Ships. Maybe that was how he’d gotten the physique of a sailor. “But if she gets out? What then? The assets that are in her control, without the money. Would it be enough for the fee?”

René met her eyes. “I do not know. Possibly.”

But still, “possibly.” Then getting Adèle out could save her father, and Bellamy House. Possibly. And what would she do, what would she risk, for even the slimmest chance to set all this right?

“Mademoiselle,” he said. “Sophia.” She watched him hesitate. “I would suggest that we leave the discussion of our marriage until after your brother and my mother are out of the Tombs. There is much here that is not known. Do you agree?”

Sophia looked down at her own hand, showing creamy tan against the rolled-up edge of the gold brocade. Two weeks ago she would have never believed that she would go to such lengths to marry anyone, especially an admitted liar and thief with a half grin and hair that shone like dark red fire in the candlelight. She knew she couldn’t believe a word he said. She nodded.

“And Adèle?” he asked.

Maybe René could be trusted where his mother was concerned, but for everything else, she would have to be on her guard. The truth was that she found him fascinating, down to the tiny little pulse that she could see beating at the base of his neck, just beyond the open collar. And he could trick her so easily. He already had. She needed him, but she was vulnerable, and she could never let him know it. She could not allow him to manipulate her. She looked up.

“Yes. Help me get Tom and Jennifer out, and I’ll get your mother, too.”

This smile came slower onto René’s face. He took her free hand and lifted it to his lips, like he was the one wearing the gold brocade, like they were standing in the Bellamy ballroom. His mouth was warm on her hand. “Agreed,” he said. “And you may even enjoy it, Mademoiselle …”

Sophia jumped hard as the door to the bedroom flew open. René’s gaze darted up, and Spear stood looking in at them, a stampede that had come to an abrupt halt in the doorway. Feathers from the decrepit pillow floated gently to the carpet. Sophia pulled her hand from René’s and pushed herself upright.

“Spear, we …”

But her irrational need to explain was interrupted by Mrs. Rathbone forcing her way around Spear, a feat that took considerable strength, especially considering the size of her flower-trimmed hat. A Wesson’s page seventy-four.

“Right! You said there were voices, and … Well, really!” exclaimed Mrs. Rathbone, taking in the room, the bed, and specifically Sophia’s attire, which obviously all belonged to René. Then she dismissed the situation with a wave of the hand. “Sophia. I had no idea. But I’m sorry to say I was only too happy to be part of Tom’s schemes, not knowing it was Tom, and that I would do it again. So to say the truth, not sorry at all.”

Sophia laid down her head.

“And now I think it might be good for my health to visit my sister in the Midlands, don’t you think? And you should come with me. Especially now …” She gave René a sidelong glance. He came across the room and bowed over her hand, the man of the magazine despite the disarray.

“You bring spring into the autumn,” he said, the heavy Parisian accent back. Sophia saw Spear’s eyes open wide before she threw an arm over her head.

“I’ve always said you were a charmer,” Mrs. Rathbone giggled. “Remember that I was the one that said it. Now listen to me, Sophia. People are going to be beastly. They were holding off on the beastly before, but now that Tom is caught it’s ten times worse and there will be no holding back at all. And Mr. Halflife was here, wanting you to march down the stairs and sign over the deed—at once, I should say. I know you won’t. Not yet. That’s why I’ve come to say that I think you should sell me the house.”

Sophia moved the arm from her eyes.

“I can’t give you near what it’s worth, of course, but I think you could come close to the debt and keep Bellamy out of jail. We can’t have the whole family locked up. It would be indecent. Especially with the state your father’s in …”

Sophia sat up instantly, gasping as she pulled on her stitches. She looked to Spear. “What about Father?”

“That’s why I’ve been trying to find you, Sophie. Orla says you need to come. Now.”

“F ather?”

Bellamy sat in the armchair of his bedchamber, facing the window that looked out over the sea. There was nothing there to see but blackness. His hair, once exactly like Sophia’s and Tom’s, was a thin, disheveled mass over his head, his hands folded carefully on top of the blanket Orla had laid across his lap. But his room was destroyed. The furniture toppled, pictures flung from the walls, broken glass crunching into the rugs beneath their feet. Sophia had put on Bellamy’s slippers just to enter. Now only his breath and the occasional blink showed that he was even alive.

Sophia knelt on a pillow beside him, a hand on his arm. Orla stood just behind her, Spear near the door, hands in pockets, towering over a tearful Nancy. Sophia said his name again, but Bellamy didn’t respond.

“It’s Sophie, Father. I just want you to tell me that you’re all right.”

Bellamy never took his eyes from the window, but this time rasping words came from his mouth. “You did this.”

Sophia looked around the room and then up at Orla, perplexed. Orla’s heavy brows were pushed together. Bellamy spoke again, his voice as broken as the glass.

“You think because I do nothing that I know nothing. You think that I don’t know what it means when your face doesn’t appear for days, that I believe every lie Orla tells me. That I don’t know what is happening when footsteps run across my roof. That when I read that foul Parliament newspaper, I don’t know where you’ve been.”

“Father, I …”

“And now they will kill my son, the last of the Bellamys.”

“Father …”

“They will kill him because of you. Everything is lost because of you.”

If he had slapped her, Sophia could not have felt more of a blow. She sat back on her heels, breathing hard.

“And what would you have had me do, Father? Take up painting and visit the neighbors while the people of the city suffer and die?”

“I would have had you remember your duty! Tom always remembered what he owed to his family.”

The injustice of this cut through the reserve that usually stilled her tongue. “How dare you remind me of my duty? I have not forgotten what I owe my family. I was sacrificing my entire future for this family. And that is your fault, Father!”

Bellamy did not answer, only moved his arm away from his daughter’s hand.

“You sold me off because you did nothing. Nothing! For me or Tom! And what duty did you remember when Aunt Francesca was taken to the Tombs? Mother’s own blood! You would have let them cut off her head!”

His face crumpled. “It is my own son’s head they will take now. My dear son’s …”

She stood up, holding her hand against her side. “I am not like you. I can’t sit in my chair, doing nothing. Wasting my days wallowing in grief. I will not …”

“I will always grieve.”

“You have thought of nothing but your grief since Mother died. But you have children, Father. Two of them!”

“I have only one child now. And he is to die.”

Sophia stepped back, feeling every ounce of force from this second intended slap. Bellamy stared out the blank window, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

“Say to your mother that I have sent you to your room,” he said. “And that she is to tell Orla you’re to have no dinner. Mind that you do that, Sophia! Tell your mother I said you must do as you’re told!”