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Jules nodded. “Governesses are always in demand. You’ll find a new position for sure.”

Anna sighed. She could not bear thinking about it. “The question remains: what are you going to do, Jules?”

“Don’t worry about me, Anna. I’ll find something.” He thought for a moment. “Maybe I’ll go into business, even, invest in some trading company or other.”

Anna shook her head tiredly. She knew that her brother had no sense of business, and that speaking of investing (with what?) in such a venture was folly.

“At worst,” he said, his voice brightening, “I will just marry a rich heiress.” He grinned. Dimples appeared on his cheeks, black curls fell onto his forehead, and he looked so handsome and charming that Anna softened.

“Oh, Jules,” she sighed, walked over to him and embraced him.

“Tout ira bien, Anna. Je te le promets,” he murmured into her ear, as he rubbed her shoulder. Everything will be well. I promise. They stood embracing for a while until he gently released her.

Jules was ever the optimist. He never worried for long; that burden he cheerfully left to his sister. She watched him fondly as he bent to gather a stack of newspapers. He glanced at the most recent issue before tossing the pile carelessly on the table. “Until then…help me clean this hovel, will you?”

Anna scowled, picked up a wrinkled apple on the table and threw it at him.

Jules laughed and caught it.

His lodgings truly were in desperate need of a scrubbing. She reached for the pile of papers. The topmost was yesterday’s edition. Perhaps she ought to peruse the advertisements for employment. She turned the pages absent-mindedly, her thoughts drifting to St John, wondering what he was doing at this very hour. She turned yet another page, her eyes skimming the society columns, and then froze as the words Earl St John leaped from the print.

Surely her eyes deceived her. Surely that couldn’t be the man she was thinking about that very moment. Her St John. Surely, surely not.

Her eyes flew over the print: “The Duchess of Marlborough’s ball Tuesday last was a brilliant success with important guests such as the elusive Earl St John in attendance, seen in the company of the Duke of Rochford and his charming wife, the duchess, formerly Miss Hilversham.”

Anna uttered a strangled squeak that caused Jules to glance up in alarm.

“I say, are you quite all right, sis?”

She barely heard his voice. She read and re-read the passage until the letters began to blur and swim before her eyes. There was no doubt about it.

Her knees failing her, Anna sank into the nearest chair.

St John had met Miss Hilversham.

The real one.

He knew she was an impostor.

Chapter 18

He’d been completely and utterly wrong about hearts, Christopher concluded for the hundredth time. Everything he knew about that organ, everything he’d so diligently studied, everything he’d thought he understood; it was all for naught. Nothing he’d understood, nothing at all. How could he have been so arrogant as to think he understood that organ? Not only was it capable of breaking easier than glass, his had been smashed to smithereens, to a thousand, nay, a million pieces with but a few carelessly uttered words.

She was married.

This wonderful woman with the gentle smile and her beautiful eyes, she was never to be his.

Christopher was in a daze of despondency and despair, interrupted only by tormented thoughts that he had compromised her.

He’d kissed a married woman.

She was married to the Duke of Rochford, and she was the Duchess of Rochford. She was not his, never was, not for a moment. Could not be, would never be.

He’d fallen in love with her.

It was beyond his understanding.

Christopher groaned and buried his head in his hands. How could this have happened?