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“Y ou want to remain another week at the townhouse?” Araminta, the new Countess of Aylsham, rested her hands on her swollen stomach and subjected her younger sister to a knowing stare. “I can’t allow that. You know Roland is here most of the time, and it would be most improper.”

Belinda resisted the urge to sniff. How hypocritical of Minty to speak of impropriety! But there was no point in engaging in battle, or she’d never get what she wanted.

“Oh, no. How could you possibly think anything like that? We are like brother and sister. Anyway, I wasn’t planning on staying here alone.

I intend to be chaperoned by Caroline. I know she’s only twenty-two—a little young to be a chaperone—but her character is exemplary.

” She crossed her fingers, her hand hidden in the skirts of her gown.

Miss Caroline Brent was going to be her chaperone, only the lady didn’t know it yet.

They’d become great friends when Belinda had been helping her at the Lady Aylsham Foundling Hospital.

When the establishment had moved out to Forty Court, Miss Brent had stayed in London with her parents and remained in touch with Belinda, joining her for tea whenever the Aylshams were at their townhouse.

She’d agree, surely? Spending a few days in each other’s company would be delightful, although what Caroline would find to do while Belinda was occupied in the kitchens at the Lyon’s Den, she wasn’t sure.

She’d be sure to pay Caroline back, once everything was settled.

Araminta raised an eyebrow. “Why would you want to stay behind when I’m returning to Forty Court? Won’t you be terribly dull? Aren’t you missing the orphans? Besides—what if my time comes and I need you?”

“You can send for me. But you don’t need me, sister. I’m no use to anyone, as you know. I’m scatterbrained, useless in company, and lacking creative or organizational skills. The only thing I do well is make soups and stews, and you have a kitchen full of staff to do that for you.”

“My darling girl, how can you say that? You’re capable of many things, or you will be when you have the opportunity.

You’ve been through a difficult time—we both have—but those days are over and we can now look forward to a sunnier future.

I have no doubt that as soon as you turn your hand to anything—in addition to looking after small children and making broth—you’ll become expert in no time.

You don’t lack wit. When you had your, um, difficulties, you were so very young and inexperienced.

Thanks to the excesses of my late husband, I was unable to take care of you as I should, for which I still feel guilty. ”

“But I’m improving, am I not?”

“Yes, indeed you are! Unless you’re hiding things from me, I’m not aware of you getting hysterical or having an attack of nerves for months. You really are feeling better, aren’t you, dearest?”

“Of course, I am. Leo and Roland are splendid gentlemen and a delight to have as family. Having the security of a roof over our heads is invaluable, and as you know, I love working with the children at the orphanage.”

“Then return to Forty Court with me.”

Curse Minty—she’d talked to her into a corner!

Belinda tried to look coy. “There’s something I wish to do while I’m here and you’re not.”

Her sister would burst like a bubble on a pin if she knew what it was Belinda was actually going to be doing.

Or rather, where she was going to be doing it.

But she hoped, by pressing her lips together and fluttering her eyelashes, she could convey the idea that she was planning a pleasant surprise.

The new baby would need clothes: knitted shawls, an embroidered christening gown, night clothes and so on.

Belinda’s sewing was not the best, but Miss Caroline Brent was known to be an excellent seamstress.

Let Minty think the plan was to hole up with Caroline to produce a wonderful wardrobe for the new baby.

The bait was taken. Araminta stood, pushed her hands into the small of her back, and made a slow circuit of the room.

“I suppose I can spare you for a week or so. But make sure Roland conveys you personally to Forty Court when you’re ready.

I don’t want you gallivanting around the countryside in stagecoaches or traveling post. I know it’s only a short journey, but we’re all very respectable now, and must keep up appearances. ”

Irksome, but true. Belinda had so narrowly avoided scandal already in her young life that she knew all about respectability and Keeping Up Appearances.

There was always a chance that somebody would uncover the murky secrets of her past, but if they did, and taxed her with them, she would brazen it out.

Gossip was cruel and damaging; reputations were both lost and won far too easily, and Society was hypocritical and unfair.

Men, it seemed, could get away with anything. Women, however, could not.

“Belinda. Forgive me—I didn’t mean to remind you. Changing the subject, I have a question for you. Do you know why Roland has been lurking around the house with a face like a slapped haddock? He’s more likely to confess his problems to you than he is to either myself or Leo.”

Had Roland not told them of his expulsion from his favorite gambling hell, the Lyon’s Den? Then it wasn’t her place to reveal his secret when he’d been so good at keeping hers.

“I’m not sure. Perhaps he’s lost at the gaming tables. Or maybe he’s been unlucky in love?”

Araminta paused by the drawing room window and glanced onto the street below. “Here he comes now. We can ask him directly.”

Belinda’s heart pounded in her chest. She hadn’t told Roland of her latest plan yet, and he didn’t know about her arrangement with Mrs. Dove-Lyon. If she wasn’t careful, everything could be ruined before it even began. She bit her lip.

She heard a cane being slapped down on a table, followed by the slow tread of footsteps on the stairs. When Roland entered the room, he bowed to both ladies, flung himself into a chair, and started fidgeting with his pocket watch.

“Good afternoon, Roland. Shall I call for tea?” Araminta tugged on the bell pull.

“I suppose it’s about time.” He ran a hand through his unruly locks and huffed out a sigh.

Belinda’s panic gave way to guilt, so she sat beside him and took his hand. While Araminta was distracted by the maid’s arrival, she whispered, “Don’t say anything of any importance—be led by me. I have a scheme to have you reinstated at the Lyon’s Den.”

His expression of surprise was followed by a disarming grin. “Good girl,” he whispered back, patting her hand. By the time tea arrived and was served, his usual good humor was restored.

Araminta regarded him over the rim of her teacup. “Are you feeling well, my dear? I was afraid you’d been under the weather.”

Roland shot Belinda a sideways glance. She nodded, praying Araminta wouldn’t notice.

“I have a little, but this tea is reviving me wonderfully.” He paused, gazed round the room, then added, “I was a little gloomy knowing that you’re all leaving for Forty Court.”

“I’d have thought a young man like yourself would have enjoyed being out from under his older brother’s thumb. But no—your freedom will be curtailed anyway, as you’ll be joining the redoubtable Miss Brent in the task of escorting Belinda about town.”

Belinda managed a swift kick at Roland’s ankle. He hid his gasp behind a napkin.

“Yes. Of course. Well, there is that. She’ll keep me busy, no doubt.” Belinda kicked him again, to make sure he said nothing further. Fortunately, he appeared to understand and busied himself with his ratafia cake.

Struggling to navigate dangerous waters, Belinda asked, “I presume you still have some friends in town who can keep you entertained. I mean, us. And there’s always the opera. Or the theater.”

“Of course! “Araminta clapped her hands. “I haven’t taken you to the theater nearly enough since I started increasing. If Roland can escort you, you must take in a performance before you return to Forty Court. I understand The Old Forum is an excellent venue for both operas and plays—I’ve heard that they’ll be putting on A Midsummer Night’s Dream in the next couple of months.

They sometimes have ballet, too, although I’ve never really understood ballet. ”

Roland’s chin went up. “The Old Forum? Piers Darvill’s place? Oh—I don’t think we should go there. There are other far jollier venues I can take your sister to.”

“Why not the Forum? It looks splendid on the outside. I’d love to see what it’s like inside.”

Roland shot Belinda a warning look, which she failed to understand.

“Don’t be fooled by outward appearances. Anyway, I have no desire to put any money into the pockets of the top-lofty Piers Darvill.”

Araminta helped herself to another cake. “I’ve never heard you call anyone that before, Roland. You’re normally so accepting of people. Has this Mr. Darvill done you some disservice? Has he beaten you too often at the gaming tables?”

Belinda saw a dark flush steal across Roland’s cheeks.

“I don’t think him the sort of person with whom one should associate.

I particularly wouldn’t want to take an impressionable and stunningly beautiful young woman like Belinda to a place where one was likely to meet him.

He frequents the Lyon’s Den, is an absolute stickler for the rules, and no fun at all.

I’ve also heard that he has French origins, and is therefore not to be trusted.

And he’s never seen at the theater without some fancy piece displayed on one arm—sometimes on both. ”

Araminta’s eyes twinkled. “If I didn’t know better, Roland, I’d say you were jealous of the fellow. What do you think, Belinda?”

Her heart was thundering again, and she could feel a rosy flush spreading over her face and onto her chest. She hoped her sister would put this down to the fact that Roland had just referred to her as ‘beautiful,’ and not to the fact that she’d just realized to whom Roland was referring.

This Piers Darvill, owner of the Old Forum Theater, must be the card-playing Lyon who’d unmasked her and landed her in Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s pocket.

This was the only reason she could think of for Roland’s vehemence.

Suddenly, it was all too much. The traumatic turn her life had taken, the falsehoods with which she was bamboozling her sister, and the risk in which she’d involved Roland—to his detriment—were overwhelming.

The old stir of panic snaked through her veins and she knew if she didn’t leave now, she’d be shamed in front of everyone.

Her cup rattled against its saucer as she shot up from her chair and headed for the door.

“Apologies, but I’m afraid I’ve a megrim coming on and must seek my bed. Immediately.”

Without waiting for any response, she fled the room.