“Harry was right about something,” Poppy told Catherine as they walked through the gardens at the back of the hotel.

In contrast to the modern preference for the romantic appearance in gardening—unstructured, with beds of blossoms that appeared to have sprung up spontaneously, and paths laid out in meandering curves—the Rutledge gardens were orderly and grand. Disciplined hedges formed walls that guided one through a careful arrangement of fountains, statuary, parterres, and elaborate flower beds.

“It is definitely time,” Poppy continued, “for Harry to introduce you to people as his sister. And for you to be known by your real name. What is it, by the way?”

“Catherine Wigens.”

Poppy considered that. “I’m sure it’s only because I’ve always known you as Miss Marks … but I like Marks better.”

“So do I. Catherine Wigens was a frightened girl in difficult circumstances. I’ve been much happier as Catherine Marks.”

“Happier?” Poppy asked gently. “Or merely less frightened?”

Catherine smiled. “I’ve learned quite a lot about happiness over the past few years. I found peace at school, although I was too quiet and private to make friends there. It wasn’t until I came to work for the Hathaways that I saw the day-to-day interactions of people who love each other. And then in the past year, I’ve finally experienced moments of true joy. The feeling that at least for the moment, everything is as it should be, and there’s nothing else one could ask for.”

Poppy sent her a smiling glance. “Moments such as…?”

They entered the rose garden, filled with a profusion of blossoms, the air heavy with sun-warmed perfume.

“Evenings in the parlor, when the family was together and Win was reading. Going on walks with Beatrix. Or that rainy day in Hampshire when we all had a picnic on the veranda. Or—” She broke off, shaken by the realization of what she had been about to say.

“Or?” Poppy prompted, pausing to examine a large and resplendent rose, inhaling its scent. Her astute gaze darted to Catherine’s face.

It was difficult to express her most personal thoughts, but Catherine forced herself to admit the uncomfortable truth. “After Lord Ramsay hurt his shoulder at the old manor ruins … he was in bed with fever the next day … and I sat with him for hours. We talked while I did the mending, and I read Balzac to him.”

Poppy smiled. “Leo must have loved that. He adores French literature.”

“He told me about the time he spent in France. He said the French have a marvelous way of uncomplicating things.”

“Yes, he needed that very much. When Leo went to France with Win, he was a wreck of a man. You wouldn’t have known him. We didn’t know whom to fear for more, Win with her weak lungs, or Leo, who was bent on destroying himself.”

“But they came back well,” Catherine said.

“Yes, both of them were finally well. But different.”

“Because of France?”

“That, and also the struggles they’d been through. Win told me that one isn’t improved by being at the top of the mountain, one is improved by the climb.”

Catherine smiled as she thought of Win, whose patient fortitude had carried her through years of illness. “That sounds exactly like her,” she said. “Perceptive. And strong.”

“Leo is like that too,” Poppy said. “It’s only that he’s far more irreverent.”

“And cynical,” Catherine said.

“Yes, cynical … but also playful. Perhaps it’s an odd combination of qualities, but there’s my brother.”

Catherine’s smile lingered. There were so many images of Leo in her mind … patiently rescuing a hedgehog that had fallen into a fencepost hole … working on a set of plans for a new tenant house, his face severe with concentration … lying wounded on his bed, his eyes glazed with pain as he murmured, I’m too much for you to manage.

No, she had replied, you’re not.

“Catherine,” Poppy said hesitantly, “the fact that Leo came to London with you … I wonder if … that is, I hope … is there a betrothal in the making?”

“He has offered for me,” Catherine admitted, “but I—”

“Has he?” Poppy astonished her with an enthusiastic embrace. “Oh, it’s too good to be true! Please say you’ll accept him.”

“I’m afraid the situation isn’t that simple,” Catherine said ruefully, drawing back. “There is much to consider, Poppy.”

Poppy’s exuberance faded quickly, an anxious pucker appearing between her brows. “You don’t love him? But in time you will, I’m sure of it. There is so much about him worth—”

“It’s not a question of love,” Catherine said with a slight grimace.

“Marriage isn’t a question of love?”

“No, it is, of course, but I meant to say that love cannot overcome certain difficulties.”

“Then you do love him?” Poppy asked hopefully.

Catherine turned deep red. “There are many qualities I esteem in Lord Ramsay.”

“And he makes you happy, you said so.”

“Well, on that one day, I’ll admit—”

“‘A moment of true joy,’ was how you put it.”

“Heavens, Poppy, I feel as if I’m being interrogated.”

Poppy grinned. “I’m sorry, it’s just that I want this match so very much. For Leo’s sake, and yours, and for the family.”

Harry’s dry voice came from behind them. “It appears we’re at cross-purposes, my love.” The women turned as he approached them. Harry regarded his wife warmly, but there was an air of preoccupation about him. “The tea and sandwiches are waiting,” he said. “And the brawl is over. Shall we go back to the apartments?”

“Who won the brawl?” Poppy asked impishly.

That earned one of Harry’s rare grins. “A conversation broke out in the middle of the fight. Which was undoubtedly a good thing, as it turned out that neither of us knows how to fight like a gentleman.”

“You fence,” Poppy pointed out. “That’s a very gentlemanly way to fight.”

“Fencing isn’t really fighting. It’s more like chess with the risk of puncture wounds.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t hurt each other,” Poppy said cheerfully, “since there’s a distinct possibility that you may soon be brothers-in-law.”

“We’re already brothers-in-law.”

“Brothers-in-law squared, then.” Poppy slipped her arm through his.

Harry glanced at Catherine as they began to walk. “You haven’t decided yet, have you? About marrying Ramsay?”

“Certainly not,” she said quietly, keeping pace with them. “My head’s in a whirl. I need time to think.”

“Harry,” Poppy said, “when you say that we’re at cross-purposes, I hope you don’t mean that you’re against the idea of Leo and Catherine marrying.”

“For the time being,” he said, seeming to choose his words carefully, “I believe caution is in order.”

“But don’t you want Catherine to become part of my family?” Poppy asked, bewildered. “She would have the protection of the Hathaways, and she would be close to your influence.”

“Yes, I would like that very much. Except that it would necessitate Cat’s marrying Ramsay, and I’m not at all convinced that would be best for her.”

“I thought you liked Leo,” Poppy protested.

“I do. If there’s a man in London with more charm or wit, I have yet to meet him.”

“Then how could you have any objections?”

“Because his past doesn’t recommend itself as that of a reliable husband. Cat has been betrayed many times in her life.” His tone was sober and grim. He looked at Catherine. “And I’m one of the people who failed you. I don’t want you to suffer that way again.”

“Harry,” Catherine said earnestly, “you’re far too severe on yourself.”

“Now isn’t the time to pour sweetener on unpleasant truths,” he returned. “If I could change the past, I would go back and do so without hesitation. But all I can do is try to make amends, and do better in the future. And I would say the same of Ramsay.”

“Everyone deserves a second chance,” Catherine said.

“Agreed. And I’d like to believe that he’s turned over a new leaf. But it remains to be seen.”

“You’re afraid he’ll fall back into bad habits,” Catherine said.

“He wouldn’t be the first. However, Ramsay is nearing the age at which a man’s character is more or less fixed. If he continues to avoid his former libertine practices, I think he’ll make a fine husband. But until he manages to prove himself, I’m not willing to risk your future as the wife of a man who may prove incapable of keeping his vows.”

“He would keep his vows,” Poppy insisted.

“How do you know that?”

“Because he’s a Hathaway.”

Harry smiled down at her. “He is fortunate to have you defend him, sweet. And I hope you’re right.” His gaze flickered to Catherine’s troubled face. “Am I wrong in suspecting that you have the same doubts, Cat?”

“I find it difficult to trust any man,” she admitted.

The three of them were quiet as they continued along a neatly edged path.

“Catherine,” Poppy ventured, “may I ask something exceptionally personal?”

Cat sent her a mock-worried look, and smiled. “I can’t imagine anything more personal than what we’ve been discussing. Yes, of course.”

“Has my brother told you that he loves you?”

Catherine hesitated for a long moment. “No,” she said, her gaze fixed on the path before them. “In fact, I recently overheard him telling Win that he would only marry a woman if he were certain not to love her.” She darted a glance at Harry, who thankfully forbore comment.

Poppy frowned. “He may not have meant it. Leo often jokes about things and says the opposite of how he really feels. One never knows with him.”

“Precisely my point,” Harry said in a neutral tone. “One never knows with Ramsay.”

After Catherine had eaten a plate of sandwiches with an impetus born of a renewed appetite, she went to a private suite that Harry had obtained for her.

“Later, after you’ve rested,” Poppy told her, “I’ll send a housemaid down with some of my clothes. They’ll be a bit loose for you, but they can be altered easily.”

“Oh, there’s no need for that,” Catherine protested. “I’ll send for the things I left in Hampshire.”

“You’ll need something to wear in the meantime. And I have scores of gowns that have never been worn. Harry is ridiculously excessive when it comes to buying things for me. Besides, there’s no need for all your stodgy spinster dresses now. I’ve always longed to see you in beautiful colors … pink, or jade green…” She smiled at Catherine’s expression. “You’ll be like the proverbial butterfly emerging from the cocoon.”

Catherine tried to respond with humor, although her nerves were strung tight with anxiety. “I was really quite comfortable as a caterpillar.”

Poppy went to find Harry in his curiosities room, where he often went to mull over a problem or work on something in a place where he was certain not to be interrupted. Only Poppy was allowed to come and go as she pleased.

The room was lined with shelves of exotic and interesting objects, gifts from foreign visitors, clocks and figurines and odd things he had collected in his travels.

Harry sat at his desk in his shirtsleeves, fiddling with gears and springs and bits of wire, as he did whenever he was deep in thought. Poppy approached him, feeling a little pang of pleasure as she watched the movements of those hands, thinking of how they played on her body.

Harry looked up as she closed the door, his gaze attentive and thoughtful. He discarded the handful of metallic objects. Turning in his chair, he took her by the waist and pulled her between his spread thighs.

Poppy let her hands slide into his shiny dark hair, brown-black silk that curled slightly over her fingers. “Am I distracting you?” she asked as she leaned down to kiss him.

“Yes,” he said against her mouth. “Don’t stop.”

Her chuckle dissolved between their lips, like sugar melting in hot tea. Lifting her head, Poppy tried to remember what she had come there for. “Mmmn, don’t,” she said as his mouth went to her throat. “I can’t think when you do that. I was going to ask you something…”

“The answer is yes.”

Drawing back, she grinned and looked down at him, her arms still linked around his neck. “What do you really think about this situation with Catherine and Leo?”

“I’m not sure.” He toyed with the front of her bodice, running his fingers along the row of decorative buttons.

“Harry, do not pull at those,” she warned, “they’re decorative.”

“What good are buttons that don’t do anything?” he asked, looking puzzled.

“It’s the fashion.”

“How am I to get this dress off you?” Intrigued, Harry began to search for hidden fastenings.

Poppy touched her nose to his. “It’s a mystery,” she whispered. “I’ll let you find out after you tell me what you intend to do about Catherine.”

“Scandal burns itself out far sooner when ignored. Any attempt to smother it only fans the flames. I’m going to introduce Cat as my sister, explain that she went to school at Blue Maid’s, and subsequently took a position with the Hathaways as a kindness to you and your sister.”

“And what about all the uncomfortable questions?” Poppy asked. “How shall we answer?”

“In the manner of politicians. Willfully misinterpret and evade.”

She considered that with thoughtfully pursed lips. “I suppose that’s the only choice,” she said. “But what of Leo’s proposal?”

“You think she should accept him?”

Poppy nodded decisively. “I don’t see what is to be gained by waiting. One never knows what kind of husband a man will be until one marries him. And then it’s too late.”

“Poor little wife,” Harry murmured, patting her rump over the gathered folds of her skirts. “It’s far too late for you, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes, I’ve resigned myself to a lifetime of having to endure your passionate lovemaking and witty conversation.” She heaved a sigh. “It’s better than being a spinster, I tell myself.”

Harry stood and pulled her up against him, kissing her until she was dizzy and pink-cheeked.

“Harry,” she persisted, as he nuzzled beneath her ear, “when will you give your blessing to the match between Catherine and my brother?”

“When she tells me that it doesn’t matter what I say, she’s going to marry him come hell or high water.” Lifting his head, he stared deeply into her eyes. “Let’s go to the apartment and take a nap.”

“I’m not sleepy,” she whispered, and he grinned.

“Neither am I.” Taking her hand, he drew her out of the room. “Now about those buttons…”