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M rs. Right slumped in the chair she’d collapsed in as the duke went on to outline all the reasons he had instantly known that the damning letter was from Lord Charles.

Not the least of which was it had been delivered by a porter wearing The Albany’s livery.

He concluded by saying, “You may put your mind at ease, Mrs. Right. I would hardly throw my daughter into the jaws of a lion.”

Mrs. Right had fairly staggered out of the library.

The revelation that Lord Charles was the author of the letter was both welcome and unwelcome news.

It was gratifying to understand that Lord Thorpe was not the rogue she had imagined him to be.

On the other hand, there was the unfortunate circumstance of his carriage springs having been meddled with.

How could she have known, though? The letter had spelled out that Lord Thorpe was a reprobate of the first order. That was the sort of thing that had to be avenged. She’d really had no choice. She could not be expected to imagine that Lord Charles had invented the story out of pique.

Nobody could have guessed at that. Of course, the duke had guessed it, but that was beside the point! She really had no cause to feel badly about the carriage springs, as it had been kindly done.

As the day wore on, Mrs. Right did begin to feel much more sanguine about it.

After all, nobody would imagine that she had anything to do with damaged springs.

Also, she did have very good reason for it.

At least, at the time she had good reason.

As well, any stablemaster or coachman worth his salt must regularly check the springs.

She could not know that for certain, but it seemed like it would be a good idea.

It was very likely that whatever damage she’d done had already been repaired.

And then, it was not as if Lord Thorpe could not easily afford the repairs.

He’d just gone and offered a thousand pounds for Nelson!

What was repairing carriage springs to that? It really was a trifling matter.

By the end of the day, she’d really shaken off any worry or concern she’d had about it.

If there had been any moments of reflection, any wanderings down the lanes of memory to consider any past mistakes she’d made with the gentlemen who’d gone on to become the duke’s sons-in-law, well what was the advantage of it? One could not live in the past!

The past was just more water under the bridge.

She resolved to put the entire adventure out of her mind, and that is exactly what she did.

*

Roland could not settle or at all be at ease until he discovered what the morning’s advertisements would bring.

As it was still early evening, he had quite a few hours of not knowing.

Where was Nelson? How was he being treated?

How was Lady Serenity holding up under such stress and worry?

All unsolvable questions until somebody stepped forward to claim the reward.

All questions that threatened to set him off on one of his trips to the park to shout out his feelings.

He did comfort himself over the amount of the reward, though.

It was such a figure that it seemed impossible that Nelson could be hidden for long.

A prying neighbor, a lad with his eyes open, a butcher receiving a request for beef bones from a customer who’d never before asked for them.

A thousand ways a villain might be found out.

Every person of limited means in this town would be watching and searching for any clue as to Nelson’s location and would be more than happy to turn in the culprit.

Quinn bustled into the drawing room. He held a folded paper forward and said, “I noticed that you left your father’s letter sitting on the hall’s table.”

Roland nodded, as he’d done so purposefully. He had so much on his mind at the moment and he well knew his father was writing to ask him the same thing he always asked—did you find a bride yet?

He’d hoped to very soon answer in the affirmative.

“Yes, I know,” Quinn said, reading his thoughts. “However, he is your duke. You owe him the respect of reading his letters, even though you know what they will say.”

Roland took the letter and opened it as he settled into a chair.

Thorpe—

How goes it on the wedding front? I did advise in my last letter that you ought not allow your younger brother to beat you to it.

For one, you are to be a duke and ought to have no trouble securing anybody you like.

For another, you know Charles. If he beats you to it, you’ll never hear the end of it and neither will I!

I just received a letter from your brother this very day and I am afraid that, unless you’ve got something up your sleeve, he is well on his way to an altar. At least, he tells me it is almost assured. A certain Lady Serenity Nicolet catches his eye.

She’s the daughter of a duke, which runs in her favor.

Of course, that particular duke is as mad as a spring hare, which is not as promising.

(Last I heard of the Duke of Pelham, he was setting a lady’s curtains afire and finding it a grand jest.) I imagine you’ve met her—the Nicolets are your near neighbors on the square.

Well, one can hope she’s nothing like her father, else we’ll have to keep sand buckets near all the curtained windows.

Get on with it, Thorpe. I must have an heir before I depart to meet my maker. Would it help to say I feel the life draining from my body? I don’t, but it’s an idea you might keep in mind at the rate you are going.

Mariton

Roland handed the letter to Quinn. “I am reasonably sure this particular letter was written with the assistance of brandy.”

“You must admit, he can be amusing in his admonishments. Though, very reckless of Charles to go so far as to write your father regarding Lady Serenity. Could he really have been that confident when all the facts ran against him?”

“I suspect Charles’ letter was written shortly after he sent the Duke of Pelham that anonymous letter claiming I had meddled with Clara, and before he discovered the duke did not believe it for a minute. Charles always has a great faith in his schemes.”

“As I said, reckless.”

Roland agreed. It really had been reckless.

But that was Charles all over. His brother found he could not wait to claim victory to their father, even though victory had not been at all assured.

He supposed the next letter his father would receive would outline some impediment to pursuing Lady Serenity that was not at all his fault and, by the by, he’d set off for the continent again.

He glanced at the postmark. He was rather surprised his father had not already received such a letter. When had Charles sent news of his pursuit of Lady Serenity?

His father was a terrific correspondent. One could always rely on the idea that when a letter arrived, an answer would leave the house the very next day. The letter Charles had sent about Lady Serenity must have been more recent than he’d initially thought.

Roland sat up a little straighter. They’d just assumed that Charles would be back on his way to the continent to lick his wounds and haunt whatever gaming establishment he frequented there.

They did not positively know that, though.

And if Charles had decided to stick around, even knowing the Duke of Pelham was on to his ruse… what would he do?

What he would do was come up with another scheme. That’s what Charles would do. He’d attempt to prove the duke wrong about him somehow. And just this minute, Lady Serenity’s dog had unaccountably gone missing.

Roland leapt from his chair. “I think it might have been Charles,” he said.

“What might have been?” Quinn asked.

“Nelson. I think it might have been Charles who took him.”

Roland could see Quinn’s mind working through the idea.

“You see it, don’t you?” Roland said. “He could be a hero if he returned Nelson. But in order to do that, he’d have to take Nelson.”

Quinn tented his fingers. “It is a possibility, though you cannot be certain. Charles is reckless, but this would be beyond the pale.”

“I can be certain if I go and find it out, which is exactly what I’m going to do. Don’t bother calling for my horse, I’ll go to the stables myself.”

“Be careful,” Quinn said. “You never know with your brother’s temper.”

Roland nodded, as Quinn lived in fear that one day the two brothers would end firing on one another on a green.

He did not imagine it would ever come to that, though.

For one, Roland would never challenge Charles and cause such disrespect and upset to his duke.

For another, Charles would not challenge him , as he would have the choice of weapons and would demand swords.

Charles could not out-fence him and he knew it.

Roland would not kill him, but he would rip his younger brother’s shirt to shreds to make his point.

Charles, for whatever else he got up to, would not put himself in the position to be humiliated in front of the seconds looking upon such a scene.

Roland strode out of the room, out the doors, and down the mews. If Charles had Nelson, that dog would shortly be returned home.

*

Serenity had been put to bed in the afternoon and as Mrs. Right had put some laudanum in her tea, she had slept for a few hours. It had not lasted, though, and as soon as she’d woken, she’d hurried down the stairs to be with her sisters.

The drawing room had been a rather grim scene, as all in the house were fretting over Nelson. Her eldest sisters had come to hold vigil and were determined to stay over and be on hand for the morrow. That was when they would discover if Lord Thorpe’s reward had enticed someone to return Nelson.

The duke had made a terrific effort to cheer them, claiming every person in Town would be searching their little corner of London for a sight of Nelson in order to collect the reward.