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“Is that so uncommon, then?” she asked, feigning ignorance of such matters.

Mr. Cushing gave a bark of a laugh. “To me, it seems a miracle.”

Yes, he might be the sort of man to live far beyond his own means. She smiled and ended the conversation, then turned to the cousin on her other side to ask about the wedding preparations.

* * *

Daphne was not certain what awakened her.

For once, it wasn’t her nightmare.

It was the middle of the night, the room still dark. Eurydice snored, her breath rattling as if she too would take Jenny’s cold. That clock chimed in the distance.

Three in the morning again, but this time, Daphne was not hungry.

She felt rather than saw that there was another presence in the room. She couldn’t have named what alerted her to the intruder, a faint scent of cologne, perhaps, or a rustle of cloth. She kept her eyes closed, rolled over with a sigh and breathed as if she were asleep.

She heard a footfall. Was it the duke? Even if he was the intruder, surely he was too honorable to assault a girl in her own room? Daphne was prepared to scream if a finger was laid upon her, even as she doubted her duke would act in such a way.

She heard a click, like the closing of her trunk. She opened her eyes slightly and saw a wedge of moonlight as the door to the corridor was opened. She had the barest glimpse of a shadow passing through the door, then the door was closed and there was only the sound of Eurydice’s breathing.

Who had been in their room?

Why?

Daphne waited until first light because she didn’t want to light a candle and risk awakening Eurydice. She slipped from her bed as quietly as possible and went to her trunk. It looked just as it had the night before and she wondered if she had dreamed of the intruder. She quietly opened her trunk and surveyed the contents in the dim light, then patted the folded chemises and petticoats.

Her hand stilled over a hard shape that hadn’t been there before.

It was an unfamiliar drawstring bag, made of deep blue velvet. Daphne’s mouth went dry. She cast a glance at Eurydice, then opened the bag, tipping its contents into her hand.

It was the Eye of India.

Panic rose hot in her chest as she stared at the gem.

What should she do?

Daphne recalled Mr. Cushing’s tale of the night before and knew that she could not let herself be named as a thief. Who would believe her if she said someone had placed it in her room? Would she be falsely accused and banished from polite society, like the duke’s sister? Daphne could not bear it.

She could not risk it.

Not if she was to guarantee Eurydice’s future.

Daphne returned the brooch in its velvet bag and knotted the cord, just as it had been, then replaced it in her trunk. She went back to bed, her thoughts spinning. The others would be awakening. The loss would be discovered. What should she do? If there was a search for the gem, she didn’t want to have it with her. Neither did she want it to be found in her possessions.

She wished she could talk to the duke and seek his advice, but it was impossible for her to get to Bocka Morrow without being observed.

Or was it?

No one had seen Jenny since their arrival.

It was not even dawn.

Did she dare? Daphne rang for her maid before she could question her impulse.

One thing was certain: the duke would know what to do.

* * *