The newlyweds were still in France, and finally, blissfully, enjoying their honeymoon, when Lord Landon, Richard Armiger, oldest son of the Earl of Albroke, learned his younger brother had remarried.

He did not seek out the knowledge. He did not know it was there to seek out. As far as Richard knew, Neil was still in Italy, playing the part of the prodigal son. So the knowledge had to come to him, and it came in the form of lace, and silk, and scent, and smiles, one sunny April morning.

He was reading a book in the library when his butler entered and announced the visitor.

"Mrs Walthrope to see you."

He put the book flat on its face on his desk, and looked at the butler over the rims of his ugly little round reading glasses. The butler returned his gaze.

"Have you told her I am not at home?"

"She says, my lord, that she will wait in your drawing room until you return."

Richard Armiger stared off into the distance for a moment. His eyes came to rest on the oversized portrait of his great-uncle on the opposite wall. Blurred by his reading glasses, he found the view rather improved.

If it was a question of stubbornness, of waiting, he knew that she undoubtedly would win it. He would see her, whether he liked to or not. But he was not without his own resources of character. He returned his gaze to his book.

"Very well. I will ring for you when I am at home."

Three hours later and two cups of tea later, the book was finished. He laid it closed on the desk in front of him and stared absently, once more, at the portrait of his great-uncle. He had to digest the novel, and it made for poor digestion. It had been prudish and condescending. He thought the heroine stupid, found the hero irritating, and admired only the villain, who met with his just desserts in the form of swift death – but not so swift that he could not first be overcome with remorse, beg and be granted forgiveness, and, so the author hinted, be sent to heaven. A muscle below Richard's left eye twitched in distaste. He would never have finished the novel if it were not for his desire to keep Mrs Walthrope waiting. Pettishly, he blamed her for the book. With a savage twist of the rope that hung by the desk, he rang for the butler.

"Has Mrs Walthrope left?" he demanded, when the butler came hurrying in.

"She is still in the drawing room, My Lord."

"Then bring her in to me."

He unhooked his cane from the back of his chair, stood, and limped in circles the room while he waited for her. Both Neil and Richard suffered from the same hereditary bone deformity, but Richard's affliction was much greater. It had robbed him of his fair height, leaving him fully and imperfectly grown at sixty-five inches, if he stood on his right leg, and sixty-one if he stood on his left. The disparity of those four vital inches had caused an uncomfortable limp and a physical clumsiness in childhood. That same clumsiness had resulted in an accident, in which he had broken his knee. From then on, his right leg had never bent properly, and the limp had grown from uncomfortable to painful.

Extremely painful when he had been sitting down for three hours straight. He winced, and eased his stubborn, unyielding joints to the task of moving his body. The grimace of pain was still on his face when Jane entered.

"Richard." Her own expression melted from one of irritation to sympathy on seeing him. "Sit down. Do sit down."

"No." He glared at her, and continued his pacing of the room, the stick thumping every second step. "What do you want, Jane?"

Her lips pursed, Jane sank down onto a couch without asking. For a moment, she watched him pace, looking troubled.

"What do you want?" he repeated.

It had been three years since he had last seen her, but with Jane, to Richard, it was always as if she had just parted yesterday. She never changed. Since he had first met her, she had never changed. She had always been, to his eyes, an entertaining and dangerous devil. Selfish, heartless, manipulative devil. Clever, funny, beautiful devil. Richard, whose deformity encouraged people to treat him with an insincere and condescending pity, was particularly angered today by Jane's sympathy for him. She, of all people, ought to know how much he hated that. Treat a man any cruel way, scorn him, beat him, mock him, but above all things, Richard believed, pity was unforgiveable.

"I bring good tidings. Or ill, perhaps. I'm not sure how you'll take them."

With Richard, Jane never bothered to put on too much of a show. He could see through her too easily, but the habit was hard upon her, and she could not break it so easily as to simply say what she wanted. He looked suspiciously at her.

"Tidings of what?"

"Of your dear brother Neil."

His joints unstiffened by the exercise, Richard permitted himself to sit down again, in a chair next to Jane's.

"The last time we spoke, you were seeking news of him."

"And I have found it. More than you know, indeed."

Richard placed his stick upright in front of him and rested his hands on top of it. It had been eight years since he had seen his brother last. Of course he had tried to send letters, but if they had reached their mark, they had received no reply. And Neil, having a clear address to send letters to, had probably sent none himself. He had suggested to his father that they might send a man after him, but his father had laughed at the idea, and refused to part with the money. "He'll come back. He'll give it up, and come back," he had said grimly. "I know that boy. He hasn't the gut to see it through."

"He came back," said Richard, on a surge of intuition. "You've seen him."

Jane gave him a Cheshire-cat smile. "Good or bad tidings?" she asked.

"Given it's Neil... Both, I suppose." But Jane wasn't going to give him anymore, just yet. She sat watching him, the smile still on her face, waiting for him. He gave it to her. "Did he marry the girl?"

"So you never did find out," Jane said shrewdly. "You might have guessed, when he didn't come back. I was sure he had."

Richard shook his shoulders. "It was just such a mad thing to do – an Italian nobody! Of course Neil always had that quiet, black mad streak... but it never seemed to last long."

"It lasted, and he married her." Jane clasped her hands around her knees. "Her name was Giulia, he told me."

For a moment, the tense escaped him. Then he caught it. "Was?"

"She died, recently. He returned to live in England."

Richard gave a sigh of relief. "He'll come back to us – I'm sure he will."

"He's been here since March. He never sent you a letter?"

"No. But it's only been a month. I'm sure-"

"Thirteen. It's been thirteen months. He arrived last year, not this."

Richard felt his heart drop. Over a year, and his brother had never sent word. The grudge went deep.

"You don't look happy," said Jane.

"I'm not. And you're enjoying it."

She shrugged. "None of you Armigers were much given up for happiness anyhow. But further pain comes, my dear Richard. I know how your furtive mind plans things. You're probably thinking if you can find a wife for him, since it's so damned hard to find one for yourself, and then, why, then where would your title go?"

Richard scowled. He had thought of it. Even his wealth and title seemed too poor compensation for his deformity of health, and mind. For he was as ugly inside as he was out, and all society knew it. No woman had ever been persuaded to marry him. It wasn't for lack of trying.

"But you're too late anyway," Jane said, spreading her hands the way a cat spreads its claws. "I met him when he was on his honeymoon. He's married the most awful little girl. Pretty, oh yes, very pretty, but very awful."

"Is it you?" Richard growled.

Jane's eyes opened wide a moment, in a very good impression of real hurt. "No." Her eyes closed. "You know, Rich," she said, like they were children again, "I never really realized how much I wished it would be... until I met her." Her eyes opened. "I'm terribly jealous of her. Me, jealous." She laughed scornfully at herself.

This was not, Richard thought, complete pretence. He could sense the real, raw emotion beneath her tone. But it wasn't entirely truthful either. With Jane, it never was.

"Why is she so awful then?"

Jane sighed. "She's uneducated, cold-hearted, prudish, conniving... and ill-born. Her father is a souse who makes some scant living cheating at cards in the nastier sorts of public houses. Her mother had been a lady, until she eloped with him. She's low as mud. He might as well have married a kitchen maid. No. A kitchen maid would not be so bad. He might as well have married a beggar's daughter."

"What on earth – what on earth is Neil doing with a – a –"

Richard lacked the necessary adjectives and nouns. Jane supplied them.

"A dishonest slattern? A clever minx? I might as well tell you it all. She played him the way her father played cards. As a matter of fact, her father sent her to Neil one night, to pay a debt her father owed. It was a sordid business. Neil's black, mad streak, I suppose. But it was more than madness to marry her after. She must have twisted him into it. He can't believe it though. He can't believe he was played like a fool."

Richard raised his cane and beat the Afghan carpet with it. "That – I can't believe it!"

"You will," Jane said, "When you see her. That's why I've come here, though when he asks you about it, I didn't. They live in the shire of Houglen, in the larger town, Greater Hough. It's a dreadful little hovel. I've taken a house there."

Richard's eyes sharpened. "You'll only make things worse."

She shrugged. "I told you, I'm jealous. I've never been jealous of another woman before."

"You just enjoy raising Cain," Richard said meanly. He rose awkwardly to his feet, and resumed his limping shuffle around the room. "But since you came here, you must want something from me. You never come if you don't want something. What do you want?"

Jane smiled prettily. "You're so cynical. I do enjoy your company, you know."

"What do you want?" Richard repeated.

"Oh, nothing," Jane said, standing. "I really did only come to tell you that he had married again. And to give you his address, so that you can see him, for I'm sure he won't write. If you don't want me though, I'll go. I'm not one to impose." She went to the door and paused with it open, looking away from him, out into the hall. "The girl is twenty years old. Such a fine age. So youthful. She makes me feel so very old. Why, legally a child, isn't she?"

Jane left, and shut the door behind her.

It took Richard several moments to realize what she had implied. It took him several more to limp to the door, stick thumping on the carpet, and out into the hall, onto the landing that overlooked the front door. Jane was not there. He cursed his deformity, and hopped down the stairs on his right foot and his stick, almost falling at the bottom.

"Open the door!" he yelled at the butler, standing agape. "Open the door!"

"Sir-"

He opened it himself. Jane was standing on the top step of the townhouse stoop, her hand raised to the bell.

Of course, she wouldn't have left that to chance, realized Richard. Not Jane.

"Do you know," Jane said smiling, "I rather think it's going to rain. I was just coming back to ask to borrow an umbrella."

The sky was cloudless, and blue as her clever eyes.

"Do you mean to tell me her father didn't consent?" he demanded.

"Whose? Oh... Why... I'm not really sure. I think one might have to ask him that. But I did hear, just gossip, that he made a nuisance of himself on the wedding day, begging Neil to let his daughter go. It does make one wonder, doesn't it?"

Richard's heart beat fast. He had never approved his brother's first marriage, to an Italian. But this – this was worse. This was a sordid disaster! But, if the marriage wasn't legally valid, if he just had a few months to talk to Neil again, as adults this time, and explain things...

...Then perhaps Neil would see reason, and marry someone suitable. Certainly not Jane Walthrope. Richard didn't consider Jane suitable for any sane man to marry. He would not allow that.

But he didn't tell Jane what he thought. He couldn't, because she had walked backwards to stare up at the sky, said distantly, "Why, it looks like fair weather after all!" and walked away.

Her work was done.

Introducing my favourite character: Richard. He's not very likeable though.