Colemore’s front drive was far busier when they arrived than when they had left. Other riders were setting out to enjoy the

morning air, dogs were barking, and a swarm of gardeners were busy keeping the grounds pristine. A stable lad took their horses.

Beck escorted Gwendolyn into the house.

The butler, Nathaniel, bowed a greeting. “Breakfast is set up in the blue dining room.” He indicated the room was down the

main hall.

Gwendolyn looked to Beckett. “I need to change outfits.” She didn’t want to fuss with the overlong train of her habit while

trying to eat breakfast. “I shall see you there?”

He nodded, and she went up the stairs. She didn’t take long. Molly was waiting for her. She was quite happy to have earned a gold crown. The bribe had been a well-played move. Beckett would have known that Molly would have done anything for such a fantastic sum. Once again, Gwendolyn reassessed her knowledge of Beckett. The clothes he had purchased for his disguise as Mr. Curran were from some of the finest tailors and bootmakers in England. She had thought him poor, but perhaps not? It made no difference. Her love was clever enough to do anything he wished, and the thought made her proud.

Gwendolyn chose a day dress out of green muslin with white stripes and boasting a low, lace-edged bodice. The color was a

good one on her.

Molly restyled her hair high on her head in two blinks. Gwendolyn made her way to the blue dining room.

The Reverend Denburn was still at the breakfast table. Gwendolyn wondered how many plates he had enjoyed. Otherwise the room

was empty save for Beckett, who had waited for her. Instead of letting the footman pull out her chair, he did so.

They were just tucking in to the plates they had filled among the choices on the sideboard when Lady Orpington barreled into

the room, Magpie in her arms. There was a small yellow bow in the pup’s hair and a larger one around her neck for a collar.

“ Prepare , Miss Lanscarr. We are playing cards. I just received the word.”

“Lady Middlebury changed her mind?” Gwendolyn asked, a bit thrown off by the change after their hostess’s earlier edict.

“Of course she did. She had no choice. Not in fairness. She is also playing. Reverend, you are still breakfasting?” She reached out to the sideboard to choose a piece of ham to feed to Magpie. “He was here when Vera and I broke our fast earlier,” she explained to Gwendolyn and Beckett.

“I do enjoy the marquess’s hospitality,” the cleric admitted.

“Well, we will need you as well. Did Lady Middlebury mention playing to you? No? Then take this as your invitation. We meet

at half past the hour in the music room, where we were last night,” she tacked on, an instruction for Gwendolyn’s benefit.

“Come, come, come .”

On those words, Lady Orpington started to leave, but stopped. She shoved Magpie into the nearest footman’s arms. “Here, take

Magpie out—and don’t let one of those heathen hounds near her.” On those instructions, she dashed out of the room to continue

her card preparations.

The footman’s impassive expression suddenly changed to one of alarm. He held the dog up, and everyone could see a Magpie spot

on the chest of his livery. His fellow servants snickered as he marched Magpie out of the dining room. The dog hung her head,

but Gwendolyn didn’t sense she was sorry for her transgression.

Reverend Denburn pushed his plate away. “I am summoned. I shall see you upstairs,” he said to Gwendolyn. He followed Lady

Orpington.

Gwendolyn turned to Beckett. He did not appear happy. “How are you going to convince her to leave now? This is what she has

been waiting for.”

“I’m not certain.”

She shrugged. “Will one day of play hurt?” She looked around the breakfast room, empty save for themselves and three footmen standing ready to see to their every wish. The walls boasted prints of songbirds. It was a far cry from the horror of the cottage. “It all seems distant, doesn’t it? Almost unreal.”

“Oh, it is real,” he assured her. He seemed to weigh his options.

At that moment, Miss Purley and her friends and their mothers entered the breakfast room. They didn’t speak to Gwendolyn,

and she didn’t offer more than a nod as a greeting... although she knew Miss Purley and Lady Beth had noticed how close

Beckett sat to her. She took pleasure in stiff shoulders and their bitter, jealous frowns. Let the rumors fly. Mr. Steele’s

kiss had cemented the two of them together. He was hers , and she’d not apologize for disrupting their designs on him.

Beckett stood. “I’ll walk with you to where they are playing cards.” Out in the front hall, as they climbed the stairs, he

said in a hushed tone, “Be ready to leave at a moment’s notice.”

Gwendolyn came to a halt. “Lady Orpington will not go. Not now that we will be playing cards.”

“I won’t give her a choice.” He placed a hand on her waist and encouraged her up the stairs.

She liked the weight of his touch, especially since it drew her closer to him. “What of our maids, and then we must include

Mrs. Newsome, as well?”

“The servants are safe. I can see them returned to London once I know I have you and Lady Orpington safe.”

“And Mrs. Newsome.”

He seemed to consider a moment. “I’ll speak to her.” A group of people gathered outside the music room. Inside, servants were setting up tables, organizing refreshments, and hastening to do as Lady Middlebury commanded. She noticed Beckett and Gwendolyn. She paused, smiled, the expression tight-lipped. The expression told Gwendolyn that their hostess was not pleased with the turn of events. So why was she doing it? Lady Orpington stood close at hand, watching all with a self-satisfied smile.

Mrs. Newsome sat outside the room on a bench with her knitting. She smiled up at Gwendolyn and Beckett. “It is happening,”

she said, her eyes lively as if she enjoyed the scrambling of servants.

The footman returned with Magpie. His jacket was still stained. He gingerly carried the dog into the room and offered her

to Lady Orpington. She took her pet without comment or a thank-you and marched right out the door, where she dumped Magpie

onto Mrs. Newsome’s lap. “Watch her, Vera.” She looked toward Gwendolyn and Beckett, clapping her gloved hands together with

a smile of anticipation. “The time has come,” she said with great relish. “Come inside. I will show you where we will sit.”

She didn’t wait for an answer but marched back into the room.

Gwendolyn shot an overwhelmed glance at Beckett, but then noticed Mrs. Newsome shove Magpie off her knitting and off her lap. She even attempted to give the dog a small kick. Magpie, her large eyes resentful but unsurprised, scooted under a chair. She eyed Mrs. Newsome warily, and Gwendolyn could almost hear the dog “grumbling” over her mistress being preoccupied with cards.

Gwendolyn wasn’t fond of the spoiled Magpie either, but she would never hurt a dog, or take out her hostility on one. And

Mrs. Newsome’s behavior when she believed no one was watching alarmed Gwendolyn. The companion was not as sweetly docile as

she wished to seem. Then again, Magpie, and Lady Orpington, could try anyone’s patience.

Beckett leaned close. He’d apparently not seen the little dog drama. His attention was on the whist room. “How long will the

card playing go on?”

“Most of the day. Perhaps into the night. At least, that is what Lady Orpington told me.”

“Very well. At least I will know where you are. You’ll be safe with so many people around.”

“Are we becoming a touch too vigilant?” Now that she was at the house and among the guests, the danger didn’t feel real as

it had in the cottage.

“No,” he answered succinctly. “Be watchful. I shall check on you later.”

“Yes, sir,” she answered back, smiling to soften the words. “And you will be?”

He looked to the stairs. “Attempting to see the marquess.”

Lady Middlebury announced loudly, “We are ready. Ellen,” she said, addressing Lady Orpington, “do you know how you wish the

pairs organized?”

“I do,” Lady Orpington answered. “Come inside, everyone. Let us begin.”

Gwendolyn sighed. It was going to be a long day. She nodded to Beckett and walked to the music room door. She glanced back.

He was already gone.

Beck started up the stairs to the next floor and the family quarters. He could knock on the marquess’s door and request an

audience... and say what? Did you have my mother murdered? Did you steal my inheritance?

That last thought stopped him. He was halfway up the stairs. He stood, one foot on the next riser.

If what he suspected was true, at one time, all of this—the paneled walls, the gardens, the stables—was supposed to be his.

A footman walked down the stairs, giving a small bow toward him as he did. Lady Orpington’s voice drifted up to him as she

chastised one of the cardplayers for dallying. “We are ready to play,” her ladyship declared, the tone strident.

This was not his world.

And yet it might have been.

But was it now? Did he wish it to be?

Beck didn’t know.

He was thankful that Gwendolyn was here. He needed her cool head as he tried to decipher the mysteries of the past. As he

attempted to understand the challenges of the present.

He continued up the stairs, but then Ellisfield came down the stairs toward him. His eyes lit up. “Curran, just who I needed to see. I’m off to see Squire Miller about a gelding he has for sale. A hunter. If he is any good, I thought I’d try him tomorrow. Ride with me? I could use a second opinion.”

The invitation surprised Beck. His guard went up. “What of your friends?”

“They are still in their beds. Besides, they aren’t good judges of horseflesh. I like that bay you ride.”

He sounded friendly. Course, he was sober now. And Gwendolyn had also mentioned that Ellisfield had known him as a boy, as

cousins would. He wondered what stories the lord could tell.

“I hoped to have a moment with the marquess,” Beck said, curious of Ellisfield’s response.

The man acted surprised. “My father? Whyever for? I keep my distance as much as possible.”

That was an interesting response but not a shattering one. The marquess’s family did not seem close. “I heard about his research

on the flora and fauna of Colemore. I’m a bit of an amateur botanist.”

Ellisfield seemed to accept the excuse. “Well, you are three hours too early. He doesn’t like being interrupted before one.

I’m a lark myself, obviously. Like you. I saw you riding with Miss Lanscarr earlier.”

“You should have joined us.” Beck was glad he hadn’t.

Ellisfield shook his head. “I was well in my cups last night. I needed a bit of time in my bed. However, I’m ready to ride

now. So, will you come?”

Beck hesitated. Was Ellisfield tasked with keeping track of him?

His lordship noticed Beck’s uncertainty. “It isn’t a long ride. We shall return well before midday. However, you are free to stay here, if you wish.”

There was no guile in his tone or expression, and in that moment, Beck decided to go. Ellisfield was spoiled like many oldest

sons, but he also wasn’t a bad sort. Beck had run into his type in the military. They were men searching for a purpose, and

he found he wouldn’t mind a bit of time with Ellisfield. They were family. In spite of all that had transpired over the years,

Beck discovered the yearning to belong was still there.

“I will,” Beck answered. Gwendolyn would be playing cards for most of the day, and Beck was curious to know what Ellisfield

knew. “I hear there is a portrait of the last marquess and his family. Do you know where I may view it?” He wanted to see

his father.

“Why?” Ellisfield asked.

Beck shrugged with a nonchalance he didn’t feel. “I heard a ghost story,” he offered.

“The singing marchioness.” Ellisfield shook his head. “Those deaths were a tragedy, but if she is haunting us, I’ve not heard

her. The best portrait of her is upstairs in the small library.”

“I was told there is a portrait of all of the family.”

Ellisfield nodded. “In the main library. Come this way.” He continued down the stairs, and Beck fell in line behind him.

“This house has more than one library?” Beck asked conversationally.

“This house has multiples of everything. There is a library on each floor.”

On the main floor, Ellisfield walked through the house to a cavernous room lined with bookshelves and art. The shelves weren’t all full. A man would have to collect books for more than one lifetime to fill this room. Sunlight poured in from arched windows that overlooked the back gardens. Groupings of chairs, desks, and settees created places to converse or read. Gwendolyn would be in heaven.

“We use this room for balls,” Ellisfield said, “but I can’t remember the last time we held one. Perhaps it is better to say,

we could hold balls in this room.”

“The marquess does not like to entertain.”

“No.” Ellisfield did not elaborate.

Over the mantel was a portrait of the current Marquess and Marchioness of Middlebury. They sat in this very room with its

patterned draperies. Their children were grouped around them. In the portrait, Ellisfield was a school lad.

“The one of my aunt and uncle is over here.” Ellisfield pointed to a portrait beside an exit door. This painting was not as

light and bucolic as the one over the mantel. The colors were dark, wooded. The woman in this picture resembled the musical

woman in the upstairs library; however, now she appeared matured although not much older. She wore a lace cap over raven curls.

Her eyes burned with pride, and her arms were wrapped around a rosy-cheeked babe too young for hair.

But it was the man behind her who commanded Beck’s attention. His father was a tall man, like himself. He appeared very much a man of his time with his powdered hair and the lace falls of his neckcloth. One hand rested protectively on his wife’s shoulder. His expression was also one of pride. He was older than his wife, much older, and yet the two appeared ready to face whatever the world brought them.

“The fourth and fifth marquesses,” Ellisfield murmured. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need to break my fast before we ride.”

Beck turned away reluctantly. He could have spent hours studying that portrait. But to what purpose? “Did you know the last

marquess?” he asked Ellisfield. “The adult one.”

“I don’t remember much,” his lordship said as he walked out of the room. “I remember the funeral. He was greatly admired.”

The two men went to the breakfast room. Ellisfield made a sandwich of two slices of bread and a beefsteak, shaking his head

to ward off the footmen overly anxious to serve him.

He then flirted a bit with Miss Purley. He even complimented her singing before giving a nod to Beck, and the men left the

room together.

After collecting Beck’s hat from where he’d left it in the entry hall with a footman, Ellisfield led them out the side door

of the West Wing, the one with the path leading to the stables.

“You don’t have your horse brought to the house?” Beck wondered.

Ellisfield shook his head. “I enjoy visiting the stables. I find it restful compared to the activity of the house. I can be

alone with my thoughts. I also like to saddle my own horse. That’s why he trusted me to jump your coach team. We are a bonded

pair.”

“The jump was still foolhardy.”

His lordship took a big bite of sandwich. “But I lined my pockets with the money I won off of my friends,” he answered, munching

away.

“You could have crashed.”

“Not with Ares. He hasn’t let me down once.”

Of course, it had been Beck who had walked his horse to the house. He wondered how the animal was today or if he still had

the hint of a limp.

They reached the stables. Horses were being taken out for exercise or up to the house for their riders. The handsome chestnut

knew Ellisfield had arrived. He nickered a greeting.

As they walked to the stall, Beck said, “With your family, one wouldn’t think you’d need to perform dangerous endeavors for

your spending money.”

“My parents use money to keep us in line. My brother and sister conform. I don’t. I purchased this horse with my own money,

I trained him, and he has repaid me handsomely. He is the fastest I’ve ever owned. Certainly the smartest. When he was a year

or two younger, there wasn’t anyone who could beat him.”

“You raced him?”

“Aye, and I purchased an estate in Yorkshire recently with the money we made. It isn’t large. Not a Colemore. But it is mine.

And Ares’s.” Ellisfield opened the stall gate and patted Ares on the neck. The horse gave him a nuzzle. He showed no sign

of the previous day’s lameness.

So that explained where Ellisfield spent most of his time instead of dancing around London drawing rooms. Beck began to change his poor opinion of his cousin, especially since he appeared to be a more respectful man when he was sober.

Yes, Ellisfield was arrogant, as all lordly sons were, and the trick jumping the coach was foolish, but at least he was doing something for himself.

“What of you, Curran? What are your interests?”

“The usual,” Beck replied, evasively. “Excuse me, my lord. I need to saddle my horse.” He walked away, not giving Ellisfield

a chance for more questions.

He discovered Wagner and the bay together. He let Jem know that he was riding out with Ellisfield. He also let him know he

planned on moving Gwendolyn and the ladies to safety. “Be vigilant. We’ll have to use the coach,” he warned. “And keep your

eye on Miss Lanscarr.”

“Aye, sir. I’ll be ready. Will you be all right with Ellisfield?” Jem asked.

“I think so. I don’t know.”

“One of those, eh? All right, sir. I’ll keep watch.”

His horse saddled, he met Ellisfield out in the yard. They mounted and rode off in the direction of the village called Chislet.

Beck kept the conversation cursory, biding his time, waiting for Ellisfield to reveal his true motive in inviting him for

the ride. And yet his lordship didn’t seem to have one. He didn’t pry into Mr. Curran’s past and certainly didn’t make accusations.

At one point, Beck did share that he’d been in the military. Ellisfield had a number of ques tions, and there was a longing in the man’s voice as if he envied Beck’s adventures.