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Aphrodite shook her head, the dark curls artfully framed around her heart-shaped face bouncing. “Why not? I should think that it would. That two people who so obviously harbor tender feelings for each other ought not to avoid the subject.”

“Even if he cares for me, nothing can come of our feelings,” she protested.

“Why not?”

“Because your brother is hardly inclined to marry a widow who is five-and-thirty,” she pointed out. “And I cannot afford to cause any scandals by engaging in an affair with him.”

Her words were blunt, but this was Aphrodite, her closest friend.

“I should think widows are beyond scandal,” Aphrodite said, clearly not affronted by Ophelia’s plain speaking. “That is why you wanted to play hostess for the Wicked Dukes Society house party, is it not? You finally had the opportunity to do as you wished.”

Ophelia hadn’t told her friend the true reason for her decision to hostess the house party at Kingham’s behest. She had been afraid that if Aphrodite had known the state of her finances, she would have insisted upon helping her in some way. And Ophelia’s pride was far too strong for that.

“I cannot do as I wish,” she said, emotion making her voice go thick. “Not until the children reach their majority and I no longer have the specter of Lord Timothy hanging about, threatening to take them from me should I cause the slightest hint of scandal.”

The terror that was never far—heightened now since Reggie had confided his concerns to her—made the knot of dread in her stomach tighten. Her greatest fear was losing her children. She needed them, and they needed her. Their uncle could never give them the love and protection they deserved.

“Why should he have any say in what you choose to do?” Aphrodite frowned. “If Lord Timothy disapproves, he can go hang.”

“I wish it were that simple,” Ophelia said, “but thanks to Corbett’s wishes, I am bound by Lord Timothy’s whims.”

“Do you mean to say Corbett assigned Lord Timothy as Catherine’s and Reggie’s guardian?” her friend asked, sounding shocked at the prospect.

Like her lack of funds, Ophelia had never revealed the full extent of her dependence upon her brother-in-law’s benevolence either. It was a complicated subject, fraught with hurt and unpleasant emotions. For the last year since her husband’s death, Ophelia had struggled with the knowledge that Corbett must have found her so lacking as a mother that he had made a special provision for his brother to look after Catherine and Reggie. Crying about it wouldn’t have changed her predicament, and she preferred to keep her conversation with her friend limited to lighthearted distractions.

“Yes,” she admitted. “Lord Timothy has agreed to allow the children to remain with me as long as he deems it in their best interest to do so. He has made it more than clear that I must conduct myself with grave care at all times.”

“Blessed angels, Ophelia. Why did you not tell me this until now?”

She sighed. “Because there is nothing I can do about it. I am bound by Corbett’s will and final wishes. What use is there in bemoaning what cannot be undone?”

“I am your friend,” Aphrodite protested. “Your oldest and dearest friend, I should hope. I want to know these things. Indeed, I insist that you tell me from now on.”

“I shall,” she promised. “But let’s do talk about something else.”

“Fine,” her friend allowed. “However, first, I have one more question for you. Given everything you’ve just told me, why would you take such a magnificent risk in playing hostess at a notorious house party and yet remain unwilling to pursue my brother when it is obvious you have feelings for him?”

Ophelia closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, then exhaled again before making her final admission. “It is because I was desperately in need of funds. Corbett did not just saddle me with a guardian for the children when he died. He also had amassed debts I struggled to pay, and with Lord Timothy controlling the funds, there is barely sufficient coin to put food on the table. When Kingham came to me with the proposition, he knew I needed the funds.”

Aphrodite made a rude noise. “How did he know when I did not?”

“Because he and Corbett traveled in the same circles,” she explained. “He knew Corbett was in over his head and that he had lost a great deal of money before he’d taken so suddenly ill. Kingham had offered me his assistance when Corbett died, but I refused. After he came to me with the house party notion, I had already spent months trying to keep the town house running. I feared what would become of us all, feared that Catherine wouldn’t have a dowry or a future. So, you see? I hadn’t a choice. It was either continue foisting us all upon the mercy of Lord Timothy, or try to do something to save us, despite the risk.”

“You could have come to me,” her friend argued. “You know I have funds of my own settled upon me. I would have been more than happy to help you.”

Ophelia shook her head. “I thank you, my dear, but I didn’t want to take charity. Besides, those funds are what you rely upon to remain unwed. I would never dream of jeopardizing your future to save my own.”

“It wouldn’t have been charity. We are friends. You are like a sister to me.” Aphrodite paused before continuing. “You must tell Apollo about all this. He can help you with funds or perhaps even speak with Lord Timothy on your behalf.”

“No,” Ophelia hastened to say, alarm flying through her at the notion. “Please, Aphrodite, you mustn’t say anything to him. I’ll not make my problems his. My pride simply won’t allow it.”

“But—”

“No,” she interrupted again firmly. “I insist that you not breathe a word of this to Prestwick. I have funds from the Wicked Dukes Society now, and I am managing Lord Timothy on my own.”

Or at least, she was trying. There remained the very worrisome fact that her brother-in-law was perhaps trying to harm her son so that he could inherit the title himself.

“Is that why you brought Catherine and Reggie along for today’s visit?” Aphrodite questioned shrewdly.