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C harles had discovered that it was not as easy as one might imagine to find a dognaper for hire.

He did not understand why—dog-stealing was rampant across England.

Every other advertisement in the newspapers was about a lost or stolen dog, generally offering a description, the location last seen and the offer of a reward or threat of the law.

Finally, though, one low contact led to the next and the word was put out in the low streets of the Rats’ Castle and eventually one was found. Or, if the fellow did not specialize in such activities, he was willing to try it out.

Wilkes, as he claimed his name was, looked as if he’d be willing to try out anything at all.

His face was rather gaunt and his clothes full of holes.

Along with the fee to be paid, Charles had put him into some of his old clothes.

It was entirely necessary, as anybody turning up in such shabby and threadbare attire in the vicinity of Grosvenor Square would instantly be marked suspicious.

Wilkes had been haunting the environs of Lady Serenity’s garden in the early morning hours before the sun was entirely up for two days.

He’d claimed that as soon as the kitchen fires were lit, somebody would let the dog out, as dogs always did demand to be let out first thing.

He’d been right, though he’d no luck on the first day, as a footman had stood at the doorway.

On the second day, though, Wilkes had found success. The footman had only opened the door and then gone off somewhere. Wilkes had lured the cur close with a bit of meat and then grabbed him and made off with him.

Charles had been the smallest bit alarmed when Wilkes had delivered the dog to The Albany an hour ago. He’d been loaded into a traveling case and the growls coming from the case were not promising. Further, Wilkes had a rather nasty bite on his hand.

As it happened, Charles had very good reason to be alarmed.

Despite the thing only having three legs and one working eye, it had gone after his ankles with determination.

It was just now locked in the sitting room with a bowl of water and another of chopped up beef.

Wilkes was long gone and Charles was nearly jumping out of his skin listening to the scratching and clawing at that door.

What a time for his valet to be away. Richards had gone off to Cornwall to assist his dying mother, despite Charles pointing out that the only way he could help her die was to put a pillow over her face.

He supposed he’d meant that as a joke, though Richards had not seemed to see it that way.

He was not even entirely certain his valet was coming back, so affronted had he been.

Charles had thought he might keep the dog around for a few days.

Then, just when Lady Serenity was convinced that all was lost, he would return it.

He’d have to wait long enough for an advertisement to be placed in the newspaper, else how could he explain even knowing the dog was lost?

The duke had ordered his daughter to steer clear of him, so he could not call at the house and discover it that way.

He was certain he would not be admitted.

Perhaps he could hire somebody to move into his rooms at The Albany to mind the creature until such time as it could be returned?

He had to do something—how could he sleep at night with it clawing at the door?

Charles had every confidence that were the dog to get out in the night, it would happily get him by the throat.

He would ask around The Albany. There was always somebody with empty pockets, having gambled too high.

There was always somebody wondering how they would explain it to the old soldier back at home.

Some of them did not even have the means to gamble as high as they did.

A night of drink and dice and all of the sudden a mortgage was needed to save the family honor.

He might not offer enough to stave off a mortgage, but for a gentleman with empty pockets, any amount would be welcome.

That’s what he would do. He would hire somebody to keep an eye on the dog and feed it.

He’d thought to go off to a comfortable inn, but perhaps he need not do that.

Michaels was in the apartments next to his own and was in rather terrible financial straits.

He could pay the fellow fifty pounds to switch apartments with him.

Let Michaels sit here and listen to the growling while Charles lounged in his set.

He could tell Michaels that he looked after the dog for an old and infirm aunt.

After all, Michaels was shortly to leave Town—he’d already been recalled home by his father on account of his debts.

Charles was confident that Sir William, Michaels’ father, would never allow his ne’er-do-well son to set foot in London again.

He’d never know who the dog actually belonged to.

From the comfort of Michaels’ apartments, Charles would monitor the newspapers for the advertisement about the Duke of Pelham’s lost dog—brownish in color, answers to the name Nelson, missing a leg, blind in one eye.

It would be hard to miss. It would also be hard to imagine anybody stealing such a creature.

He must be lost, and that is exactly the story Charles was intending.

As far as Lady Serenity would know it, he’d discovered the dog in a lonely area of the park, wandering round forlorn.

Had Thorpe scoured the park for any sign of her beloved dog?

Apparently not, if results were anything to go by.

Could the duke keep up his disapproval of the gentleman bringing home the family dog?

He did not think so. The duke had no end of women wandering round his house—the screeching over the missing dog would be window shattering.

More scratching and growling drifted into the room.

He backed up at the sight of the dog’s nails appearing in the gap between the bottom of the door and the floor.

He would likely have to pay for repairs to that door the dog was just now mauling.

He really had to find a nanny for that cursed dog before the sun set.

He could not sleep with it so nearby him.

He would not get a wink always wondering when he’d find canine jaws choking the life out of him.

Charles jumped up and put on his coat. It was time to see Michaels.

*

The sun was doing an excellent job peeking through the clouds and it was a fine morning.

At half past ten, Serenity had been dressed and gone down the stairs.

Her dog-walking with Lord Thorpe was set to commence at eleven.

Her mind went round in circles over the same idea—something might be said, something might be said, something might be said.

If something were said, this would mark the greatest turning point in her life. She must face it with bravery.

Serenity sighed. She did not suppose any other lady had to face a proposal with bravery. Nerves, probably. But not bravery.

However, she was determined that Lord Thorpe be informed of her weepy nature before she would accept.

She intended to tell him all of it, even about the crypt of bees.

He must know her for who she really was, not this composed lady she’d pretended to be.

Else, he would be so disappointed later, when he did find it out.

It would be as if she’d tricked him, and he would resent her for it.

She must just pray that he found it of little matter that his marchioness looked round the garden for dead bees, or wept over a sunrise, or might weep for no particular reason other than to relieve her feelings.

She supposed a usual marchioness was very regal and composed.

If that was what he looked for, she was not that lady.

She must think positive, though. For all she knew, he’d be delighted with her weeping. But maybe not think that positive. Perhaps the best she could hope for is that he viewed it as a trifling inconvenience.

Winsome passed her by in the front hall. “Nelson is hiding somewhere, the rascal,” she said. “I’d have thought he’d be below stairs with Cook, but he is not.”

Oh do find him quickly. I do not wish to be late, I cannot be late.”

A few minutes later, Winsome called down from above stairs.

Nelson was nowhere to be seen up there either.

This set all the sisters to looking for Nelson and rechecking places that had been checked.

Then all the staff looked for him. Voices filled the house, calling for him.

Nobody seemed to know where he was last seen.

Mrs. Wendover was in her rightful place on Valor’s bed, so he’d not made off to some corner with the stuffed rabbit.

Thomas had said he’d let him out to the garden hours ago, just after sunrise, but he’d been sure somebody else had let him back in.

Nelson was very good about scratching at the door when he was done patrolling the paths.

That was when Serenity really began to worry.

Nobody below stairs had heard any scratching on the door that led to the garden.

Every soul in the household had been interviewed.

Nobody had let Nelson back into the house.

Thomas had been sent to the stables to speak with the grooms but he was not there either.

Serenity and Winsome had run out to search the garden together.

Serenity had the sudden thought that perhaps Nelson had injured himself and was even now lying under a bush.

Perhaps he’d been bitten by an adder! Were there adders in London?

She did not know! Why could not her papa be here?

Why had he set off to his club just when they could not find Nelson?

There had been no sign of Nelson, but there had been a sign of something else. She and Winsome stared down at some bits of meat sprinkled nearby the garden wall.