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T he next morning, Lucy awoke with an empty bed and an ache between her thighs.

There were no signs that anyone had been in her bedchamber the night before besides her. Somehow Will had even managed to tidy the bedclothes while she slept. If she didn’t know better, she’d think the memory of what they shared was some sort of mad fever dream.

Though she’d have liked to remain in bed and revel in the knowledge of just how very thoroughly her fiancé had initiated her into the world of sensuality, she knew her mother would worry if she didn’t appear downstairs at her usual time.

She had barely finished her first cup of tea and was debating whether or not to go in search of her cousin to learn if there were any new developments in the search for Miss Fleetwood’s attacker or her brother’s killer when her mother came rushing into the breakfast room.

“Oh, Lucy,” her mother said, her face alight with excitement, “you’ll never guess what’s happened. It’s wonderful! Beyond wonderful!”

Though her mother was hardly as inclined to displeasure as Viscountess Gilford, Mrs. Winifred Penhallow wasn’t given to outbursts of such unrestrained pleasure, either. So whatever had her in such a pelter must be joyful indeed. And Lucy, for one, could use a bit of joy given the events of yesterday.

“What is it, Mama?” she asked, unable to repress a smile. “I haven’t seen you this pleased since the dowager Duchess of Langham attended your Venetian breakfast.”

Mrs. Penhallow smiled beatifically. “My dear girl, it is even better. And as it happens, this news is somewhat related.”

At this, Lucy frowned. “How? I thought you’d decided not to host any entertainments this year.”

“I am not,” Mama said, her eyes twinkling, “but the Duke and Duchess of Langham are.”

Was her mother suffering from an ailment of the mind? Lucy had never known her to be dotty, but she had heard that once they reached a certain age, women were inclined to become forgetful. Eyes narrowed, she scanned Mrs. Penhallow’s face for clues.

“Oh, Lucy,” Mama said with a shake of her head. “I have not taken leave of my senses. I am perfectly sane. It is just when a mother learns that her daughter’s betrothal is to be announced at a ducal ball, she is inclined to become a little excited.”

“At a ducal—” Lucy broke off, then put together the clues. “Do you mean to say that they will be announcing my betrothal to Will at the Langhams’ ball this evening?”

“That is exactly what I mean, my dear,” Mama said, beaming. “I was lamenting to Lady Adrian’s mother at the theater last night the fact that it was too late in the season to plan anything as lavish as a ball, and I suppose she must have recounted my words to her daughter. For I just received a note from the duchess offering to announce your betrothal at their celebration this evening.”

The Langham ball was an annual event that was usually meant to honor the duke’s birthday. That he and his wife had agreed to share the party with Lucy and Will was beyond anything she could ever have imagined. They were dear friends of her cousin and Lady Katherine, but even so, Lucy knew better than to believe such a relationship could simply be transferred from cousin to cousin.

Feeling touched and excited on her own behalf, Lucy smiled back at her mother. “That is truly wonderful news, Mama. I would never have imagined such a thing. Though I suppose it isn’t so unusual for Will’s family to be honored in this way. His friendship with the duke’s brother likely had something to do with it as well.”

At that moment, Rhodes announced Will, and a half second later, Gilford himself stepped into the breakfast room. He bowed to both Lucy and her mother, then must have noticed their jubilant moods because he said, “You’ve had good news, I take it? Do tell me about it. I could use a bit of cheering.”

Quickly, Lucy’s mother told him about the ball that evening and the betrothal announcement.

When she’d finished, he broke out in a grin. “I wasn’t aware Langham and Poppy had agreed to do that,” he said, looking pleased. “It is very generous of them.”

“It is, indeed,” Lucy said with a grin. “Now, I believe Mama has some preparations to make for her gown this evening, so why do we not go into the drawing room?”

But before Mrs. Penhallow could even question Lucy’s fib, Will was shaking his head in apology. “There’s no time for that, I’m afraid,” he told Lucy. “We must be on the way at once if we are to get there in time.”

Lucy felt a stab of fear run through her. “Has something happened?”

“It has,” he said hastily. “But there is nothing to be fearful about. In fact, it’s good news.”

Before she could question him again, Will spoke up. “It’s Miss Fleetwood,” he told her. “She’s awake and she wishes to speak to us.”

It was some time before they descended from Will’s carriage before a newly renovated establishment not very far from Miss Fleetwood’s home. First Lucy had needed to change into something more befitting a sickroom visit. Then, her mother had insisted upon having Mrs. Hughes make up a basket for Miss Fleetwood and Hetty, though Lucy had assured her neither woman was in a fit state for such rich food at the moment. So when they entered the building, Lucy was out of sorts and afraid the physician who had issued the invitation for them to speak to Miss Fleetwood would rescind it.

“It isn’t that sort of invitation,” Will kept reassuring her, but Lucy couldn’t help recalling when her father was in the last stages of the illness that would take him from them forever. She’d allowed her mother to persuade her to go visit a school friend for a couple of days. But when she’d returned, it was to learn she was too late.

There was nothing like that sort of relationship between Lucy and Miss Fleetwood. She barely knew the woman. But ever since that childhood shock, she found herself expecting some kind of bad news when she planned a sickroom visit.

Inside the surgery, however, the mood was one of cool efficiency and competence. When the woman in a nursing sister’s uniform greeted them and asked whom they were there to see, Will informed her that they’d been given permission by Detective Superintendent Eversham to see Miss Christina Fleetwood.

At the mention of Eversham, the nurse, who introduced herself as Sister Truman, stood up a little straighter. “Right this way, my lord, Miss Penhallow.”

The room she showed them into was small, with room only for a narrow bed and various pieces of equipment that Lucy couldn’t even begin to name. But what really made the room seem cramped was the presence of three policemen. Two large constables stood on either side of the bed where Miss Fleetwood lay. The third, standing near the small window, was Eversham.

When they entered, her cousin looked up, and something like relief crossed his face. With a nod, he dismissed the two constables, then pulled a chair near the bed and indicated that Lucy should sit.

But she had questions first. “I thought you said she was better?” To her mind, though Miss Fleetwood had been in the care of the clinic for nearly twenty-four hours, she looked little better than she’d been when Lucy and Will had left her in the care of the Dr. Thwaite and his son.

Her cousin ran a hand over his chin, and Lucy realized he hadn’t shaved. He looked more unkempt than she’d ever seen him. “I said she was improved,” he corrected her. “But not so improved that she is fully recovered. From what Thwaite the elder told me, though her condition was better than that of Hetty Turner, it was still serious.”

At the mention of the maid, Lucy raised a hand to her chest. “Oh, Hetty. I nearly forgot her. Where is she?”

When she’d asked Will about the maid’s condition in the carriage on the way here, he’d said Eversham hadn’t mentioned her. Lucy wasn’t sure whether this meant Hetty was doing so well it wasn’t worth mentioning, or if she was doing so poorly he didn’t want to discuss her condition until Lucy and Will arrived.

“She’s been moved to St. Bartholomew’s because of the severity of her wounds,” Eversham said with a tight look. “The last report I had from the men I stationed there to protect her said she is doing as well as can be expected.”

Before they’d left Christina Fleetwood’s house the day before, Lucy had instructed that all of the bills for both women’s care be sent to her man of business. Though Will and her cousin had assured her that neither woman had been hurt through any fault of Lucy’s, she couldn’t help but believe it. If the possibility that Jedidiah Hamilton might wish to harm Miss Fleetwood when he learned she’d spoken to Lucy and Will about him had occurred to her earlier, then both women would be uninjured right now.

Now, the fact that both Christina Fleetwood and her maid were still alive was something to be grateful for. But Lucy would do whatever she could to make sure that the man who had attacked them would be brought to justice.

“It isn’t your fault,” Will said in a low voice only she could hear. Lucy felt his strong arm around her waist and was grateful for the comfort, even if she didn’t quite believe him. To Eversham, he said, “You said when you sent for me that Miss Fleetwood was awake and alert.”

Lucy looked down at the sleeping woman and had difficulty imagining it.

“She was,” Eversham said to Will. “But that was nearly two hours ago.”

Will started to protest, but Lucy placed a hand on his arm. “We are here now. That is the important thing.” Glancing over at her cousin, she said, “Perhaps the two of you can go get a cup of tea. I’ll remain here by Christina’s bedside for a while.”

She felt Eversham’s questioning gaze on her for a long moment, then he nodded. “My men are just outside the door if you need them.”

“We won’t be far,” Will reassured her.

With a nod to them, Lucy sat down in the chair beside the bed and took Miss Fleetwood’s pale hand in hers.

She was startled when at the contact the spiritualist’s eyes flew open.

“Miss Fleetwood,” Lucy gasped. “Have you been awake the entire time?”

Christina Fleetwood gave a little smile. “Childhood trick,” she murmured. “Used to spy on my brothers.”

Then, perhaps recalling that one of her brothers was now dead, she made a pained expression.

Her heartbeat having calmed, Lucy patted the other woman’s hand. “I am sorry about your brother Charles.”

“We hadn’t seen one another in a dozen years or more,” Christina said, her eyes filled with sadness.

If they’d been estranged for so many years, Lucy thought, then the other woman must be older than she’d at first thought. Aloud she asked, “And the rest of your family?”

Christina sighed. “Parents dead. Years ago. Another brother. James. Vicar. He’ll inherit now, I s’pose.”

Making a mental reminder to ask her cousin if James Fleetwood had been contacted about his brother’s death, Lucy wondered how he viewed Christina’s choice of profession.

Deciding she needed to get answers before the patient drifted off again, Lucy held the other woman’s hand lightly, and asked, “Miss Fleetwood, Christina, can you remember what happened yesterday? When you and Hetty were attacked?”

At the mention of Hetty, Christina’s eyes filled with tears. “Foolish, loyal Hetty. I told her to run, but she would not. Threw herself between the attacker and me.”

Her own eyes burning in sympathetic sadness, Lucy used her handkerchief to dab at Miss Fleetwood’s eyes. “Did you recognize him? The man who attacked you both, I mean.”

Christina shook her head a little, which Lucy took to mean she hadn’t known the man. It was disappointing but hardly unexpected.

“That’s all right, dear,” she said gently. “Jedidiah Hamilton likely sent someone else to attack you while he remains hidden away with Vera.”

But Miss Fleetwood shook her head again, and this time she spoke the word again. “No. It was H-Hamilton.”

Already thinking ahead to what she would tell Will and her cousin, Lucy almost didn’t hear what Christina said.

Blinking, she stared at the woman in the bed. “I apologize, but did you say that it was Jedidiah Hamilton who attacked you?”

Miss Fleetwood looked exhausted but seemed intent on ensuring that Lucy heard what she had to say. “Yes. It was him.”

Since Miss Fleetwood had met the man before, Lucy didn’t doubt her words.

“Christina,” she said in a firm voice, “is there anything else you recall about the attack?”

“Yes,” Christina Fleetwood said softly, her eyelids beginning to droop. “He wasn’t alone. Was a woman with him.”