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Charles cleared his throat. “Fortunately, they do not seem to be aware of the, er… history of the attachment.”

“But West did not even ask me first! Surely that cannot be…” She trailed off. She wanted to say “legal,” but of course that was ridiculous.

“He did the only thing that a gentleman could do.” Charles glanced at the window and sighed. “What a cold snap we are having. I shall not be surprised if it snows again.”

When Lady Theodosia had sent Charles a note asking him to come for an emergency family meeting, Pomona had been confident that her brother would agree that they could find some way out of this. But so far, he seemed to be missing the point. “But surely you see how ridiculous all of this is! First I was told that I could not marry West. And now I am told that I must. What am I to think? The only constant is that what I want does not matter!”

“I do not deny that there is a certain absurdity to it.” Charles stretched his hands toward the fire to warm them. “Still. It may be for the best.”

Had he gone mad? Had everyone gone mad? “West left me! He does not love me. How can you wish me to marry a man who does not love me?”

“Because it is the only way to preserve your reputation. Ah. Is that ginger cake I see?” Charles was eyeing the breakfast table. “And it is hardly an ineligible situation. After all, he is a duke now.”

“Do you not remember what he did? The moment that there was the slightest difficulty with our parents, he vanished! He left me!”

Charles sighed again. “I did warn father that if he reversed himself and forbade the marriage, he would cause nothing but misery.”

“West did not suffer misery. West went to Paris.”

“Yes. And I have sometimes wondered what father could have said to him to make him do so.”

Pomona frowned. “Did you ask him?”

“Father? No. He had already left for Epsom.”

Only a few days later, while celebrating after the races, Lord Alford had collapsed. His frightened young mistress had fled their hotel, leaving the fifth viscount to die as he’d lived: drunk, in debt, and nowhere near his family. But by then Pomona was already on a ship bound for Ostend—sent away in disgrace to live with her Great Aunt Theodosia, who she’d never met, in Bavaria. Word of her father’s death hadn’t reached her for over a month.

“Well, I do not see what difference it makes. West changed his mind. And he will change it again. And if I marry him, I shall be miserable.”

“Do have some tea and something to eat, dear.” Lady Theodosia’s expression was worried. “You will feel much better.”

“I do not see why we cannot simply pretend that it did not happen. It worked before, and it can work again.” Pomona turned to Charles. “Lady Theodosia and plan to travel to Venice. Well, we need not alter those plans at all! And once I am out of the country, the talk will die down. It is the perfect solution!”

Lady Theodosia and Charles exchanged another look. “‘Fraid not, Pom.” Charles sat down and helped himself to some ginger cake. “What happened last night was far too public.”

Part of her knew that he was right. The fire in Lady Beaufort’s library was a tale that was likely to grow in the telling. And now that the long-buried story of her elopement had leaked out, Townley would be eager to spread it to anyone who would listen. The only way they wouldn't listen would be... if Pomona and West were already married, and there was an account of what she'd worn in Ackermann's Repository, so that people could talk of her satin, lace, and pearls instead.

Lady Theodosia was frowning. “I do wonder why Townley seems to have made such a career out of persecuting Pomona. It is not normal for a gentleman to scapegoat a lady so.”

“He hates me.”

“Or he thought that marrying a viscount’s sister would advance his social position and therefore his chances of being appointed to the Cabinet.” Charles swallowed some ginger cake. “Indeed, I wonder whether he had hoped to compromise you himself. Some men have been known to stoop to such stratagems.”

The recollection of Townley’s sing-song, wheedling voice alternating with his threats made Pomona’s skin crawl.

“At any rate, he needs a da—…” He broke off, glancing at Lady Theodosia. “He, er, needs a thrashing.”

“You cannot fight him." Why did Charles think that fighting was the answer to everything? "Celia is expecting.”

He shrugged. “I make no promises. However, we are left with the fact that putting a stop to any further talk—from Townley or anyone else—must be our first consideration.”

“Our first consideration? No! Our first consideration must be that I do not wish to marry West! And I will not!”

There was a knock on the morning room door. The footman opened it. “His grace the Duke of March.”

All three of them rose. Pomona was too horrified to speak. Had he heard what she’d just said? And… why had she not made some effort with her hair this morning?

West entered the room, inclined his head crisply, and strode forward with his hand extended. Charles bowed. They shook hands. Charles cleared his throat. “It, er… is good to see you again, West.”