that he would not submit to insults at a charity gathering. He turned away, leaving Lucian still standing with his foil at his side. That could have been the end of it. A wealthy trustee could survive an awkward question and resume his place at dinner. Helena knew she needed something more durable than a man's momentary embarrassment.
"Mr. Bell," she said quietly, "your father signed the statement. Did he ever speak to you about the night?" Lucian stared at her as though she had reached inside his coat and pulled out an old wound. "I was young," he said. "I remember very little." "Then remember this," Helena replied. "My father died believing there was someone who could tell the truth. I have not come to accuse you of his death. I have come to ask you not to help bury him a second time." His grip tightened on the foil. He returned it to the table without meeting her eyes.
The garden party did not recover its easy gaiety. People whispered beneath the tents and watched the terrace as though expecting another confrontation. Some were scandalized by Helena's defiance; others appeared to be revising judgments they had held for years. Lord Larchmere asked her to walk with him along a gravel path away from the spectators. Helena kept her reticule close. "If you mean to tell me that I ought to have conducted myself more discreetly," she began, "I can save you the trouble. I know." "I was going to ask why you never sent me the notebook," he said.
She stopped. "I did send you a letter." He admitted that he had answered it badly. When his father died, he had inherited not only the estate but a lifetime of arrangements whose origins he scarcely understood. Sir Edmund had assured him that the matter was closed, and the earl had allowed himself to believe it. "It was easier," he said, "than imagining that my father might have tolerated such a thing." Helena studied him, surprised by the absence of excuses. "My father had no such luxury," she said. "People with his name could not afford to forget."
Nathaniel asked to see the notice threatening Rosebank Cottage. As he read, a muscle moved in his jaw. "This claim should not have been issued without a review of the original accounts." "Then why was it?" Helena asked. The earl looked up. "Because I signed the authorization for unsettled properties last month. I was told yours was among them." For an instant she could only stare. She had imagined the earl as negligent, perhaps proud and uninterested, but she had not expected him to admit that his hand appeared on