it, Tilly?”

Tilly scanned the paper, then passed it to Juliet with a disappointed sigh. “It’s not at all wicked.”

“Well, what fun is that?” Juliet read the page, then handed it to Helena with a shrug. “It seems Lord Boggs has made a certain lady an offer of marriage, and she’s declined him. They don’t mention the lady’s name.”

“Ah, but I happen to know the lady’s name.” Lady Fosberry waggled her brows. “I had it from an unimpeachable source, I assure you.”

None of them even thought to question the reliability of these unimpeachable sources. The Countess of Fosberry had the ear of the Upper Ten Thousand. For all her kindness, her ladyship was an incurable gossip, and never missed a tidbit.

“Shall we see if you all can guess which lady has ruined Lord Boggs’s fondest hopes?”

“Lady Mariana Shelby,” Emmeline said, before any of her sisters could utter a word.

Lady Fosberry clapped, delighted. “Remarkable, Emmeline! Really, you girls are a wonder. I begin to suspect you’re all hiding crystal balls under your beds.”

“There’s not a bit of magic to it,” Phee protested. “It’s simply?—”

“Mathematics, or some such nonsense.” Lady Fosberry flapped her hand, as if banishing mathematics from her presence. “Yes, you’ve said so before, Euphemia, and it’s a clever theory, but mathematics teaches us nothing whatsoever about love.”

“It’s not really mathematics, my lady, so much as predictable patterns. As children we do learn from mathematics how to recognize patterns by studying numbers in a sequence, but?—”

“People aren’t numbers, Euphemia,” Lady Fosberry interrupted. “I hope you’ll all find out the truth of my words for yourselves, before it’s too late.”

It’s already too late for us.

The words rose unbidden in Emmeline’s mind, but she said only, “Tilly may, one day.”

By the time Tilly was old enough to marry, maybe the ton would have forgiven the Templeton sisters for their mother’s sins.

“You see, my lady, Lord Boggs has previously demonstrated a weakness for a pretty face.” Phee, undeterred by Lady Fosberry’s scold, was warming to her subject.

“It only makes sense he’d offer for the prettiest lady this season, because he does so every year.

One can anticipate, within reason, his future behavior by his past actions. ”

“If it’s as simple as you say, Euphemia, then what is Lord Boggs’s trouble? Why hasn’t he found a willing lady to marry him yet?”

“Lord Boggs’s trouble,” Helena said, “Is that he wants a young lady of both beauty and fortune, but he can’t lure one into marriage because he’s?—”

“Not at all handsome. He’s old, very ugly, and unpleasant, too, and Lady Mariana is?—”

“Tilly!” Emmeline cried. “Shame on you!”

“Lady Mariana’s father is a viscount, and she’s very pretty,” Tilly went on, ignoring Emmeline. “She needn’t marry a fortune, and Lord Boggs’s only attraction is his fortune. He needs a lady who hasn’t two shillings to rub together.”

“Yes, but he is an earl, Tilly.” Helena tossed the newspaper aside. “Given that the ton only cares about titles and fortunes, one would think Lord Boggs might have whomever he chooses.”

“He doesn’t want just anyone. He wants a belle.” Emmeline thought for a moment. “Miss Crowley would do for him. She’s not a great beauty like Lady Mariana, but she’s pretty, and as poor as a rookeries’ church mouse.”

Juliet helped herself to one of Helena’s teacakes. “Lady Mariana has been holding out for Mr. Mayhew, but the season is half over already, and?—”

“And a bird in the hand, you know.” Helena grinned. “For my part, I’d much rather see Lady Mariana with Mr. Mayhew, but Lord Mayhew despises Lord Shelby, and Mr. Mayhew won’t disoblige his uncle, or he’ll be cut off without a shilling.”

“Yes, and that will never do for a gentleman who plays as deep as Mr. Mayhew. There’s another pattern for you, my lady.

” Phee turned to Lady Fosberry with a provoking grin.

“All the Mayhew men are hardened gamesters, and they all marry fortunes. I predict Mr. Mayhew will offer for Lady Philippa Wingate.”

“I don’t like to see poor Miss Crowley get stuck with Lord Boggs.” Helena let out a little sigh on behalf of poor Miss Crowley. “He’s two decades older than she is!”

“Yes, but it would be an excellent match for her. Not a happy one, but secure, certainly.” Juliet finished her teacake and dusted the crumbs from her fingers. “Don’t you think so, Lady Fosberry?”

“The match has merit from Miss Crowley’s perspective, yes, but I’ve never liked such matches. It seems a shame to condemn such a sweet young lady as Miss Crowley to a lifetime with demanding, ill-tempered Lord Boggs.”

“It’s wrong we should know so much about a gentleman we’ve never met.” Helena wrinkled her nose. “Gossip is a dreadful thing!”

“Dreadful! Why, I think it’s perfectly delightful! But my dears, what do you say to this?” Lady Fosberry paused until she had their full attention. “I have it on the highest authority Lord Melrose intends to marry this season.”

“Lord Melrose! Isn’t he the…what do you call it?” Tilly’s brows drew together. “I can’t remember what one is meant to call a gentleman who’s an Incomparable.”

“The Nonesuch,” Helena said. “One refers to him as the Nonesuch.”

“No, one refers to him as Lord Melrose .” Juliet fell back against the sofa, feigning a swoon.