"Hold on. He proposed after only two days?" Helena said in shock. "He must have fallen in love at first sight. How romantic."
"I told you—when we met, he wanted to strangle me. And love has nothing to do with this."
"Don't be a fool, Fen," Caro said. "You're head over heels, and by the sound of it, so is Mr. Townsend."
Aghast, Fenella stared at her. "You're wrong. I've been in love. It wasn't like this. It was bright and kind and joyful—and easy."
"Fen, I'm no expert on love. After all, I imagined I was in love with that toad Crewe," Helena said, making rare reference to her late, unlamented husband. "But I'm fairly sure it comes in many guises. You won't love Anthony Townsend the same way you loved Henry."
"Love Henry," Fenella said sharply, shying away from the guilt and betrayal infesting her soul since she'd succumbed to sin and bedded Anthony.
Caro observed her with a compassionate understanding, new since she'd fallen in love with Silas. "That's what's behind your unhappiness, isn't it?"
Fenella's fists closed on her knees. "How can I love someone else when I still love Henry? How can I be so fickle that my heart changed within two days?"
"What did you say?" Helena asked.
"What?" Fenella asked, frowning.
"What did you say when Mr. Townsend asked you to marry him?" Helena said patiently.
"I told him to leave me alone while I think about it," she said dejectedly.
"While you come up with reasons to say no, you mean." Caro caught Fenella's hand and spoke with heartfelt urgency. "Listen to me, Fenella Deerham, and listen well. There's something I need to say."
Fenella snatched her hand away and regarded her friend almost with dislike. "Your advice isn't reliable. You're in love. Of course you want me to dive in headfirst."
Caro's mouth turned down, and briefly she looked like the dissatisfied, unhappy woman Fenella had first met two years ago. "Nobody knows better than you that life is unfair and joy can be fleeting. You've been offered a chance for new happiness. I hate to think fear is stopping you from taking it."
"I don't know why you're so avidly in Mr. Townsend's corner," Fenella said sourly. "You hardly know him."
"If he got you into bed, he's obviously a remarkable man. You've had London on its knees since Hel and I dragged you back into society, kicking and screaming and saying you didn't want to play. And you haven't cared a whit for the admiration. Men fall at your feet and all you do is smile coolly and go on your merry way, safely locked away from life. If Anthony Townsend has made you cry your eyes out, he's special."
"That's unfair," Fenella said, nettled. "You make me sound so cold."
"Not cold, unaware."
She surged to her feet and stared furiously down at Caro. "You're a great one to talk about taking chances on love. You love Silas with all your heart, yet you won't marry him. He wants more from you than a hole in the corner liaison—he deserves more. But you won't see past your miserable marriage to know you've got a good man and you're doing him a vile injustice."
Caro paled under her attack. "Silas and I have an understanding."
"No, you haven't. But he's so much in love, he's willing to take what you'll give him, rather than nothing. You're starving him to death, and the worst part is you can't see it. You, Caroline Beaumont, are in no position to lecture me about being brave."
"Fen…" Helena said warningly.
Parker, Helena's butler, cleared his throat in the doorway. "Lord Stone has called, my lady."
An energetic, long-limbed man with untidy tawny hair strode into the room. Raindrops glittered on his shoulders, proof the weather hadn't improved. "For God's sake, Parker, this is my house, even if I don't damn well live here. There's no need to announce me."
"My dear brother, polite as ever, I see," Helena said, as Parker left after a bow that expressed long-suffering tolerance.
"Good evening, sis." Silas kissed Helena on the cheek, then glanced across the room. "Good evening, Fenella. Caro, we're engaged for the theatre tonight, or had you forgotten? I've been cooling my heels in Grosvenor Square waiting for you to come home, and eventually thought I'd better come looking for you. I should have known you'd still be gossiping with the coven."
With a shock, Fenella realized that afternoon had flowed into night. As if to confirm that, the ormolu clock on the mantel chimed seven. The cloudy day meant Helena had ordered candles when her guests arrived.
"Polite and charming," Caro said, but rose to kiss Silas on the lips. In public, the couple behaved—mostly—within the bounds of propriety. But here with family and close friends, they made no secret of their liaison.
"Of course, Fenella isn't a witch." He smiled down at her, then the laughter left his voice. "Fen, you've been crying. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have barged in."