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“I think it’s possible,” Ursula said. “If that was the case, I doubt very much that she was passionately in love with him. I don’t think Anne would have trusted any man with her heart. But she had her financial future to consider.”

“She might have found his money interesting.”

Ursula sighed. “That is a rather blunt way of putting it, sir, but the answer is, yes. Perhaps she became too demanding. Or perhaps she said or did something to set off Fulbrook’s temper.”

“If that was the case, he would have been likely to attack her physically, probably in a fit of rage. You said there was no evidence that she was assaulted.”

“No. None.”

There was another short silence. After a time Slater stirred.

“You do realize that if you set out to prove that Fulbrook killed Anne Clifton you might very likely put your own life in danger,” Slater said.

“I just want to know the truth.”

“There is still the strong likelihood that she suffered a heart attack or a stroke,” Slater said.

“I know. If my inquiries lead nowhere I will accept that conclusion.”

“What else can you tell me about Anne Clifton?”

“Well, among other things she was a very modern woman.”

“I believe that modern is another euphemism, is it not?”

Anger flashed through Ursula. “Anne was a woman of high spirits. She was charming, bold, daring, and she was determined to enjoy life to the hilt. In short, sir, if she had been a man, people would have admired her.”

“You admired her.”

“Yes, I did,” Ursula said. She composed herself. “She was my friend as well as an employee.”

“I see. Go on.”

“There is not much more to say. I believe that someone in the Fulbrook household, probably Lord Fulbrook, is responsible for Anne’s death.

I intend to find out if my suspicions are correct.

And now, if you will excuse me, I must be on my way.

I assured Lady Fulbrook that I would send a new secretary to her at the earliest possible moment.

I need to get things in order at the agency before I take up my duties. ”

Slater frowned. “Lady Fulbrook?”

“Anne’s client. I just explained—”

“Yes, I know what you said. Damnation, you intend to take Miss Clifton’s place as Lady Fulbrook’s secretary.”

“I start tomorrow afternoon. I assured Lady Fulbrook that the transition would be seamless and that I would arrive at her house in Mapstone Square promptly at one-thirty, just as Anne did.”

Slater walked across the carpet and came to a halt directly in front of Ursula.

“If you are correct in your suspicions,” he said, “what you are planning is potentially dangerous.”

His soft tone rattled her nerves. Instinctively she took a step back, trying to put a little more distance between them. He was no longer simply annoyed or reluctantly curious. He was in his own, subtle way angry. At me, she thought, bemused.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Roxton,” she said hastily. “I’m sure you can find another secretary to help you catalog your collection. I will be happy to send you someone else from my agency to fill in while I’m gone.”

“I am not concerned with finding another secretary, Mrs. Kern, I am concerned about your safety.”

“Oh, I see.”

He was not furious because she was abandoning his cataloging project, she thought.

He was simply alarmed that she might be taking a risk.

It had been so long since anyone had been worried about her welfare that she was flummoxed for a moment.

The realization warmed her somewhere deep inside. She smiled.

“It is very thoughtful of you to be concerned,” she said. “Truly, I do appreciate it. But rest assured that I will take precautions.”

Ominous shadows appeared in his eyes. “Such as?”

Her fragile sense of gratitude evaporated in a heartbeat.

“I assure you I can take care of myself,” she said coldly. “I have been doing just that for some time now. I regret that I tried to explain my plan to you. That was clearly a mistake. I can only hope that you will honor my confidence. If you fail to do so, you may, indeed, put me in some jeopardy.”

He looked as if she had just slapped his face very hard. Equal measures of astonishment and outrage flashed in his eyes.

“Do you really think that I would deliberately do anything that would place you in danger?” he asked softly.

She was instantly consumed with remorse.

“No, of course not,” she said. “I would never have spoken to you of my intentions if I believed that to be the case. But I admit I had hoped you might be able to provide some helpful advice.”

“My advice is to give up this wild scheme.”

“Right.” She closed her hand around the doorknob. “Thank you for your ever so helpful counsel. Good day, Mr. Roxton.”

“Damn it, Ursula, don’t you dare walk out on me.”

It was, she realized, the first time he had ever used her given name. It was depressing to know that it was anger, not affection that had caused him to slip into the small intimacy.

She yanked the door open before he could stop her. She whisked up her skirts and went out into the hall, certain that he would not humiliate himself in front of the servants by chasing after her.

She was proved correct. Slater stopped in the doorway and watched her but he did not pursue her—not physically, at least. Nevertheless, when she arrived in the front hall she was oddly breathless.

Webster, the butler, opened the door for her.

“Leaving early, Mrs. Kern?” he asked. “I believe Mrs. Webster was making up a tea tray for you and Mr. Roxton.”

He sounded quite heartbroken.

In the course of the two cataloging sessions it had become obvious that the Roxton household was unusual in many respects, including the staff.

They had all been hired by Slater’s mother.

As far as Ursula could determine, Lilly Lafontaine recruited heavily from the unemployed, currently between engagements, or retired ranks of the theatrical world.

Webster was a lean, wiry man with a skeletal face. With his shaved head, a black eye patch covering one blue eye, and a jagged scar that marked his left cheek, he looked more like a pirate than a professional butler.

Ursula had discovered that the accident that had forced him into retirement had occurred onstage. She did not know all of the details but evidently he had been the victim of a fake sword that had failed to collapse properly.

She was also well aware that with his forbidding appearance, the number of employers who would have hired him—let alone elevate him to the status of butler—was vanishingly small.

She had recognized him on their first meeting as a kindred spirit—an individual who had succeeded in reinventing himself.

The knowledge had not only made her like him immediately, it had predisposed her to look favorably upon his employer.

Rapid footsteps sounded in the hall. Mrs. Webster appeared, a heavily laden tea tray in her hands.

“Mrs. Kern, are you leaving so soon? You mustn’t go. You haven’t had tea. Cataloging Mr. Roxton’s relics is such dry and dusty work.”

In her own way, Mrs. Webster was as unexpected as her spouse.

She was very likely in her mid-forties but she had been gifted with the elegant bones and the fine figure of a woman who would be striking long into old age.

It had come as no surprise to discover that she, too, had once earned her living as an actress.

She entered a room carrying a tea tray with more of a flourish than most upper-class ladies could summon to make an entrance into a ballroom.

Like her husband, Mrs. Webster was always onstage. At the moment she was doing an excellent imitation of a Juliet who has just discovered that Romeo is dead.

“I hope to return at a more convenient time, Mrs. Webster,” Ursula said, aware that Slater was listening to the conversation. “It’s just that something has come up of a personal nature.”

“Are you ill?” Mrs. Webster demanded, hand clutching at her throat. “I know a very good doctor. He saved Mr. Webster’s life.”

“I assure you I’m in excellent health,” Ursula said. “I hate to rush off but I’m afraid I really must go.”

Webster reluctantly opened the door.

“Until Wednesday, then,” Mrs. Webster said, hopeful to the end.

Ursula pulled the black netting of her widow’s veil down over her face and escaped out onto the front step before Mrs. Webster could add Parting is such sweet sorrow .

She decided not to tell the Websters that she would not be returning on Wednesday or, possibly, ever again, judging by the expression on Slater’s face.

The carriage that Slater had insisted on arranging for the twice-weekly sessions was waiting in the street.

The coachman jumped down from the box, opened the door and lowered the steps.

His name was Griffith and he was a mountain of a man with a powerful, muscular build.

His black hair was tied back at the nape of his neck with a leather thong.

Ursula had learned that in his previous career he had worked as a stagehand with a traveling theater company.

“You’re leaving early today, Mrs. Kern,” he observed. “Everything all right? You’re not coming down with a fever, are you?”

This was getting to be ridiculous, Ursula thought. It seemed that everyone connected to the Roxton household had begun to take an alarming interest in her health. She was certainly not accustomed to such close scrutiny, nor did she want to encourage it.

“I’m in excellent health, thank you, Griffith,” she said. “Please take me back to my office.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Griffith handed her up into the cab with obvious reluctance. She collected her skirts and sat down on the elegantly cushioned seat.

Griffith closed the door. He exchanged dark glances with Mr. and Mrs. Webster before he vaulted up onto the box and loosened the reins. Ursula got the distinct feeling that she would be the subject of some low-voiced conversations later in the kitchen.

She had understood from the outset that Roxton’s servants were fiercely loyal to their employer but it was unsettling to realize that they took such acute interest in her.

In the two years that had passed since the scandal that had destroyed what she thought of as her other life she had successfully reinvented herself.

She could not afford to let anyone look too deeply into her past.