Her visit was like her last…with one important difference. The town house no longer belonged to the Wentworths, as it had for generations, but was merely on loan. Despite the illusion of permanence afforded by the decor of family antiques, everything was ephemeral. Her uncle continued to reside here at the Marquess of Easterbridge’s pleasure. Uncle Hugh could have the heirloom Persian rug pulled out from under him at any moment. “Tell me it isn’t true.” She said the words without preamble after appearing unannounced in the library. She knew this conversation was too important to have over the phone. She’d arranged a flight to London as soon as she could, right after flying back to New York from Vegas without making any progress on an annulment. Uncle Hugh regarded her from behind his desk. “Whatever are you talking about, my dear?” He shook his head. “I didn’t even know you were in London. You do lead the peripatetic existence these days, don’t you?” “I just arrived this morning.”
