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“There is no need to look so stricken about it,” Rowland said, delighted, clearly sensing he had found a topic that would entertain him for the rest of the morning. “Unless you have decided you mean to remain unmarried forever, in which case I ought to prepare myself for a lifetime of your company at this table.”

“Don’t be silly. I am simply not in any great hurry.” Anna shrugged, trying to sound casual.

“Not in any great hurry,” her brother echoed. “Anna, you have refused no fewer than four perfectly respectable offers this past year alone. Lord Pemberton is a decent sort of man–”

“Lord Pemberton laughs like a startled goose,” she snorted. “It was quite distracting.”

Rowland clearly put a lot of effort into keeping himself from laughing, if the violent twitch of his lips was any indication. “Mr. Ashworth, then–”

“Mr. Ashworth once spent forty minutes describing the breeding habits of his different dogs and hounds. Forty minutes, Rowland. I counted,” Anna shivered, still recalling how horrified and exhausted she felt after that particular gentleman caller.

“You are impossibly particular.”

“I am appropriately particular,” Anna corrected primly, raising her cup up in mock cheers. “There is a difference. And might I remind you that you, dear brother, have not so much as courted a single lady in the past two years. At least I make the attempt.”

Rowland avoided her gaze with a strangled cough. “I have been occupied with the estate.”

“Of course. I am sure you are.”

Rowland's ears went faintly pink, which was answer enough, and Anna smiled into her teacup, satisfied to have redirected the conversation away from herself, at least for the moment.

She might be picky, but it was due to the fact that she could not afford to make another mistake concerning her future. Previously, she had chosen a man she believed loved her, without really knowing him. And she allowed herself to be blinded by the glamour of his affection and attention, failing to see them all for the lies they were.

Now, she was being cautious and careful, listening not for the things they say but rather the things they don’t.

“I wonder when the days of being lectured over breakfast will come to an end. Likely not any time soon, given your determination to chase away every potential suitor,” Rowland grumbled.

“You adore being lectured over breakfast. It is the highlight of your day,” she grinned, batting her lashes innocently.

“It really is not.”

“It is, and we both know it, so let us not pretend otherwise.” Anna took a satisfied bite of her toast, watching her brother's expression dance between exasperation and reluctant fondness, an expression she had seen cross his face a thousand times before and had come, over the years, to treasure rather more than she would ever admit aloud.

While she was still congratulating herself on her small victory, the morning papers arrived and were set down beside Rowland’s plate by the butler. Her brother thanked him as he reached for the topmost one in the pile.

Anna tried to continue her breakfast, but when she raised her toast to her lips to finish up the last bite, she glanced up in time to see the expression on her brother’s face change. Before she could ask what was wrong, his gaze snapped to find her.

“Anna.” His voice had lost all its teasing warmth, replaced with concern and fury. “What is this?”

“What is –”

He turned the paper toward her before she finished her sentence, and her stomach dropped as she saw the headline.

A YOUNG LADY WAS SPOTTED ON WILSON STREET, AFTER DISEMBARKING FROM THE DUKE OF WOLVESLEY'S CARRIAGE AT A LATE HOUR. WAS A SECRET RENDEZVOUZ IN THE WORKS? PERHAPS A PASSIONATE TRYST THAT MIGHT WARRANT A MOONLIT MEETING?

The sheet went on to describe a lady who was rumored briefly to have been engaged to a man who left with another woman, stating that it seemed she had developed a more refined taste, seeing as her tastes in men seemed to have improved.

Although she had not been named outright, it wouldn’t take long for people to start gossiping and asking questions that would inevitably lead to her.

Then Phoebe’s sacrifice and her husband’s efforts – which thankfully ended well for them both – would have been for naught.

“I spent last night assuming you were at Edith's, as you often are when it grows late. I did not think anything of it until you were sitting here this morning, although I thought that perhaps you left early to have breakfast with me,” Rowland said after she failed to respond.

“Rowland –” she began, before he cut her off.

“Were you at Edith's?”

“I was, truly. She did send for me and for a time, we talked about her concerns. T-then I left to walk home, and then–” Anna faltered, searching for the words that would make what happened next sound less absurd than it truly was. “Then I was taken. By the Duke of Wolvesley's men. He believed me to be Edith, and he wished to speak with her about – about a private matter concerning his brother, and by the time he realized his error –”