On a Wicked Dawn

Chapter 19

They didn't put it into words, but come the morning they had a tacit agreement that together they would face whatever developed in this latest threat to the Ashfords, and overcome it.

Both Emily and Anne had been at all the gatherings from which items had disappeared. Impossible to believe Emily, so caught up in her romance with Kirkpatrick, had spent any time filching small objects of value. Anne, on the other hand, so quiet and retiring…

In the depths of the night, Luc had asked, "Do you have any idea why she might do such a thing?"

She'd shaken her head, then stopped. Eventually murmured, "The only reason I can think of is that she believes she needs money for something, something she can't approach you, or me, or your mother about."

Luc hadn't argued. But before they'd finally fallen asleep wrapped in each other's arms, he'd murmured, "One thing — we can't broach the matter to her without real proof. You know what she's like."

He hadn't elaborated, but she'd understood. Anne's quietness wasn't like Penelope's. Penelope often remained silent simply because she saw no reason to waste her words. With Anne, being retiring was a form of self-effacement, a means of hiding in plain sight. Anne was inherently nervous; it had always been clear it would take time and steady encouragement to make her comfortable in society.

An unfounded accusation would destroy Anne's fragile confidence. If she learned that they — her family, her brother and guardian — suspected her of stealing… regardless of the right or wrong of the matter, the outcome would be disastrous.

The morning's gathering about the breakfast table maintained its customary tone — bright, breezy, lots of feminine chatter. Today, there was a rumbling masculine counterpoint; Luc and Lucifer sat at one end, discussing something — Amelia couldn't hear what. Phyllida and Minerva were swapping household tales. Miss Pink was keeping an eagle eye on Portia and Penelope, biding her time before herding those two damsels upstairs for their lessons.

Amelia turned to Emily, on her right; Anne sat on her left. "I was thinking it might be a good idea to check over your wardrobes." With a glance, she extended the comment to Anne. "You may well need more gowns to see you through the summer, and we should be looking ahead to when we return to town in autumn."

It took Emily a moment to draw her mind from its now habitual preoccupation; Lord Kirkpatrick and his family had been invited to visit in a few weeks' time. She blinked, then nodded. "I hadn't really thought, but you're right. I wouldn't want a panic over gowns while Mark's here."

Amelia hid her smile. "Indeed." She looked at Anne. "We should check your things, too."

Anne smiled and nodded her agreement.

Perfectly readily, without the slightest hint of trepidation.

Amelia glanced down the table. At the other end, even though his conversation with Lucifer hadn't faltered, Luc had been watching, following her tack. She met his dark gaze; although he didn't precisely nod, she sensed his agreement to her plan.

If Anne had been stealing things, what was she doing with them? If her actions were purely an irrational compulsion, then the items would be hidden somewhere, most likely in her room. With Emily, Portia, and Penelope forever about, let alone the maids and Mrs. Higgs, anywhere else seemed unlikely. And even if Anne had somehow managed to sell some items, as the matter of the saltcellar seemed to suggest, she couldn't possibly have sold everything.

"Is there much to see in the village?" Phyllida asked.

Amelia looked up. "Not really, but it's a pleasant place. We could go riding that way after lunch, if you'd like." She nodded down the table at their spouses. "They'll no doubt be occupied elsewhere."

Phyllida grinned. "Indeed. After lunch, then." She pushed back her chair.

The table broke up. Phyllida and Minerva went out for a stroll in the gardens. Miss Pink ushered her charges up the stairs to the schoolroom. Leaving Luc and Lucifer still talking over their coffee cups, Amelia, Emily, and Anne headed off for the girls' rooms.

The necessity of examining their gowns wasn't a complete fabrication. It was Emily's and Anne's gowns that had first alerted Amelia to the family's straightened circumstances — she'd noticed fabrics being reused, gowns recut and refashioned; it had been cleverly done but having been in such frequent contact with the family, she'd seen and guessed the truth.

Now, there was no reason the girls couldn't have new gowns, that their wardrobes couldn't be improved to a level commensurate with their social standing. The girls themselves knew nothing of that, but Amelia did.

She directed them first to Emily's room. Emily opened her wardrobe doors wide, Amelia sank into an armchair by the window, Anne plopped down on the bed, and they all settled to enjoy themselves.

Forty minutes later, they'd exhaustively examined the contents of Emily's wardrobe and dresser. Amelia had extended their purview to include all garments, shoes, accessories of all kinds; every drawer and box in Emily's room had been looked into, the contents picked over.

Glancing down at the tablet on which she'd jotted various notes, Amelia nodded. "Very well. We'll arrange to get all these things. Now…" She waved to the corridor.

Without further direction, they decamped to Anne's room next door.

There they repeated the exercise, this time with Emily perched on the bed and Anne at the wardrobe doors. Amelia watched Anne closely as she pulled out gowns, shawls, and spencers. Not a glimmer of self-consciousness, not a trace of guilty fear, showed in Anne's sweet face — just a shy delight at being included in such an undertaking.

Again, the contents of every drawer, every hatbox and bandbox were examined; all Amelia discovered was that Anne needed more silk stockings, a new pair of evening gloves, and a new cherry red shawl.

Holding the old one up, Anne studied it in dismay. "I've no idea… it was old, of course, but I can't think why the weave should have given way like that."

Amelia shrugged. "Silk sometimes does that — just gives way." Although the fabric of the shawl looked like it had been worried and wrenched. "Never mind. We'll get you a new one."

Emily sat up. "Until you get a new shawl, you won't be carrying your red reticule — the one that matched it. Can I borrow it? It's just the right shade to go with my carriage dress."

"Of course." Anne looked up at the shelf above the wardrobe's hanging space. "It should be here somewhere."

Amelia glanced down at her notes. Emily and Anne shared clothes and accessories freely, a fact that had further disguised the lack in their wardrobes from the eagle eyes of the ton's matrons. She scribbled a reminder to make sure Anne had all she needed to go on with, given all indications were that Emily would shortly be leaving home.

"I'm sure it was here." Stretched on her toes. Anne pushed things this way, then that. "Ah — here it is."

She pulled the reticule free by its strings; with a grin, she swung and let it fly across the room to Emily on the bed.

Emily laughed and caught it, then her face registered surprise. "It's heavy. What on earth have you got in it?"

As she felt the contents of the reticule through the layers of red silk, Emily's expression grew more puzzled.

Amelia glanced at Anne, but the only expression on her face, in her brown eyes, was one of complete bemusement. "A handkerchief, some pins. I don't know what could be heavy…" But they could all now see the shape under Emily's hands. "Let me see."

Anne crossed to the bed, to Emily's side; Amelia rose and joined them. By then, Emily had tugged the reticule's strings loose; she eased open the top and looked in. Then, frowning, she reached in and pulled out—

"A quizzing glass." Emily held it up. They all stared at the ornately chased stem, at the tiny jewels winking along its length.

"Whose on earth is it?"

It was Anne who asked the question. Amelia looked at her — closely, sharply; no matter how hard she looked there was nothing but total befuddlement in the younger girl's face.

"And how did it get there?" Anne glanced back at her wardrobe, then swept around and returned to the shelf. Without Amelia suggesting it, Anne hauled all her reticules, all the hatboxes they'd already examined down. When the shelf was bare, she pushed aside the boxes and knelt beside the mound of reticules. She opened each one, and shook out the contents. Handkerchiefs, pins, a comb, two fans.

Nothing else.

Sitting back on her heels, Anne looked across the room. "I don't understand."

Neither did Amelia. "It's not your mother's, is it?"

Emily shook her head, still studying the quizzing glass. "I don't think I've seen anyone else with it either."

Amelia took the quizzing glass. It truly was heavy; she couldn't imagine any lady carrying such a thing. Anne had drawn near, frowning at the glass — entirely at a loss.

"It must have been put into your reticule by mistake."

Amelia slid the glass into the pocket of her day gown. "I'll ask around — the owner shouldn't be too hard to trace." She looked around. "Now, have we finished going through everything?"

Anne blinked, then looked about, somewhat dazedly. "I think so."

Emily gathered up the red reticule and jumped from the bed. "I've just remembered — it's our day to do the vases."

Amelia manufactured a smile. "You'd better get going then — there's less than an hour to luncheon."

They left the room; Anne closed the door. Emily popped into her room to leave the red reticule there, then rejoined them as they headed down the corridor. Amelia hung back as the two girls went ahead down the stairs; at the bottom, they turned and waved, then continued on to the garden hall.

On the last stair, Amelia paused. Emily had smiled, Anne had not. Doubtless, Emily had already dismissed the quizzing glass from her mind; she had too many far more pleasant matters to dwell on. Anne, however, was worried. Possibly a little fearful. But so she would be; despite being quiet, she was not unintelligent. None of Luc's sisters was.

Amelia stood in the empty front hall, hand on the newel post, gazing unseeing at the front door, then she sighed, re-focused, stepped down from the stairs, and headed for the study.

Luc looked up as Amelia entered the study. She saw him seated behind his large desk, but didn't smile. He watched impassively as she closed the door, then crossed the room.

As she neared, he realized her expression was unfamiliar — reserved, almost somber.

"What's the matter?" He couldn't hold back the question, started to rise.

She met his gaze, waved him back. He subsided into his chair; she passed the chair before the desk, continued around it. Reaching him, lips tight, she turned, sat on his lap, then leaned into him.

His mind streaked in a dozen different directions; an odd fear clutched his heart. Bad news — that was all he could think. He closed his arms about her, gently, then more firmly; she snuggled closer, deeper into his embrace, her cheek to his chest. He laid his jaw against her curls, feeling them slide like silk against his chin. "What?"

"I went with Emily and Anne to check through their things — you heard me organizing."

"You found something." The vise about his heart slowly closed.

"Yes. This." She lifted her hand and showed him an ornate quizzing glass. "It was in one of Anne's reticules."

His heart grew cold, then colder; he forced himself to take the quizzing glass. He held it up, squinted when he saw the stones flash. "Diamonds?"

"I think so. And I don't think it's a lady's — it's too heavy."

"I don't think I've ever seen it before."

"I haven't either. Nor have Emily and Anne."

Luc felt cold tension flow through him; it kept him so silent and still, Amelia eventually glanced up.

He met her gaze; her eyes were wide, as blue as the sky. A little shock, and a ton of worry, shadowed the blue. He clung to the contact and forced himself to say, "So it's Anne, and we have another Ashford scandal."

He saw the frown flow into Amelia's eyes before her brows drew down.

"No." She shook her head brusquely. "Stop leaping to conclusions."

"Leaping…?" He felt a flash of temper. Knew it was irrational. "What the hell am I — is anyone to think—"

Amelia struggled to sit up, to draw out of his arms.

He immediately tightened his hold. "No. Sit still."

She complied — he suspected because she had to — but her accents were clipped when she tersely informed him, "I'm sure it's not Anne. Or Emily, for that matter."

He felt a little of the icy tension seep away, felt the vise ease a notch. "Why? Tell me."

She hesitated, then said, "I'm not a mind reader, but I'm not hopeless at judging people and their reactions either. Anne was truly surprised, totally puzzled over the quizzing glass being in her reticule. She hadn't known it was there — I'm sure she didn't recognize it, meaning she literally had never seen it before. Anne's shy — she's not experienced enough to hide her feelings. And the most telling fact of all was that she didn't need to give Emily the reticule — she could easily have said it wasn't there, or she'd look it out later, or… a host of things."

Luc struggled through her words, then admitted, "I'm lost — explain."

She did, sitting in his lap within the circle of his arms.

When she finished, she sat still, waited…

After some moments, he forced himself to take a tight breath. "Are you sure…?"

"Yes." She looked into his face, held his gaze. "I'm quite certain that whoever took that quizzing glass, it wasn't Anne or Emily."

He tried to find some wavering in the steady blue of her eyes. "You're not just saying that…?" He gestured with one hand; even though it was behind her back, she understood.

The stubborn set of her chin and lips softened. She laid a hand against his cheek. "I might" — she paused, then continued—"turn a blind eye to some things if I thought it was in your best interests, that it would help you or our family, but this…" She shook her head; her eyes held his. "Telling you it wasn't Anne when it was wouldn't help, and might instead lead to a great deal more harm."

Her words sank into him, slowly eased the vise open, let his blood flow again and warm him, driving away the chill.

He drew a deep breath. "You're sure." No question; the answer was in her eyes.

She nodded. "Not Anne. Not Emily."

He let the knowledge buoy him for a heartbeat, then asked, "If not them, then who? How did this" — he lifted the quizzing glass—"get into Anne's reticule?"

Amelia looked at the glass. "I don't know — and that's what truly worries me."

The luncheon gong summoned them from the study fifteen minutes later. They left the room together, leaving the quizzing glass in a locked chest.

Amelia checked her reflection in the mirror in the front hall, cast a quick glance around, then tugged her bodice properly into place.

Luc fought to keep his lips straight; the look she shot him as she turned and caught him doing so suggested he hadn't succeeded.

The dining room quickly filled. After seeing Amelia to her chair, Luc strolled the length of the table to his place at its head. The meal passed swiftly; the usual chatter prevailed. He watched Anne; for the most part, she kept her eyes cast down, answering any questions but with a frankly distant air. Her expression was serious, she volunteered nothing, but Lucifer and Phyllida were present; Anne's behavior could simply be due to her shyness.

He wondered if he should speak with her… unfortunately, both she and Emily regarded him with a certain awe, quite different to how Portia and Penelope reacted. Any questions from him might totally undermine Anne's confidence.

On his left, Lucifer sat back. "If it's convenient, I wouldn't mind going over those investments with you this afternoon."

Luc hesitated, then nodded. Amelia and Phyllida were making arrangements to visit the village; they'd doubtless take Emily and Anne with them. Portia, Penelope, and Miss Pink were heading off for a ramble to the folly; his mother would, as she usually did, rest through the afternoon.

Setting down his napkin, he pushed back his chair and looked at Lucifer. "No time like the present."

Lucifer grinned. Together they rose, strolled up the room, both, entirely independently, putting out a hand to their respective ladies' shoulders as they passed. Both Amelia and Phyllida looked up with identical, confident, wifely smiles, then went back to their arranging.

Luc and Lucifer quietly left the room.

"Where's Anne?" Amelia asked when she and Phyllida met Emily in the stables.

"She's gone to Lyddington Manor to visit Fiona — she'd forgotten she'd said she would."

Amelia digested that while they mounted. The Manor wasn't far; Anne would be safe there. Remembering Fiona's bubbling presence in London, and how it had helped Anne cope with the ton, Amelia was happy to see the friendship remain strong.

She, Phyllida, and Emily indulged in a quick gallop to shake the fidgets from their mounts, then settled to a more comfortable amble along the lane to Lyddington. The day was fine, the sun warm on their faces. Birds trilled and swooped. All seemed right within their world.

In the village, they left their horses at the inn and wandered the green, then repaired to the bakery to purchase some pastries. They consumed the delicious morsels on the seat in the sun, then simply sat and mused about life. About children. At Amelia's behest, Phyllida brought her up to date on her sons' development; Aidan and Evan were growing apace.

"They're scamps. I know they're quite safe at the Manor, but…" Phyllida gazed down the green, into the distance. "I do miss them." Smiling, she glanced at Amelia. "Mind you, I'm quite sure Papa, Jonas, and Sweetie will have spoiled them dreadfully by the time we get back."

Her gaze moving past Amelia, Phyllida murmured, "We've company. Who's this?"

It was Mrs. Tilby; the vicar's wife joined them in a voluble froth of greetings and declarations. She seemed quite keyed up; the pleasantries aside, she told them why.

"Things are going missing. A host of small items — well, you know how it is when you're not quite sure when you last saw something. We only realized when we gathered for the Ladies' Guild meeting yesterday — it's not the sort of thing one worries about until one realizes it's an epidemic. Well, one hardly likes to think what might disappear next."

Her heart sinking, Amelia asked, "What things have gone missing?"

"Lady Merrington's small enamel box — it used to sit on the windowsill in her drawing room. An engraved crystal paperweight from the Gingolds', a gold letter opener from the Dallingers', a gold bowl from the Castle."

Those were all houses she, together with Minerva, Emily, and Anne, had visited in the last week.

Phyllida's dark eyes touched her face, then Phyllida turned to Mrs. Tilby. "And these things have only recently gone missing?"

"Well, dear, that's what no one can truthfully say. What we do know is that they've vanished now, and no one knows where they've gone."

Amelia and Phyllida had to hold their tongues and disguise their impatience, until, late that evening, they finally got their husbands to themselves. Then they poured out their story.

Lucifer frowned. "It doesn't make sense. In order to sell such things, they'd have to go to London." He glanced at Luc.

Who shook his head. "I can't see rhyme or reason to it either." He took a sip of brandy, his gaze going to Amelia, curled in one corner of the chaise. "That is, of course, assuming they're stealing for the monetary value of the things."

Lucifer inclined his head. "Assuming that."

Amelia felt the weight of Luc's gaze; she turned her head and met it. He was waiting for her to tell Lucifer about the quizzing glass. She returned his dark gaze steadily and kept her lips firmly shut.

"There's another, more pertinent point to consider," Phyllida said from the other end of the chaise. "The thefts are still going on."

"Which means" — Amelia took up the thread of the argument she and Phyllida had already thrashed out—"that the thief is still active. We therefore have a chance of catching them, unmasking them, and setting matters straight."

Lucifer nodded. "You're right." After a moment, he mused, "We need to think of a way of drawing whoever it is into the open."

They tossed ideas about but could see no immediate way forward. Still turning the matter over in their minds, they retired to their beds.

"Why didn't you tell them?" Luc slumped on his back beside Amelia in their bed. She'd snuffed the candle; faint moonlight, silvery and insubstantial, filtered through the room.

"Why didn't you?"

He took a moment to consider her tone, but why she should be annoyed with him he couldn't imagine. "I'm hardly likely to tell a tale that seems to definitively implicate one of my sisters. Especially when, according to you, she's not the thief."

"Well! There you are." After a moment, she continued, in a fractionally less belligerent tone, "Why did you imagine I'd think differently?"

He suddenly wasn't sure whether there was any ice at all, thin or otherwise, under his feet. "Lucifer's your cousin. A Cynster."

She looked at him. "You're my husband."

He could feel her gaze but didn't turn to meet it. He stared instead at the canopy while he tried to understand. "You're a Cynster born and bred." He knew what he thought that meant, but was too wary to put it into words.

She turned fully, coming up on one elbow so she could — frowningly — study his face. "I might have been born a Cynster, but I married you — I'm an Ashford now. Of course I'm going to do all I can to protect your sisters."

He had to meet her gaze. "Even to the extent of being not quite open with Lucifer?"

She returned his regard. "If you want the truth, the question never even occurred to me. My loyalty now is to you, and beyond you, our family."

A knot of tension buried so deep he hadn't until that moment been aware of its existence unraveled, flowed away. Left him. Her declaration rang in his mind; the set of her jaw and lips stated she was unwaveringly steadfast, her position solidly fixed.

He had to ask. "Can you really do that — switch allegiances? Just like that?"

Even in the dimness, he could interpret the look she bent on him; she thought he was being unforgivably dense.

"Of course women can do that — we're expected to do that. Just stop and think how complicated life would be if we couldn't — or didn't — do that!"

She was right; he was being — had been — unforgivably dense. "I didn't think… men aren't conditioned to change loyalties like that, especially not family ones."

One sharp pointy elbow came to rest on his chest. She leaned over him. "It always falls to the ladies to handle the more difficult tasks."

Now she was closer he could see the exasperated affection in her eyes. She couldn't fathom why he hadn't understood; she thought he'd been obtuse, unthinking. Not true, but now he did comprehend, finally saw what the truth had to be… raising his hands, he framed her face. "Just as well." He drew her closer. "Thank you."

Before she could ask what he was thanking her for, he kissed her, long, lingeringly — thoroughly. She murmured incoherently and pressed nearer. Releasing her face, he slid his hands down her body, gripped her waist and lifted her across, setting her down atop him.

Drawing back from the kiss, he murmured, "If I could make a suggestion…?"

Given his erection was now cradled between her thighs, Amelia had little doubt of what direction his suggestion would take. "By all means." She set her lips to his. When she finally drew back, she invited, "Suggest away."

He did; she'd never doubted the quality of his expertise, nor the tenor of his imagination. The activities he scripted made her forget all else — the thief, protecting Anne, all else to do with his family — while she devoted every part of her mind, every part of her body, to just one thing.

The most important thing.

Loving him.

She loved him. She must.

A true heart and a backbone of steel; he'd always known she possessed both, but in recent times had focused more on the difficult latter rather than the highly desirable former.

Now both were his because she was. He finally understood all that that meant — all she meant by that.

The realization left him giddy.

Now he could confess, tell her all and everything he wished, all he felt she had a right to know. And all would be well. As Helena had told him, once he accepted the power, it was his to wield.

Wield it he would.

The only question was when.

Her parents, Amanda, Martin, Simon, and Helena herself were all due to arrive that afternoon.

The day was filled with preparations; Amelia rushed to and fro, giving orders here, checking details there. Lucifer and Phyllida smiled understandingly and took themselves off for a picnic. Reluctantly accepting that his time was not now, Luc retreated to his study, leaving Amelia in absolute control.

For which Amelia was grateful. As keyed up as she, the staff rallied around; when the youngest stablelad, whom she'd set on watch, came running with the news that the first coach had appeared across the valley, all was in readiness.

Exchanging a triumphant glance with Higgs and Cottsloe, she hurried upstairs to change her gown and tidy her hair. Descending ten minutes later, she just had time to winkle Luc from his study before a crunch of gravel and the clatter and stamp of hooves heralded the first of their expected guests.

Hand in hand, they strolled out to the portico to see Martin, Earl of Dexter, descend from the carriage, then extend his hand to his countess. The instant Amanda's feet touched the ground, she looked up, and beamed. "Melly!"

The twins met at the bottom of the steps, flying into each other's arms. They hugged, kissed, laughed, waltzed, then held each other at arm's length — and started talking, simultaneously, in a welter of half sentences they never seemed to feel the need to finish.

"Did you hear about—?"

"Reggie wrote. But how was—?"

Amanda waved. "The journey was easy."

"Yes, but what about—?"

"Ah, that! Well—"

Shaking his head, Martin climbed the shallow steps to Luc's side. The cousins exchanged smiles, with a spontaneous return to the camaraderie of their youth clapped each other's shoulders, then turned to survey their still chattering wives.

After a moment, Martin lifted his gaze, surveying the rolling green of the valley. "This place looks even more prosperous than I remember it."

Luc inclined his head. "We are doing quite well."

Martin had never known of the Ashfords' travails. If his cousin, who would remember the Chase in its glory days, could detect no lingering sign of their past plight, Luc was content to let that past die. The Ashfords had survived, that was what was important; his gaze resting on Amelia's golden head, he inwardly acknowledged that his house was only growing stronger. Day by day, by every day that she was his.

Another carriage appeared on the long slope traversing the other side of the valley; Martin nodded at it. "That'll be the Dowager. Simon's traveling with her. Arthur and Louise are bringing up the rear."

The sun slowly sank, gilding the V-shaped facade of the Chase; the afternoon stretched and lengthened with the shadows, the hours filled with warmth, joy, and unalloyed happiness as Amelia's family arrived and settled in.

Everyone gathered for afternoon tea; it was then that

Martin and Amanda made their announcement. Amanda was expecting their first child. The gathering erupted with a fresh outpouring of joy, of exclamations and congratulations. Luc watched Amelia hug her twin, watched the ladies crowding round to kiss and hug each other delightedly. Turning from the sight, he beckoned Cottsloe and sent him to fetch champagne.

Cottsloe rushed off to obey. Given he could count perfectly well, Luc returned his gaze to Amelia. She noticed; she cast him a quick glance, one he couldn't be sure he read correctly — imploring?

The champagne arrived; rising, he went to the sideboard and busied himself pouring the delicately fizzy liquid into the glasses Cottsloe hurriedly fetched. Simon came up to help distribute the glasses.

The instant Simon left him, Amelia appeared at Luc's shoulder. He paused in the act of pouring. Her hand closed over his wrist as their eyes met.

"Please don't say anything. I'm not sure!"

He read her eyes, then, lips curving, bent his head and brushed a kiss to her temple. "I won't — stop worrying. This is their moment — they married a month before we did. We'll make our own announcement, in our own time."

She searched his eyes, his face, then her brittle tension left her. She released his wrist; he finished pouring, then handed the glass to her.

She took it. Her eyes held his. "Thank you."

His lips curved. "No — thank you."

For one moment, they were the only people in the room, then Simon returned and gathered the rest of the glasses bar one. "That's it, I think." He turned back to the gathering in the center of the room.

Luc lifted the last glass, caught Amelia's gaze, then clinked the edge of his glass to hers. "Come." His arm sliding around her waist, he turned to company. "Let's drink to the future."

She smiled, leaned close for a moment, then together they returned to their guests.

The next hour winged by; at the end of it, everyone started to consider retiring to dress for dinner. Miss Pink drew Portia and Penelope away; Simon stood and stretched. As he turned to the door, it opened; Cottsloe came in, located Luc, and approached.

"My lord, General Ffolliot has called. He's waiting in the hall."

Luc glanced at the company. "Our nearest neighbor." He looked at Cottsloe. "Show him in here — perhaps he'd like to join us?"

Cottsloe bowed and withdrew. Luc rose and strolled up the long room.

The door opened again and the General came in. Of medium height and heavy build, the General's most notable features were his shaggy brows and his ruddy complexion. A genial but somewhat shy and retiring man, he readily took the hand Luc extended and shook it heartily.

"Afternoon, Calverton. Glad I caught you."

"Welcome, General — can I invite you to join us?"

The General followed Luc's wave and saw the massed company, all smiling agreeably, further down the room. He visibly blanched. "Oh — ah. Didn't realize you had company."

"It's not a private gathering — can I offer you a drink?"

"Wel…"

The General dithered; Luc had forgotten how awkward he sometimes was in the presence of strangers. He heard the swish of skirts as someone approached — he assumed it was Minerva, who always treated the General kindly. Instead, Amelia appeared by his side, smiling charmingly, slipping one hand into his arm, extending the other to the General.

"It's lovely to see you, sir — do let me convince you to join us."

Hiding a smile, Luc stood back and left the field to her. Within minutes, the General was seated on the chaise, Minerva on one side, Louise on the other. Although initially nervous, the General was not immune to the combined wiles of the ladies present; he soon had a cup of tea in one hand, a cake in the other, and was listening with rapt attention to the Dowager Duchess of St. Ives's views on the pleasures of the surrounding countryside.

Arthur caught Luc's eye, a twinkle in his. Luc smiled, and sipped his tea. Eventually, when the Dowager had finished complimenting the General on his good sense in living in such a pleasant place, Luc asked, "What was it you wished to see me about, General?"

The General blinked; his nervousness returned. He glanced around. "Well… not the sort of thing… then again, well…" After a moment, he hauled in a breath, and said in a rush, "I just don't know what to think — or do." His gaze appealed to Minerva beside him, then he glanced at Louise and Helena, all of whom looked encouraging. "It's my wife's gold thimble — one of the few things I had left of hers." He looked imploringly at Luc. "It's gone missing, you see, and what with all this talk of a thief about — well, I didn't know who to see…"

There was an instant of complete silence, then Amelia leaned forward and touched the General's arm. "How dreadful for you. When did you miss it?"

"Such an unhappy occurrence," Helena declared.

Emily and Anne, unbeknown to them both under heavy scrutiny, were unabashedly shocked. "How terrible," Anne murmured, her eyes wide, innocence writ in every line of her face.

The ladies rallied around the General; Luc noted the General's answers to the shrewd and necessary questions Amelia and Phyllida put to him.

It seemed the thimble, a simple unadorned gold one, had sat on the mantelpiece in the Manor's parlor ever since the General's wife had died. The last time he remembered seeing it was weeks ago.

"Not the sort of thing I look at every day. Just knowing it was there was enough."

The only reason the General had come to them was for comfort; at no point did he cast any aspersions on anyone at the Chase. But once he'd left, not reassured but calmed and to some degree indeed comforted, the mood in the Chase's drawing room turned somber; Luc, Lucifer, Amelia, and Phyllida exchanged weighty glances.

Arthur, Minerva, Helena, and Louise all noted those glances, exchanged glances of their own, then Minerva rose and shook out her skirts. "We'd best go up and change — Portia and Penelope will be down shortly, and they'll find us all still here, none of us dressed."

The group broke up, everyone retiring to their rooms.

"We'll have to talk later," Lucifer murmured as he went up the stairs beside Luc.

Luc nodded. "And not just talk." He met Lucifer's blue gaze, almost as dark as his own. "We need to come up with a plan."