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Leona did not get much sleep that night.

Her thoughts raged within her head, angrily snapping and snarling like two dogs over one bone.

The bone of pride was tossed and flung about in the air as the two halves of her mind raged.

One part argued to stay at Castle Marin, to face down her detractors.

The other part urged her to leave Castle Marin, to flee back to what she knew best: her duty to her family, for however long it was accepted.

In the end, it was Deveraux’s words that tipped the scales toward her leaving.

More precisely, his cold neutral tone when he demanded she tell him what she was doing up at the keep, and then his blasé attitude when he heard it concerned her brother Charlie.

One moment she was treated as coldly as the commonest criminal, and the next, she was virtually dismissed as unimportant.

It was the outside of enough! She could no longer stay under the same roof as Mr. Nigel Deveraux.

Sometime later, as she lay alone in her wide bed staring up at the silk-swagged draperies, she realized she heard music.

It was the musicians. They were playing again.

Good, perhaps Lucy would be able to salvage a portion of her night.

Regardless, Leona was confident Lucy would long remember her betrothal ball.

And so would many others! She laughed silently, then stopped as she bit her lower lip.

Including me! she thought, tears welling in her eyes.

She remembered how tenderly Deveraux had held her against him as he led her back to the house.

A lone tear spilled out of the corner of her eye and slid down her cheek.

It was still dark when Betsy woke her. Leona was surprised she’d even managed to fall asleep and very much doubted she’d slept more than two hours. Still, with her blood tingling with excitement at her plans, she shook off the last remnants of sleep.

“Most everyone’s abed, miss. Cook’s up with one of her scullery maids, as is Jason, the footman, and Miss Jewitt.

I saw her brewin’ some tisane for Lady Lucy, sayin’ her ladyship was havin’ troubles sleepin’ with the excitement.

I said ye was, too, and ye hit upon a notion to go ridin’ to finish tirin’ ye out.

She seemed to unnerstand ’cause she deigned to unbend so far as to say as how fresh air might do the trick better’n her tisane. ”

“How clever of you, Betsy! I had thought to make my ride a secret, but this is even better. Now no one will be surprised if they do not see me for hours. Why don’t you go visiting your mother today, say I said this was a good day.

That way, you will not be asked needless questions later, and you shall not have to lie. ”

“Oh, dear, miss. I don’t know as how I could . . . . But I’ll think on somethin’. They’ll learn naught from me, that I promise ye. Will ye be leavin’ a note or anythin’?”

“Yes, I suppose I should, at least for Maria and the countess. While I write them, take this portmanteau down with you to the back door, then go out to the stable and order Lady Talavera saddled for me. . .. And thank you, Betsy, for everything. I’ll meet you at the edge of the wood about twenty minutes after I’ve ridden out of the stable yard.

Will that give you enough time to come back to collect the portmanteau from the back door and meet me? . . . Good. Now hurry, go!”

Leona was five miles down the road on her way to Lion’s Gate by the time the last of the nighttime mist burned away under the morning sun.

Only faint traces of pink still glowed on the horizon, remnants of the vivid reds that streaked the sky as Leona accepted the portmanteau from Betsy’s hand and buckled it to her saddle.

She looked back then at Castle Marin, a pang of longing clutching her stomach.

She ignored it and resolutely set her face north toward Lion’s Gate.

She worried about her reception at Axminster and the ease with which she would be able to find a carriage to convey her the rest of her journey, for she was unaccompanied.

The innkeeper named an outrageous price, but after only cursory dickering, Leona agreed.

True to his word, the horses were swift and the driver capable, though the carriage was not nearly as well sprung as the Earl of Nevin’s.

Still, that did not prevent her from dozing, and it was around noon that the carriage drove into Crawfords Dean, setting her down, at her request, at the Golden Goose Inn.

Mr. Tubbs was surprised to see her descend from the carriage, but he admirably kept his silence at a signal from her that she did not want her driver to overhear them.

He led her into the private parlor, saw her comfortably settled with a bracing cup of tea before he reluctantly agreed to sit down across from her to discuss the situation.

“Charlie’s married, Mr. Tubbs.”

“Charlie! I mean—Mr. Leonard! He’s married?”

Leona nodded. “I just heard it last night. He’s going to bring his bride to Lion’s Gate soon. I came back ahead of Miss Sprockett to begin preparations.”

Mr. Tubbs canted his head, his lips twisting. “I’ve known you for many a year, and that’s a fact, Miss Leonard, and I can tell when you’re not speaking clearly. There’s more to your tale than you’re saying. But I know my place. Just remember. You need help, you come to ol’ Tom Tubbs right quick.”

She laughed misty-eyed. “Haven’t I always?”

He grunted agreement, then drew his bulk out of the chair across from her. “I’ll have Abraham fetch your Molly from the field and harness her to the trap. Be ready for you in a trice.”

“Thank you. And thank you for taking care of her while I was gone.”

Discomforted with her gratitude, he grumbled and shrugged, bringing a broad smile to Leona’s mouth. It was good to be home.

The same thought came to her when she drove up before Rose Cottage.

She sat still for a moment, studying the sturdy, thatch-roofed cottage.

Plants around the house were beginning to show signs of green and red tips where buds formed.

By summer’s end, the house would be a brown and white island in a sea of riotous color.

In the evening, with the windows open, the most fragrant breeze would float inside the snug little house.

It would be time for Maria to harvest for the potpourris she enjoyed making.

If they still lived at Rose Cottage.

She sighed and lifted the reins, signaling Molly to move toward the small shed in the back that served as her barn. With tired, aching arms she rubbed the horse down, saw that she had food and water, then went into the cottage.

It had a dank, musky odor to it. She wrinkled her nose and quickly went around the cottage throwing open windows.

Upstairs in her small bedroom with its dormer window, she stood for a moment looking outside.

Clouds were beginning to gather. There could be a storm before morning. She’d have to check on her wood supply.

She took off her hat and unbuttoned the closely-fitted jacket of her riding habit, eager to take the outfit off.

It felt like she’d been in it over twenty-four hours.

She knew that wasn’t possible, but she couldn’t shake the feeling.

She’d feel better for a change of clothes.

Tiredly she flopped down on her bed next to her portmanteau.

Humming a tuneless song, she opened the case and pulled out her dressing gown.

From its folds fell a glittering stream.

Leona froze, then slowly, she reached down to touch the pile of coruscating gems. It was a diamond and pearl necklace. With shock she realized that she recognized it. It was the heirloom suite of the Countess of Nevin!

A slight trembling kept Leona motionless; then she forced herself to reach down into her portmanteau to see what else might be found.

Under a clean chemise were the earrings.

Buried at the bottom, the tiara. She laid them out on her bed, staring at them.

How did they end up in her possession? If someone found out she had them, she’d—it didn’t bear thinking of.

But yes, it did! Someone was definitely out to frame her for all the Deveraux ills!

That person was clever, too. She had to get to Nigel. She had to explain. . . .

It was then that the idea came to her. It was simple. She would hide the jewels, then ride to find Deveraux. Together they could set a trap for the would-be kidnappers cum jewel thieves. Yes, simple. But first, she had to hide the jewels.

She dug in her small dresser until she found a clean scarf.

Carefully she wrapped the jewelry in it, knotting the ends together securely.

She looked around her room, searching for a secure hidey-hole.

There was nowhere that a cursory search would not uncover.

She glanced in Maria’s room, but it was like hers.

She went downstairs, roaming about the big room, poking in chests, around furniture, but nothing satisfied her.

A rising frustration clawed at her. She tamped it down, refusing to let it cloud her thinking.

She entered the large kitchen with its cupboards, pantries, and bake ovens.

Again nothing satisfied her. Perhaps she was too particular.

Who would look, for example, at the bottom of a flour barrel or in the back of a bake oven? Still, she rejected those choices.

It was getting late. If she intended to attain Castle Marin before dark, she’d best decide quickly.

She went back through the cottage and outside, circling the building.

She thought briefly of burying the jewels but discarded that notion for the ground was soft and would certainly show evidence of digging.

Maria’s work shed was a possibility, but still, it did not feel right.

Helplessly she looked up at the cottage, her eyes roaming over it as if to ask its opinion of where she should sequester the jewels.

Her eyes stopped at the two dormer windows with their thatched overhangs.

Critically she studied where the curving section of thatch met with the thatched porch roof that ran the length of the house.

It was an unusual construction for thatch and caused untold complaints by the old querulous fellow who had repaired the roof for her before she and Maria moved into Rose Cottage.

She remembered him warning that those angles invited birds to build their nests.

And so they had, at her window. But not at Maria’s.

Leona ran back into the house and up the stairs to Maria’s room. She pushed open the window. She tried to crane her neck to see that thatched meeting place, but she couldn’t quite. Quickly she dragged the stool from Maria’s dressing table to the window and stood on it.

Yes. There was a little niche there just big enough to fit the parcel of jewels into.

But getting it there would be the problem.

She leaned out the casement and reached under the window, her fingers feeling for the niche.

She found it, and it felt dry enough. She transferred the jewels to her questing hand and carefully fit the scarf-wrapped parcel into the tiny space.

She shoved it back as far as she could. Luckily, she’d chosen a dark blue scarf so it didn’t stand out badly.

Quickly she climbed back into the room and shut the window.

Just looking straight out, no glimpse of the scarf could be had.

But she had to go outside and check. Replacing the stool, Leona ran back down the stairs and out, all the way to the narrow road that ran past Rose Cottage.

She could see nothing. Slowly she walked forward, trying to spot the little cache.

It was invisible, even from directly beneath it. She heaved a sigh of relief.

Quickly she rebuttoned her jacket, replaced her hat, and fetched her portmanteau. Then she closed all the windows and went outside to re-harness Molly.

“Sorry, old girl, but this is an emergency!” she murmured as she backed the horse up to the small carriage.

She took one last look at the cottage before she sped back toward the Golden Goose. A raven perched on the roof, looking down aloofly as if to proclaim all before him his domain. Leona frowned and shook her finger up at him.

“You leave that bundle alone, do you hear me?” she said severely.

At the sound of her voice, the bird stretched his dark wings and took flight.

Leona had to be content with that. She’d forgotten about a bird’s possible inquisitiveness.

She just hoped the bundle was too heavy and wedged in too tightly for one of those airborne marauders.

There was no time to change the hiding place now. It would have to do.