Richard did not expect Lord Brocket to give up so easily, and he wasn't wrong. It was only the next morning that Brocket called again. This time, he did not ask to see Laura, instead confining his attack to Richard. Despite Richard's best efforts to obscure his feelings, it wasn't long before Brocket managed to elicit a reluctant confession from Richard that if Laura wished to marry him, he would do so.

It wasn't even for honour alone. Not now. The past two months with Laura had convinced Richard of the one thing he'd been in denial of all his life: he was lonely. And where once the solution to loneliness had seemed love or nothing, Richard was now beginning to realize that something less than love might suffice. His feelings for Laura were a bittersweet cocktail of lust and compassion and fondness, garnished with a generous sprig of frustration, but they were feelings enough that, when she left his bed as she did every night, he would feel a twinge of disappointment, a shadow of the loneliness returning.

He tried to keep that hidden from Brocket. Perhaps he succeeded. As soon as Brocket realized it was Laura who was his foe, not Richard, he switched tack, arguing that, if Richard himself attempted to persuade her, Laura would submit to marriage. Here, Richard at least had the relief of being able to argue in accordance with his feelings: he believed nothing could persuade Laura.

They were still arguing, some hour after Brocket had first arrived, when the doorbell rang for a second time that morning, and a moment later Elizabeth came sailing into Richard's study like a man of war, fluttering three fingers at the butler and telling him not to bother announcing her.

Brocket stood up, though Richard didn't, and bowed.

"Oh," Elizabeth said, sliding her gaze over to Brocket. "Do stay, my lord. I came here to quibble with Richie about your daughter."

There was nothing Richard hated more than being called Richie. And Elizabeth knew it. She gave him a sweet smile.

"It's really a tragic situation. They must either marry or be removed from each other. It's only the proper thing."

"I agree," said Brocket. "And exactly why I'm here is to persuade your brother to marry her."

Elizabeth's eyelids flickered. "How shrewd of you."From her tone of voice, Richard could tell it was not the option Elizabeth favoured.

"What I've been saying," Brocket said, "is that Richard should hold a dinner party, a family affair, for me, and Laura, and you, and Farthingdale, and that between us we must persuade her to see reason."

It was not what Brocket had been saying. His dinner party had been for him, Richard, and Laura alone. And Richard had flatly refused to entertain the idea of it.

Elizabeth bit her forefinger. "Hmm. It might be a clever idea, my lord."

"Laura will not attend," Richard said.

"Then make her," Brocket and Elizabeth said simultaneously.

Richard raised an eyebrow. "What? Carry her downstairs and tie her to a chair? No. I think not."

Brocket pursed his lips. "Your powers of persuasion over her could surely manage that."

"I doubt it."

"And once that is done," Elizabeth added, "between us all I'm sure we can make her see reason. I don't remember her ever being a stupid girl."

"Yes," agreed Brocket. "You persuade her to come to dinner, and we'll do the rest. Tell me when it's done."

He got to his feet, bowed to Elizabeth, and took his leave. Elizabeth waited in silence until the front door shut before turning to Richard.

"You're not going to give that dinner, are you?"

"Why not?"

"Because I cannot come! With her reputation!"

"You're my sister," Richard said, shrugging. "If Duchess Roynor can unbend to me, you can."

"I have daughters," Elizabeth sniffed. "Think of them!"

"They're not invited."

"Well!" Elizabeth flung herself down in a chair. "I really am ashamed of you, Rich!"

"A great change."

"This is worse than usual! Taking a mistress under your own roof! Even Father had the sense to keep his affairs discreet!"

"Until Laura, I kept mine discreet too," Richard said blandly, and had the satisfaction of seeing a sudden deep flush stain Elizabeth's cheeks; she always had been over proper.

"And her sapphires?" Elizabeth's colour was still high. "God knows how often I've begged you to let me borrow the sapphire set, and you toss them at that harpy like they're bottle-glass. They were mother's."

"I'd let you wear them," Richard said, "but as I've told you before, those sapphires demand a delicate beauty."

Elizabeth shot him a dirty look. "Only a cripple would have the audacity to say that to a woman."

Richard shrugged. He knew that if he lost his cool with Elizabeth, he'd never regain it. But she seemed on the way to losing her cool with him, and if that happened, he would probably win out.

"It was indecent to let her wear them," Elizabeth grumbled. "If you had a wife—"

"And should I marry her then? Is Lord Brocket right about that?"

She stopped. "I've heard the rumours. Even when she was Maidstone's wife... She never was a good woman." Her tone took on a veneer of pleasantness. "You deserve a good woman."

"Do I?" Richard asked, raising an eyebrow. "And what I have I ever done to deserve that? I do believe last year you told me I was a selfish, mean, invalidish old nag. Have I changed so much meantime, by adding adultery to those charges?"

"Oh, you are my brother," she said, waving the charge away. "It's only natural I want better for you."

"Better than I deserve." Richard smiled.

Vexed, cornered, Elizabeth got up and went to the window to look out at the street below. The sunlight flat upon her face threw into sharp relief the peevish lines about her mouth and forehead. No cream, no powder, could conceal her bad temper.

It wasn't as though Richard disagreed with her or Brocket in essentials. He knew his arrangement with Laura could not last forever. If he were honest with Laura, he might tell her that the only reason he had agreed to it was to protect her from her self-destructive stubbornness, her impossible independence. But he wasn't honest with her. Did not tell her the sapphires she wore were real. Did not tell her he protected her. Did not tell her that he pitied her. Did not tell her the cost their illicit arrangement took upon his conscience — a cost all the greater for the yawning desire she aroused within him.

"You really ought to send her away," Elizabeth said simply. "Lord Brocket'll try and get you to marry her, of course, because that's in his best interest. But yours? Ours? Neil's marriage was bad enough. But he's the second son. You're eldest. You should do things... properly."

"Hmm." Richard had no intention to change the arrangement yet. Not while Laura was still so vulnerable. But he knew that, where he might be able to ignore Brocket's pressure, if Elizabeth chose to oppose him, she would grind him down until he acceded. "I'm going to throw that dinner party," he decided.

"What?" She turned to him, aghast.

"Yes. With every person involved, I think we can make a good effort at persuading Laura. Persuasion, mind, not force. And if you feel your reputation is at stake, send Farthingdale in your stead"

"Farthingdale would be useless," Elizabeth said contemptuously.

"Then come." Richard stood, took up his new cane, and stepped out from behind his desk. "Tuesday?"

"Duchess Roynor's ball is Tuesday."

"I guarantee you, her grace will not notice your absence."

Elizabeth glowered. "Just because you like being a wallflower—"

"Tuesday," Richard said, going to the window beside her. "And look, Laura's coming back from her walk, so you'd best leave, for the sake of your reputation."

Elizabeth did leave, but not quickly enough that Richard did not have some anxiety as he heard from the hall:

"Lady Farthingdale, good morning."

But it seemed Elizabeth was determined to cut Laura again, for there was no reply, and a moment later Laura's footsteps sounded on the stairs.

"Laura," Richard called, limping to the door. "Come here, please."

She came back down the last few steps. She was dressed in a modest blue walking gown, which really appeared more a mockery than a repair of her reputation. Richard bit back his sigh.

"Is something wrong?"

"Yes. I had to do something you won't like." He stepped back to allow her through and then shut the door after her.

"What is it?"

"Your father called again."

Her eyes narrowed. "And what did you do?"

"I invited him to dinner. This Tuesday. Along with my sister and her husband."

She scanned his face. Then, as if not finding the answer she was looking for, turned away and began to take off her gloves and shawl.

"I'm not coming to this dinner, Richard."

"I'd like you to, very much."

She sank down into the same chair Elizabeth had recently vacated and folded her hands in her lap. Richard saw anxiety more than composure in the action.

"Why?" she asked, her voice cold and firm.

"Because I want us to meet this together. It's our problem, Laura, not just mine."

"It's not theirs."

Richard shrugged a concession. "Maybe so. And how do we convince them of that?"

"I don't see that we need to convince them at all."

"I won't pretend not to be at home to my own sister if she calls, Laura."

Laura was silent, but her eyes spoke of mutiny and distrust.

"My sister is sure to take some of the edge off your father," Richard coaxed. "If we're lucky, they'll bully each other instead of us."

Still, Laura was silent.

"And no matter how many times I tell them I will not let you go and— and won't marry you unless you yourself wish it, it's only you who can make them believe it."

She let out a sudden short breath. "No. I can't, Richard. I won't see him."

Richard waited a moment, just in case she would change her mind, but she only looked half-pleadingly, half-warily up at him.

"Never mind," he said bitterly. "I can't uninvite them, but I will host alone."

"I—"

"Never mind, Laura."

She made yet another motion to argue, but stopped herself and got up and left. After she had gone, Richard wondered if she would ever consent to marrying him. And if maybe he ought not be grateful she wouldn't.