He chuckled. “Am I being kicked out?”
“Let’s not say you’re being kicked out.” Wasn’t that what he’d told her at Roland? “Let’s just say you were departing, and I’ve delayed you.”
“Let’s just . . .” he murmured, and he sighed. “I’m going to start writing to you. We’ll correspond regularly.”
“I guess that would be all right.”
“And whenever I’m in town, we’ll get together.”
“That would probably be all right too.”
“If you’d like to visit me at Roland, you don’t have to contact me first. You can simply show up and tarry for as long as you like. I’ll always be glad to see you.”
“Thank you.”
“Would you call me Charles? I’d request that you call me Father as Penny does, but it would sound awkward.”
“You correct, so I will contemplate the notion of calling you Charles.”
He stepped into the doorway and gave her hand a final squeeze. “Come to Roland, Libby. Bring Fish with you. Make me happy.”
“I’ll think about it,” she said again.
He hovered, craving something more, something different, but she was practically pushing him out. When he’d initially learned that she might be Henrietta, he hadn’t known how to react. Now he was claiming her, and she didn’t know how to react.
Like father, like daughter . . .
The thought flitted in his mind, and he smiled and said, “I’ll be watching for you at Roland. Don’t disappoint me.”
Then he spun away and nearly skipped out to the street. He was that exultant. His carriage was parked around the corner, and he headed for it. At the last second, he glanced back, and she was dawdling on the stoop and studying him intently. He waved, and she waved too, which he took as a sign of progress.
He kept on, curious as to how long it would be before he saw her again. They’d found each other, so how could she bear for them to be apart?
“Was that Charles leaving?”
“Yes.”
Libby was in the foyer, and Fish was up on the stairs, dressed only in her robe. Libby snickered with disgust.
“An afternoon romp, Fish? Really? One would deem people your age to have more control over their lusty impulses.”
Fish shrugged. “I’ve never been able to resist him.”
“I wish you wouldn’t have carnal relations with my father. Or if you feel compelled to have them, that you wouldn’t perform them right under my nose.”
“You’re an adult, Libby, and you weren’t raised in the proper way. You won’t swoon over a bit of dissipation.”
Libby wasn’t in any position to lecture Fish on how she should behave. She’d simply like Lord Roland to stay away from them until she could figure out what she sought from the lofty man.
“He believes I’m Henrietta,” she said. After how she’d been treated at Roland, she hadn’t expected the moment to ever occur, and she was a tad stunned.
“I had him read the letters.”
“He’s asked us to travel to Roland. What do you think about that?”
“I think we should think about it. At least, I should think about it. As to you, you should go at once. Let him welcome you into the family. Become his daughter. It’s what you’ve always wanted—to belong somewhere.”
“I’d be too afraid.”
“You—afraid? Don’t be daft. You’re Libby Carstairs. You’re the Mystery Girl of the Caribbean, and you’ve never been afraid of anything.”
“I’m afraid of the water. I’m afraid of the dark and tight spaces.”
“Well, after your ordeal when you were little, that’s understandable, but you shouldn’t be scared of your father urging you to live with him.”
“What if it doesn’t turn out as I’m hoping?” Libby absurdly asked.
“Why wouldn’t it? The entire kingdom has always loved you and that was before they knew you were Henrietta. Charles Pendleton will eventually love you too. He’ll spend the rest of his life proving it, so you’re being ridiculous—as usual—and I need to continue with my nap.”
Fish spun away and stomped to her bedchamber.
Libby collapsed against the wall, and she stood there for an eternity, struggling to process Lord Roland’s comments.
“I have a father,” she said to the quiet room. “He wants me to come home.”
She smiled, wondering if she’d ever dare.
Luke was irked by what his butler, Mr. Hobbs, had just imparted. Apparently, Miss Fishburn was in his front parlor and anxious to speak with him. He was hurrying down the hall to oblige her, but with each step he took, he worried he was growing deranged.
Ever since he’d crossed paths with Libby Carstairs, he’d acted like an idiot, and he couldn’t imagine why Miss Fishburn had arrived. She must intend to tell him a detail about Libby that he shouldn’t hear. No doubt Fish planned to drag him back into Libby’s world, but he refused to be dragged into it!
He couldn’t abide the drama that had arisen since he’d met her. He simply yearned for matters to return to normal. He would marry the appropriate aristocratic debutante, settle down, and be happy. Or if not happy, then somewhat content. He couldn’t tolerate more of the insanity Libby stirred, yet here he was, keenly ready to be sucked into the whirlwind that surrounded her.
Fish was over by the window, staring outside, and drinking an alcoholic beverage, whiskey from the looks of it. He walked to the sideboard, poured himself a glass too, and went to stand next to her.
“Hello, Fish,” he said. “May I still call you Fish? Or are you too angry with me?”
“I’m not angry with you. Not much anyway, so Fish is fine.”
“Thank you. Aren’t you a city girl? What brings you to the country?”
“I’m headed to Roland—to stay with Charles.”
As a . . . what? he almost asked, but he had no idea how. So instead, he said, “I’m sure you’ll have an enjoyable visit.”
“Charles demanded I come.”
Her use of his Christian name was troubling, but then, Charles had alluded to their being romantically involved. Perhaps they were much closer than Luke had realized.
“Charles demanded it?” He tried to keep from sounding overly dubious.
“I debated forever over whether to oblige him, then I decided
