“They do that frequently,” Miss Fernsby-Webb said, rolling her eyes.
“I think it’s sweet,” Eveline said, bending and collecting the letter from the floor.
“Then you live with them after the wedding.”
Miss Webb detangled herself from the Duke of Roxburghe.
“That might not be a terrible idea. When Mr. Braddock returns home, he leaves Miss Braddock exposed to not only her angry fiancé but the person who wrote the letter, and a duke’s residence would most certainly provide protection.”
“Of course,” the Duke of Roxburghe said, his intense gaze landing on Eveline. “We’ll offer any assistance you need.”
He’d rescind his kindness when he discovered she’d stolen from his friends to pay for Miss Drummond’s silence. She’d have no other option but to leave Wiltshire and return to her brother’s home.
A deep frown creased Ernest’s forehead. “You don’t share the same opinion of my sister as your friend?”
The Duke of Roxburghe reached out, wrapping his hand around Miss Webb’s, and lifted her fingers to his mouth. “My dear Nora suffered from a similar unfortunate situation.”
“What happened to her fiancé?”
“His sister murdered him.”
“I won’t be as fortunate.” Releasing a shaky sigh, Eveline shifted her attention to Ernest. “I know who sent you the missive. Selina Drummond.”
“Humphrey’s sister?” Ernest’s jaw hit his chest. “How does she know you’re in Wiltshire?”
“She’s visiting her cousin, Miss Arabella Venning, for the season.” Eveline wadded the letter into a tight ball. “We met several nights ago when they attended the game night we hosted. I hoped she wouldn’t recognize me with my different hair color, but I didn’t fool her.”
And she’s extorting money from me.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Miss Webb asked, dragging the Duke of Roxburghe over and reclaiming her seat. “We would have?—”
“Asked her to leave?” Miss Fernsby-Webb interrupted. “That would have resulted in a larger scandal.”
“And questions,” Eveline added, rising and walking to the fireplace.
She dropped the crushed missive into the cracking fire, watching the flames lick over the paper. Ernest stood and moved beside her.
“Does Miss Drummond intend to inform her brother of your location?” he asked, his voice quiet.
The room fell silent, all the occupants holding their collective breaths as they waited for Eveline’s response.
“She hadn’t decided,” Eveline replied, widening her eyes in a futile attempt to communicate to her brother the nefarious terms of Miss Drummond’s silence.
“We’ll speak with her,” the Duke of Roxburghe said, gesturing toward Ernest.
“No!” Spinning around, Eveline took a step away from the fireplace. “That is, Miss Drummond is already aware that Ernest has arrived—or will be arriving shortly—and she expects a commotion.”
“What do you suggest?” Ernest asked, turning her toward him. “That we lie?”
“No more lies,” the Duke of Roxburghe said, squeezing Miss Webb’s hand, then releasing it. “We refer to Miss Braddock as Miss Braddock and act as though anyone who thought otherwise was mistaken.”
“That is devious,” Miss Fernsby-Webb chuckled, winking at the Duke of Roxburghe. “I love it!”
Miss Webb touched the Duke of Roxburghe’s arm. “Will you convince your friends to support the scheme?”
“All but Lennox.” The Duke of Roxburghe grimaced, averting his gaze from Eveline. “He may bow out for the remainder of the season.”
“I’m sorry,” Eveline whispered.
