It was time to draw on those funds. She had no other choice. Living with Mrs. Foxglove as her stepmother would be intolerable. The money could support her until her sister Victoria returned from her extended holiday on the continent. Victoria's new husband was a wealthy earl, and Ellie had no doubt that they would be able to help her find a position in society—perhaps as a governess, or a companion.

Ellie rode a public coach to Faversham, made her way to the offices of Tibbett & Hurley, and waited her turn to see Mr. Tibbett. After ten minutes, his secretary ushered her in.

Mr. Tibbett, a portly man with a large mustache, rose when she entered. "Good day, Miss Lyndon," he said. "Have you come with more instructions from your father? I must say, it is a pleasure to do business with a man who pays such close attention to his investments."

Ellie smiled tightly, hating that her father received all of the credit for her business acumen but knowing that there was no other way. "Not precisely, Mr. Tibbett. I have come to withdraw some of my funds. One-half, to be precise." Ellie wasn't certain how much it would cost to lease a small house in a respectable section of London, but she had close to 300 pounds stashed away, and she thought that 150 would do nicely.

"Certainly," Mr. Tibbett agreed. "I will simply need your father to come here in person to release the funds."

Ellie gasped. "I beg your pardon."

"At Tibbett & Hurley, we pride ourselves on our scrupulous business practices. I could not possibly release the funds into anyone's hands but your father's."

"But I have been conducting business with you for years," Ellie protested. "My name is on the account as a codepositor!"

"A codepositor. Your father is the primary holder."

Ellie swallowed convulsively. "My father is a recluse. You know that. He never leaves the house. How can I get him to come here?"

Mr. Tibbett shrugged his shoulders. "I will be happy to come out to visit him."

"No, that will not be possible," Ellie said, aware that her voice was growing shrill. "He gets most nervous around strangers. Most nervous. His heart, you know. I really couldn't risk it."

"Then I will need written instructions with his signature attached."

Ellie sighed in relief. She could forge her father's signature in her sleep.

"And I will need these instructions witnessed by another upstanding citizen." Mr. Tibbett's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You do not qualify as a witness."

"Very well, I will find—"

"I am acquainted with the magistrate in Bellfield. You may obtain his signature as a witness."

Ellie's heart sank. She also knew the magistrate, and she knew that there would be no way to get his signature on that vital piece of paper unless he actually witnessed her father write out the instructions. "Very well, Mr. Tibbett," she said, her voice catching in her throat. "I will—I will see what I can do."

She hurried out of the office, pressing a handkerchief up to her face to hide her frustrated tears. She felt like a cornered animal. There was no way she was going to be able to get her money from Mr. Tibbett. And Victoria wasn't due back from the continent for several months. Ellie supposed she could throw herself on the mercy of Victoria's father-in-law, the Marquess of Castleford, but she wasn't at all certain that he would be any more amiable to her presence than Mrs. Foxglove. The marquess didn't much like Victoria; Ellie could only imagine how he'd feel about her sister.

Ellie wandered aimlessly through Faversham, trying to gather her thoughts. She had always considered herself a practical sort of female, one who could rely on a sharp brain and a quick wit. She had never dreamed that she might someday find herself in a situation she couldn't talk her way out of.

And now she was stuck in Faversham, twenty miles away from a home she didn't even want to go back to. With no options except—

Ellie shook her head. She was not going to consider taking the Earl of Billington up on his offer.

The face of Sally Foxglove loomed in her mind.

Then that awful face started talking about chimneys, and spinsters who ought to be and act grateful for anything and everything. The earl started looking better and better.

Not, Ellie had to admit to herself, that he had ever looked bad to begin with, if one was going to take the word "look" in its literal sense. He was sinfully handsome, and she had a feeling he knew it. That, she reasoned, should be a black mark against him. He was most likely conceited. He would probably keep scores of mistresses. She couldn't imagine he'd find it difficult to gain the attentions of all sorts of females, respectable and otherwise.

"Ha!" she said aloud, then looked this way and that to see if anyone had heard her. The blasted man probably had to beat women away with a stick. She certainly didn't want to deal with a husband with those kinds of "problems."

Then again, it wasn't as if she were in love with the fellow. She might be able to get used to the idea of an unfaithful husband. It went against everything she stood for, but the alternative was a life with Sally Foxglove, which was too horrifying to contemplate.

Ellie tapped her toe as she thought. Wycombe Abbey wasn't so very far away. If she remembered correctly, it was situated on the north Kent coast, just a mile or two away. She could easily walk the distance. Not that she was planning to blindly accept the earl's proposal, but maybe they could discuss the matter a bit. Maybe they could reach an agreement with which she could be happy.

Her mind made up, Ellie lifted her chin and began walking north. She tried to keep her mind busy by guessing how many steps it would take to reach a landmark ahead. Fifty paces to the large tree. Seventy-two to the abandoned cottage. Forty to the—