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find out your mistake, your betrothed nearly calls me a doxy. And now you say you are not in the habit of conversing with courtesans—” She gasped again and went off into another wail of laughter. “All this because of one little ‘habit.’“
    Linnea put a hand to her mouth to suppress another hysterical giggle and finally managed to sober herself. “Oh, my, I never thought a virtuous habit could ever have such disastrous results, did you?”
    She saw affront and then a reluctant grin on Rothwick’s face. Linnea laid a hand on his sleeve. “You must not think, my lord, that I was laughing at you. I think—I think, if I didn’t laugh at all this, I most surely would cry, and I couldn’t do that, you see,” she said simply.
    Rothwick did see, and a spark of admiration for her flared in him. There were not many women who would have stood the rigors of what she had just gone through without succumbing to hysterics or the vapours, or at least casting a few sorrowful looks at him. But she was not one of those; indeed, he was not sure what sort of woman she really was. A superior sort, at least, perhaps.
    “You are a most admirable lady, Miss Ashley,” he said, raising her hand to his lips. The kiss was brief, but she blushed.
    “Fustian, my lord!” she replied. “It is only that I have few sensibilities.”
    “Who told you that?”
    “My cousin, Lady Boothe, for one. My father never said it in so many words, but he often praised me for my practicality.” She smiled wryly.
    “A worthy virtue,” said the earl.
    “Mmm, yes, but hardly romantic,” said Linnea, and waved a dismissing hand. “I am resigned to it. Certainly it is a more comfortable attribute than excessive sensibility.”
    “Most certainly!” Rothwick grinned. Then, sobering, he said: “I have talked with Miss Amberley’s brother. We have agreed that his sister’s and my betrothal should end.”
    “But, my lord, surely that is not necessary!”
    “It is most necessary. I hope to brush through this thing with as little scandal as possible. He hopes to convince her to break off the betrothal because I am not worthy of her.” He grimaced. That news should not be difficult to spread. It was already being bruited about by the servants, he was sure. It was awkward, damned awkward, and an annoyance. He had had his marriage and life with Miss Amberley fairly well planned out in his mind. Now it seemed he would have another bride. With any luck, his life would not change much. He continued. “If he is successful, I plan to retire to the country to, ah, nurse a broken heart and repent the consequences of my vices. Meanwhile, you will be staying with my sister, Lydia, where we ostensibly meet for the first time. After a suitable period, we will marry.”
    “And have I no say in what is to happen to me?” Linnea said quietly. Rothwick looked at her set face and felt perhaps she might have a point.
    “I am sorry, but what else can we do? I have no doubt Sophia herself is thinking of the proper wording to end our formal betrothal even now.” Or so I hope, thought the earl.
    * * * *
    Indeed, Sophia was in a state of indecision: Should she make Rothwick come up to scratch after all? Or should she be the first to meet with her father and tell him what a horribly debauched man William was and that she wanted to break off their engagement? She knew Rothwick would only send a letter to her father requesting a meeting with him: her fiancé was enough of a gentleman to delay any explanations until her father arrived, at least. She ruminated on the vision of herself grandly rejecting an earl. How easy it would be to set it about that he had dealings in... Well, nothing of which a lady could speak.
    Or perhaps she could make Rothwick drop that horrid woman and continue the betrothal. She paced her chamber in a tight line. How dare that hussy steal her prize from her! And yet what did she care? She knew she could have a duke if she wanted one. Indeed, she