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Lord Stanford had eventually turned up, even though Patience had written him that she was perfectly well and must stay with her sisters.

Serenity imagined he’d thought he might take his newly pregnant bride home, but he was speedily apprised that would not be the case.

Therefore, he’d settled into the drawing room with the rest of them, looking exceedingly uncomfortable over all the weeping but keeping a sharp eye on his wife’s comfort.

Nobody but Serenity yet knew what possessed the fellow, though Valor mentioned that she found his love-staring sickening.

Now they’d gone into the dining room to half-heartedly consume whatever the cook had managed to put together. They did not expect much, as the down stairs of the house was just as fretful as the above stairs over the disappearance of Nelson.

“Seems to be a broth of some kind,” the duke said, staring into the soup urn.

Thomas, who was at the sideboard and looking greatly affected by the events of the day, said, “Made from bones from the butcher that were to go to Nelson. Cook makes him a special broth to put on his dinner. But he’s not here to have it!”

“I see,” the duke said quietly, “we’re to have the dog’s bone broth.”

Charlie came into the dining room, having checked outside the doors again. He’d been doing the same every few minutes all day. He shook his head sadly to indicate there was no sign of Nelson.

This set half the table weeping again. Once the sobs began to quiet, Valor said, “Papa, does a person get hanged for stealing a dog?”

“I doubt it,” the duke said. “Very hard to prove, in any case.”

Valor shook her head in disgust. “If I were a judge, I would hang anybody who stole a dog. I would hang anybody who even one time thought about stealing a dog. I would hang all the people who knew about the person who thought about stealing a dog. Or even heard about it in the shops!”

“And the bodies pile up,” the duke said with a smile.

“Why would anybody talk about stealing dogs in the shops?” Winsome asked.

“People talk about everything in the shops,” Valor said.

“Mrs. Right took us to get gloves and ribbons and two ladies talked the whole time we were there. They said Lady Gentian, whoever she is, wore a terrible puce colored dress to Mrs. Maybee’s musical evening and her daughter was clunky on the pianoforte and really should those people be invited anywhere? We had to leave before I found out.”

“It’s a very common thing,” Verity said, “to denounce people while shopping.”

Serenity did not know if that were true or not. But she thought it might be true.

“I have an idea,” Felicity said. “It will do us no good at all to carry on as we have.”

“Amen to that,” Lord Stanford muttered, draining his glass of wine.

“We must think positive. A thousand pounds has been offered for our dear Nelson and I am confident that we will see him back in the house before the sun sets tomorrow. Now, I think we ought to spend our time on happier ideas—what are our fond memories of Nelson? What can he expect for his first dinner back at home? What new comforts might we provide? How might we spoil him more than he has ever been spoiled before?”

This really did cheer the table as it gave everybody something to think about rather than horrid imaginings of Nelson shivering in the cold, alone and hungry.

“I will allow Nelson to borrow Mrs. Wendover for a while,” Valor said generously. “I will not even complain about it.”

“I will set out to knit Nelson a blanket of his own,” Verity said. “It is a well-known fact that dogs prefer a blanket made specially for them. Mrs. Right can show me how to knit and I am sure I will take to it in a trice.”

Winsome looked out the corner of her eye over the idea that Verity would suddenly know how to knit.

She refrained from challenging her on it, though, considering the gravity of the situation they all found themselves in.

“I’ll give him a bath,” she said. “He does not like it, but he likes it when he’s dried off and clean. ”

All eyes turned to Serenity. “I will never allow him out of my sight forevermore. If anybody tries to take him, I will club them over the head. Papa, could you buy me a proper club so I am prepared? I am very much opposed to violence, but it will be necessary.”

“A club? Why not?” the duke said.

“And Serenity, after you club them,” Valor said, “we could drag them to a judge and demand they be hanged immediately. No mercy!”

The duke reached across the table and patted Valor’s shoulder. “Perhaps enough with hanging everybody in the wide world. It will give you nightmares.”

“Oh yes, it might,” Valor said softly. Then she perked up. “I know what, Papa, they could all be hanged together on the same day, but I won’t go to the hanging to watch it. You see? Then it could not sneak up on me in my dreams.”

And so they went on, doing their best to struggle through a rather original dinner.

After the broth made from beef bones that had been meant for Nelson, there were platters of chicken and beef, both clearly left in the ovens for far too long, burned rolls, and a salad that had not been dressed.

Vegetables had not made an appearance at all, and dessert was slices of stale cake from yesterday.

Lord Stanford summed the whole thing up by saying, “The wine is good, though.”

*

Roland had got his horse saddled and set off for The Albany.

Spartacus was delighted with the cold air, it was brisk and had that feeling to it that hinted of snow.

The streets were fairly empty; it was that time of night when most people going somewhere had got there, and yet still early enough that nobody was yet on their way home.

There was an ebb and flow to the traffic on London streets and this was an ebb.

Oil lamps lit the wet roads in intervals, the pools of light guiding his horse forward through the mud and revealing any dips and divots to be avoided.

As the place was not far, he arrived in under ten minutes.

Roland did not know which apartments his brother occupied at The Albany and at first the night porter had been reluctant to say.

Roland did not believe this to be any delicate care for the inhabitants’ privacy, but rather a typical opportunity for a night porter to find some money deposited in his pocket.

The porter was adamant that he could not reveal the information. As Roland had not brought any money with him, he was forced to pick the fellow up by his livery coat and shake it out of him.

Once the porter became convinced that the shaking would go on interminably, he suddenly realized he could reveal where Lord Charles’ set was located. On the first floor, number three, and would Lord Thorpe wish to be led there?

Roland would not, and jogged up the stairs and to the right.

He found the set and gave the door a quiet and quick knock, as a porter might do.

He stepped to the side of the door so no peering through the keyhole would give him away.

It would not be well for Charles to suspect he was in the corridor and refuse to answer.

He would break the door down if he had to, but he hoped that would not be necessary.

On top of the trouble of it, such a thing would attract a crowd.

The door swung open and Roland stepped forward. He’d been sure he was at the right set, but a gentleman he did not know stood in the doorframe.

“Is this Lord Charles’ set?” he asked.

“Yes, it is, but—”

Roland pushed past the fellow, assuming he was some drinking friend of Charles’ come to while away the evening.

He looked round the room, but Charles was nowhere in sight. Then he heard the telltale whine of a dog and scratching on wood. He strode to the closed door where the sound emanated from and opened it.

There was Nelson, wagging his tail and hopping awkwardly on his three legs, his tongue drooping out of his mouth.

The relief of finding him came very near to overwhelming Roland entirely. All the terrible thoughts of how Nelson’s disappearance might end in tragedy, the thoughts he’d worked hard to keep away, flooded through him. He blinked his watery eyes and swept Nelson into his arms.

“Sir, are you a relation of Lord Charles’ aunt? Have you come to take the dog home to the lady? I’d be much obliged as he seems to wish to be gone. He bit me when I put his food in there.”

“I do not know who you are,” Roland said. “I am the Marquess of Thorpe, Lord Charles’ brother, and this is not our aunt’s dog. This is Lady Serenity Nicolet’s dog, which I will speedily return to her. Where is my brother and why have you been left to do his bidding?”

The gentleman shuffled his feet. “My name is Michaels. As to how I came to be here, I got myself in a spot of trouble, cards, you know. My father has ordered me home and does not yet know I can’t pay my bill here nor pay my way home. Lord Charles offered fifty pounds and, well, you see how it is.”

“Where is he?”

“In my set,” Michaels said, as if he could not imagine where else Charles would be.

“He was afraid the dog would escape and grab him by the throat in the night.” Michaels looked at Nelson.

Nelson growled by way of answer. “I was afraid of it myself. I was planning to stay up all night on account of it.”

“Where is your set?”

Michaels hooked his thumb to the left. “Number Four.”

Roland walked toward the door. Nelson attempted to bite Michaels’ arm as they passed by, but he was only able to rip his coat sleeve.

Roland knocked on number four. He heard his brother inside. “What is it now, Michaels? Just keep that door shut and he won’t bother you.”

Nelson growled.

“My god, have you let the damn thing out?”

The door swung open. It took Charles a moment to comprehend that his brother was standing in front of him with Nelson in his arms. “Thorpe?” he said, clearly thinking about what he might say to account for having the dog at The Albany.

Roland knew very well that they might go round in circles with excuses and lies. It was getting late though, and he was not particularly in the mood. Shifting Nelson so that he was supported in Roland’s left hand, his right hand was free. He used it to punch Charles in the face.

As his brother lay sprawled on the carpet, Roland turned to leave. Michaels stood in the corridor, staring at his prone friend. “You might want to get him some ice for his jaw. Or not, whichever you prefer.”

With that, Roland departed from The Albany.