"This is awkward for you," Marianne said.

The plain statement from anyone but Marianne might imply glee at my plight. From Marianne, it meant compassion.

"Divorce is a difficult thing," I said. "I've looked into the matter in some detail. To divorce Carlotta, I must accuse her of adultery and drag her through several courts, then ask for a private Act of Parliament to dissolve the marriage. A long, expensive, embarrassing process."

"Has she committed adultery?"

"Oh, yes. She left me in France and has lived there ever since with the French officer who stole her away. They dwell idyllically near Lyon, and she's borne him several children."

"There you are, then, rush her to trial. I imagine he would help you with the expense. He does so like to arrange people's lives for them."

I remembered something Carlotta had said when I'd stood there staring at her: He would make the appointment. Who? Grenville? Her French officer? James Denis, who'd discovered her whereabouts in the first place?

"Grenville would likely assist with the cost if asked," I conceded. "But Mrs. Lacey was never a strong woman. Making her face hostile juries who will condemn her as an adulteress might break her. I no longer love her, but I cannot wish such an ordeal on her."

"You are far too kindhearted, Lacey."

"Not really. There is my daughter to consider. Though I will fight to get her back, a divorce would hurt Gabriella as well. Any taint on her family will be a taint on her." I paused. "She does not know that I am her father."

Marianne's eyes widened. "Your wife never told her?"

"It would appear not."

Marianne gave me a look of deep sympathy. "How awful. Are you going to tell her?"

I took a long drink of brandy. "Yes, but not yet." I traced the facets of Grenville's heavy crystal goblet. "My life, as usual, is a tangle."