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financial resources are stretched. Due to the peculiarities of the Mad Earl, the estate sank into a decline from which it’s never fully recovered. In addition, the unentailed part of the estate’s assets was left to his daughter, my dear great-aunt Ida. Upon her death, it was to have come to the current earl—which would be me. But the old witch has tied it up with a condition. I will only get free access to it when I wed. If I must marry, I would rather it be to you.”
    Rachel swallowed against a bitter lump in her throat. “I see. I’m a slightly better option than debtor’s prison, am I? I recommend economy instead, my lord.”
    “Even marriage would be preferable.” He leant forward on the table. “Have some sense, you foolish woman, and take what is offered. Marry me.”
    Rachel made herself not quail backward. “I’m sorry, my lord, but I must decline your oh-so-flattering offer.”
    He hissed in a breath and she thought he would pounce on her, but then Mrs. Hatcher appeared in the doorway as if she’d been hovering. “Did you want something, miss?”
    With a muttered curse, the earl swept out of the room.
    Mrs. Hatcher came in and sugared Rachel’s tea. “You drink this up and put that young man out of your mind for the while.”
    “For the while?” echoed Rachel, clutching the cup. “Forever! I want nothing to do with such as he.”
    “Now, now. No need to be hasty. But he’ll do better for you in a while.”
    “When he reforms? Hah! That will be on Doomsday, or never!”
    Rachel downed the strong, sweet tea and promised herself that no matter what tricks the earl played, what maneuvers he attempted, she would marry no man just so that he could stay out of the Fleet!
    She turned her mind to another line of thought. “About the earl’s daughter . . .”
    “Yes, miss?”
    “Is it true that she’ll feel no shame at being his?”
    “Aye, true enough. Such things happen.”
    Rachel stared at the leaves in the bottom of her cup wishing she had the gift of reading them. “So if a girl were to behave improperly with the Earl of Morden, she wouldn’t be a cause of shame to her family?”
    Mrs. Hatcher’s glance was sharp and rather alarmed. Rachel realized with embarrassment that the woman thought she was speaking of herself.
    Before she could correct the impression, the housekeeper said, “Not in the farming families. For someone of higher station, it’d likely be different, wouldn’t it?”
    “Yes, I’m sure it would.”
    Rachel’s question had not referred to herself. When the housekeeper had returned to her kitchen, Rachel pondered the fact that Meggie Brewstock’s immoral behavior might not have been cause for anyone to kill her. True, it had happened a century ago, but had matters changed that much? 1668 was well after the end of the Puritan regime. Charles II had reigned, and wickedness had been rampant.
    She waited anxiously for her father to return home so that they could discuss the matter, but his first words drove it out of her mind.
    “The earl has invited himself to dine with us, Rachel. I met him in the village.”
    “No!” Rachel wailed.
    “My dear, why not?”
    “He was here earlier and offended me grievously.”
    “What did he do?”
    “He offered me marriage.” At her father’s raised brows she added, “He made it perfectly clear that the offer was only made because I’m the means to keep him out of the Fleet.”
    “Tut, tut. Foolish man. Peers cannot be imprisoned for debt. But I have agreed that he shall dine, and you must act the hostess with dignity. It is the only way to handle such matters.”
    The Reverend Proudfoot rarely directed Rachel’s behavior, but when he did it was wisest to obey. Rachel refused to dress in something fine, however. She greeted their unwelcome guest in the same workaday high-necked gown of blue-striped jaconet that she had worn all morning.
    He showed no trace of his earlier anger, and bowed with courtly elegance. “You look