They shuffled off. Gabriel closed the door, relocked it, then returned to the window.
"All right. So much for your masquerade." He stopped beside her; shoulder to shoulder, they looked out at the trees cloaked in dull shadow. "You can now tell me why you took it upon yourself to rescue your family."
"Well-" Alathea stopped, seeing the trap. "It seemed most sensible."
"Indeed? Let's see. A maid found the promissory note, which your father signed but somehow forgot about, and then you, your father, and Serena put your heads together, and they decided and agreed to let you pursue the matter-a matter that might destroy their lives-by yourself. Is that how it went?"
She regarded the trees stonily. "No."
"Well?"
The word hung in the air, insistent, persistent… "I usually handle all the business affairs."
"Why?"
She hesitated. "Papa… isn't very good with money. You know how… well, gentle he is. He really has no idea-none at all." She met his gaze. "My mother managed the estate until her death. My grandmother managed it before her."
He frowned. After a moment, he asked, "And so you now handle all the estate business?"
"Yes."
His eyes narrowed. "Since when?"
When she looked back at the trees and didn't answer, he stepped between her and the window, leaving them all but nose to nose. His eyes bored into hers. "When did your father cede his authority to you?"
Still she said nothing. He searched her eyes. "Would you rather I asked him?"
If it had been any other man, she'd have called his bluff. "Years ago."
"Eleven years ago?"
She didn't reply.
"That's what it was, wasn't it? That was the reason you left town. Not chicken pox-I never did believe that-but money. Your father had brought the earldom to point non plus; somehow, you found out and took up the reins. You cut short your first Season before it had begun and went home." He paused. "Is that what happened?"
Her expression set, she shifted her gaze, staring out over his shoulder.
"Tell me the details. I want to know."
He wouldn't rest until he knew. She drew in a tight breath. "Wiggs came to the house one afternoon. He looked… desperate. Papa saw him in the library. I went to ask if Papa wanted tea brought in. The library door was ajar. I overheard Wiggs pleading with Papa, explaining how deeply in debt the estate was, and how the expense of giving me my Season would quite literally run us aground. Papa didn't understand. He kept insisting that all would be well, that far from ruining us, my Season would be the earldom's salvation."
"He was counting on you making a good marriage?"
"Yes. Foolishly so."
"It might have worked."
She shook her head. "You haven't considered. I would have had no dowry-quite the opposite. Any successful suitor would have had to rescue the earldom, and the debts were mountainous. I had nothing at all to recommend me except my lineage."
"There are more than a few who would disagree."
She glanced at him, then looked back at the trees. "You forget-this was eleven years ago. Do you remember what I looked like at eighteen? I was painfully thin, even gawky. There was absolutely no chance I would make the sort of match required to save my family."
When she said nothing more, he prompted, "So?"
"When Wiggs left in despair, I went in and talked to Papa. I spent the night going over the estate records Wiggs had brought." She paused, then added, "The next morning, we packed and left London."
"You've been protecting your family-saving them-ever since?"