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It was a pressing enough concern given the disrepair of the family’s country seat in the Midlands, neglected by his elder brother before he passed away, childless, from the grippe.

Then, there were the not-insignificant expenses incurred for Diana’s cabin on the packet ship to Philadelphia, as Tobias Stewart, now Lord Mercer, had no qualms about reminding her at the slightest provocation.

She’d spent nearly three-quarters of a year with her mother’s sister, Diana’s Aunt Penelope.

In the end, what good had come of it? Mother still resented her and spent most of her time in Brighton.

Father largely ignored her. Since her return to London, Diana had seen little of either of her parents.

She suspected they hoped to avoid both their younger daughter and any residue of scandal.

Accustomed to having the townhouse to themselves, Diana and Lillian furnished the front parlor as they wished.

Diana cut fresh blooms from the garden and placed them in a glass vase near her favorite leather-bound novels on the end table.

Lil had the wall papered in the light mauve shades she favored.

The large bay window granted a fine view of the unfinished street outside, cobbles with broad patches of dirt between them, and the horses and carriage passing and kicking up mud.

After raining for the better part of the morning, the clouds traversed the sky at a speed sufficient to grant bursts of bright sunshine.

The space was cozy and inviting because it spoke to both their personalities. Still, the evidence of their diminished circumstances showed in the ragged corners of the carpeting and the dust collecting on the window panes.

“Do you not wish to help?” Lillian teased. “You must have practiced your needlework while staying with Aunt Penelope. Or do American girls not busy themselves with the like?”

“Oh, they learn the domestic arts as we do. And are often as captive to their homes as we are.”

“I thought you would find the politics and pace of life there most invigorating.”

“We’ve politics here to discuss.” While she missed the lively conversations around her aunt’s supper table, it had been Lil and Diana alone against the world for some time. She would never put an ocean between them again. “And I shall endure any social occasion to keep up appearances.”

She couldn’t have sworn to it, but thought she caught Lillian’s gaze flick over a small rip in her morning robe. Diana hadn’t Lil’s talent for assembling a smart outfit, nor did she manage a day without some stain or minor tear upsetting her best efforts to look respectable.

Such carelessness hindered her pursuit of a suitable husband. At least her mother would have said as much. Mother had said as much, not that Diana paid any mind.

Regardless, Mother’s primary hope was vested in Lillian, a classic beauty with dark hair, expressive brown eyes, a refined nose, and a slender neck.

In contrast, Diana’s eyes were too far apart and the area underneath them overly pronounced, making her look perpetually tired.

All in all, she paled before her sister’s exceptional good looks and statuesque form.

“How did you cope at Lady Talridge’s supper?” Lillian asked.

Diana gave a dramatic sigh. “Well enough, I thought. Though she seated me next to the insufferable Sir Reginald Addington.”

“Reginald Addington?” Lillian halted mid-stitch, eyes wide. “Nigel Halman’s uncle?”

“Nigel?” A knot of guilt twisted in Diana’s belly.Nigel Halman was Lillian’s former fiancé.“Sir Reginald asked after you but failed to mention such a connection.”

“Likely to distance himself from the disgrace.”

“A year has passed. Surely the scandal sheets have acquired a taste for fresher tittle-tattle.”

Her sister proceeded to hem the petticoat in her lap. But from the wordless movement of her lips, Diana knew something was wrong.

“Come now. I can handle whatever news you bear.”

“Promise not to be irritable over it.” Lillian spoke with the authority of her two years on Diana.

“When am I ever irritable?”

Lillian held an awkward smile.

“Very well,” Diana allowed. “I won’t get irritable.”

“Nor cross with me.”

“For heaven’s sake, Lil. What has upset you?”

Her sister lifted her bottom, looking over Diana’s shoulder to the arched entryway to ensure no overly eager maid or footman loitered. Satisfied they were alone, she nodded at the morning papers on a table near the door.

“I’m sorry, Di.”

Diana followed her sister’s gaze and spotted the same scandal sheet that had bedeviled her in the past. She strode over and tapped it.

“If men of letters are intent on reviewing the tired gossip of seasons’ past, they shall fail to retain their readership.”

Lillian shook her head. “Not that one. The Post .”

Her stomach roiled. The Prince Regent supported The Post . And all the hangers-on who emulated every aspect of His Royal Highness’s existence, down to the minutest detail, counted among its subscribers.

At present, however, only one gentleman’s attention concerned her. “Has Father seen it?”

“He is now in the habit of waiting until the evening to read the papers. So that he might leave the house as soon as possible.”

“Naturally,” Diana muttered. Fingers trembling, she withdrew the paper, sheets crumpled and still damp from the morning rain, before returning to her armchair.

“The editorials,” Lillian said.

She located it at once, a piece attributed to an author who provided only the initials B.D. Though the writer referenced the upcoming general election, he soon resorted to personal attacks, particularly about“a certain gentleman of the town” running a campaign for the Lower Chamber of Parliament.

Diana’s senses sharpened as if the words might spring to life and leap from the paper to attack her.

As though the circumstances surrounding his fiancée crying off weren’t enough to end his aspirations, this same fellow seeks office once more.

And what shall his prospective constituents say to one who kept the intimate company of his fiancée’s sister?

It seems concubines did not go out of style with the Roman Empire.

Furious, she crunched the paper between her hands. If her father hadn’t limited the fires in the hearths to only the earliest and coldest morning hours, she’d have the pleasure of watching the rag burn to a crisp.

Was the Prince Regent reading the piece at this very moment and laughing over it at his lavish apartments in Carlton House?

A sudden ridiculous notion that she could go around the city and purchase all the copies floated through Diana’s mind.

If she hadn’t been lazy and slept in, Diana would have seen the paper earlier.

Maybe she could have minimized the damage somewhat. But now it was too late.

Meanwhile, Lillian focused on her handiwork. “I confess I don’t understand how I ever imagined Nigel would make for a trustworthy husband.”

“Father believed the same.” As did I.

Nigel Halman had cut a fine figure at parties. Diana stood in rapt attention while he spoke of the latest arguments put before Parliament. Every so often, he paused and gave her a grateful smile.

For a time, she had thought a little too highly of Nigel Halman.

Diana had never uttered a word of her shameful feelings for Nigel aloud.

To do so would give them a power she refused to allow.

Guilt already scorched her heart, and she would never set her terrible secret free.

Lillian would hate her for it, and Lil was the only person left on this earth who loved her, their parents having long since given up on Diana.

Were it up to them, she would have been banished to Philadelphia forever.

“But why would an editorialist revisit this dreary tale?” Lillian said. “ The Post is hardly a scandal sheet.”

“Nigel is standing for office again. So rumors rear their ugly heads from the sand.”

Lil poked her needle into the petticoat with a ferocity she rarely displayed. “Mother miscalculated. You should have remained in London and kept your head high. The ton will not relent until you are married and …”

“You needn’t finish the thought.”

Until she was married and under the protection of a powerful gentleman.

Until she was attached to a family with the clout to end this nonsense once and for all.

For all that Diana loved her sister, she wished Lil could see past this tiresome matter.

How on earth could she wed for naught but convenience?

Not that it mattered. No family in London would allow one of their sons to marry her. She was sure of it. Nothing she did seemed to please the ton .

“I require fresh air to cleanse my thoughts.”

“In half-dress?”

Diana had forgotten about her robe. “I’ll change first, of course.”

“It looks as though it might rain again.”

“Did you not just say I should keep my head high? A brisk walk might lessen this blow.”

“You’ll need a companion. I’ll come with you.”

“I shan’t disrupt your work. Izzie can accompany me.”

Diana strode to the cloakroom adjacent to the parlor to fetch the practical wool pelisse she wore in inclement weather.

At least Isabel, their newest housemaid, was a boon companion.

Far more so than the sour goose Mother had sent with her on her voyage across the ocean.

Izzie’s lively chatter would serve as a welcome distraction.

“Stay in Bloomsbury,” Lil said, ever the eldest. “Mind that anyone who sees you would never guess anything is wrong. I daresay the gossip will die after the election. You have every right to be happy, Di.”

Diana fussed with the ribbons on the pelisse’s high collar. Even if she put on such a splendid show for others, how could she forget the humiliation prompted by her dishonorable behavior?

Deep in her heart, Diana knew she did not deserve happiness.