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The Dowager Duchess grinned. “I was not talking about the ball, my dear.” She winked at Gemma's grandmother.

“I was talking about becoming the fine Duchess we both knew you would be.” She looked across the ballroom, where Wyatt was laughing heartily with his friends.

It seemed he had successfully disentangled Lord Anderson from the grip of Henrietta's mother.

“I have never seen him this happy. We truly are geniuses, are we not?”

Gemma allowed herself a faint smile.

“We truly are,” said the Dowager Marchioness, though her smile did not reach her eyes.

“The Duchess was not even angry when I told her about your meddling,” said the Dowager Duchess, patting Gemma's arm with a distinct look of self-satisfaction.

“Is that so?”

“Grandmother, please,” Gemma murmured. “I need to know what is going on with Father.”

The Dowager Marchioness nodded. She met the Dowager Duchess's eyes, wordlessly conveying a message; a skill Gemma assumed came from many years of friendship. Then she looked back at her granddaughter. “Is there somewhere we can speak in private?”

“Yes, of course.” Gemma led her grandmother out of the ballroom, instructing one of the footmen in the entrance hall to unlock the parlor for the two of them.

He pulled a key from his pocket and slid it into the lock, holding the door open for the two ladies.

He lit the lamp on the mantel. “Refreshments, Your Grace? Lady Hilt?”

“No,” Gemma said tautly. “That will be all. Thank you.”

“Yes ma'am.” The servant vanished like a shadow, leaving Gemma and her grandmother alone.

The Dowager Marchioness sank onto the settle, pulling Gemma down beside her. She folded her thin fingers together and placed them in her lap. “Your father had a turn this evening,” she began, “after hearing some rather… distressing news.”

Gemma's heart began to thunder, her body flooding with hot fear. “What kind of news?” she pressed. “And what kind of turn? Is he going to be all right?”

“The physician is with him now,” the Dowager Marchioness told her. “And Jane is refusing to leave his bedside. He is being taken good care of.” Her voice was without the usual scathing tone it carried whenever she spoke of the Earl, and this scared Gemma more than anything.

“What kind of news?” she dared to ask.

Her grandmother sighed. “Veronica tells me you heard about the…altercation at White's the other week.”

Gemma nodded.

“The fellow your father struck made a complaint to the management of the club.

Your father received word the next day that he was banned from showing his face at White's again.

When he tried to attend the other gentleman's clubs he has been known to frequent, he found they had done the same.” She lowered her eyes, looking into her clasped hands.

“It seems word has spread amongst the club owners and he has been banned from all gentlemen's clubs in London.”

Gemma raised her eyebrows. Despite the shame that came with such a ban, she could not help but think such a thing might be a blessing.

Surely to be prevented from visiting the gambling halls by a measure as drastic as this was exactly what her father needed to clean himself up.

Pull himself back into line. “Perhaps this is a good thing,” she ventured.

“I am afraid that is not the worst of it,” the Dowager Marchioness said sadly. “It was not just the fight your father got in that saw him banned from the clubs.”

Gemma frowned. “What do you mean?”

Her grandmother sighed heavily. “I do not know if you remember your father's former business partner, Lord Tarver?”

Gemma nodded. “Yes, of course.” Back when her mother was alive, her father and the Marquess of Tarver had run a highly profitable import and export business.

Gemma remembered spending many nights with Lord Tarver around their dinner table, he and her father chatting away, while her mother scolded them for talking business during the family meal.

After the Countess's death, the Earl's drinking had intensified, and Lord Tarver had put an end to the partnership.

Gemma had not heard his name spoken in years.

“A few days ago, a sum of money was stolen from a safe in Lord Tarver's office on Fleet Street,” said the Dowager Marchioness. “Rumor has it, it was your father's doing.”

“What?” Gemma demanded. The pounding of her heart intensified. “What do you mean rumor has it ?”

“Exactly that, my dear.” The Dowager Marchioness pressed a hand to Gemma's wrist in an attempt to calm her.

“There is no proof that your father was involved.

But somehow, the press got wind of Lord Tarver's belief that the Earl was responsible. Word of his involvement made it into the afternoon papers.”

“No,” Gemma murmured. She buried her face in her hands. In the chaos of the impending ball, she and Wyatt had not so much as glanced at the papers this afternoon. And certainly, the Duchess had not either. If she had caught word of this, she would have hauled Gemma in for a verbal thrashing.

Tomorrow, these rumors will be all over the papers. As if my family has not faced enough shame…

“Why does the Marquess believe Father was involved?” Gemma pushed, anger and frustration simmering under her skin. “Why would he think that? Father has not seen Lord Tarver in years!”

“I know.” Her grandmother sighed. “I went to see the Marquess today. Initially, he refused to see me. But I finally wore him down.” She began to fiddle with the embroidery on the sleeve of her dress.

“I asked him why he suspected your father, given they had not seen each other in so many years.

He told me he and your father ran into each other on the Strand one evening this week.

The Earl suggested they catch up over a drink for old time's sake.”

Warily, Gemma nodded for her grandmother to continue.

“At the bar, they struck up a conversation, and apparently seemed to regain a little of the old affection and trust they had had for one another. Lord Tarver claimed your father was in good spirits and showed no signs of inebriation.” The Dowager Marchioness smiled wryly.

“I suppose he must have caught him early on in the night.”

“Grandmother!” Gemma scolded.

“I am sorry.” The Dowager Marchioness knotted her bony fingers together as she continued.

“That evening, the Marquess had just come from the jewelers.

He had bought his wife a diamond brooch for their wedding anniversary.

Rather foolishly, he believes now, he showed it to your father.

The following night, the Marquess's safe was broken into. The diamond brooch was taken, along with the money. Lord Tarver believes it far too much of a coincidence that the theft occurred the night after he showed the brooch to your father.”

Gemma shook her head emphatically. “No. No, I do not believe it. Father would never do such a thing!” She stood up and began to pace.

No doubt some of the people in attendance tonight had heard these rumors.

Was that what they were thinking about while she was greeting them, welcoming them to her home?

Her thief of a father? She felt like an utter fool, the weight of shame pressing down on her shoulders.

She sank back onto the settle. “I do not believe it,” she said again.

“Not for a second. I know Father is… many things. But he is not a thief. I am sure of it. Underneath all his drinking and gambling, he is a good man. I know he is.” She bounced her knees up and down edgily.

“Besides, my husband has been giving him money. He would have no need to steal.” She looked fiercely at her grandmother, daring her to object.

A part of her feared that this was what the Dowager Marchioness had been waiting for all along—a chance to condemn Mark Caster for good.

But to her surprise, her grandmother nodded faintly.

“I agree with you, my dear. It is hardly a secret that I am no great admirer of your father's. But I know he is not a criminal. Even he would not stoop so low as to break into a safe like a common thief.”

Gemma was so taken aback by her grandmother's words that she threw her arms around her, squeezing her tightly.

The Dowager Marchioness held her wordlessly for a few moments, then gently eased her back to her side of the settle.

“I told as much to Lord Tarver,” she said.

“I begged him to keep his suspicions to himself. He admitted that the press had already caught word of them. But he said nothing to them about the brooch.”

“At least that is something.” Gemma let out a long breath and rubbed her eyes.

Too late, she remembered that Ivy had painstakingly lined her lids in charcoal.

Her fingers came away smeared in black, but she could not find the will to care.

“If the press heard that the Marquess showed the brooch to Father, they would crucify him.”

The Dowager Marchioness nodded. She took Gemma's hands in hers. “I'm afraid it gets worse,” she mumbled.

Gemma closed her eyes. Worse than this? She was not sure she could handle much more.

“Two of the men your father owes money to came to the door this evening,” her grandmother told her.

” They had heard the rumors about his involvement in the theft, and they demanded immediate repayment of the sums owed to them.

When the Earl was unable to produce the money, they told him he had until the morning to do so. ”

Gemma swallowed the lump in her throat. “Who are these men?”

“I did not dare ask,” the Dowager Marchioness admitted.

“I fear to think of the kind of men your father associates with around the gambling tables. I have little doubt they are acting outside the law. But I am very worried for your father, Gemma. And your sisters. I know the Earl has no way of producing the money to pay these men in such a short time. And I am afraid of what they will do when they turn up at the house tomorrow evening.” She sighed.

“At best, they will take everything left of value in Volk House. At worst…”

She faded out. Gemma was glad of it. She had no need for her grandmother to paint a picture of the worst-case scenario. Her thoughts were whirring quickly enough as it was.

“After the men left, your father collapsed and we sent for the physician. It seems the stress of all this was too much for him.”

Gemma's heart ached. “I need to see him.”

“Not yet,” said her grandmother firmly. “I will take you back to Volk House with me later tonight, once the ball is over. But for now, I need you to speak with your husband.” Her voice was pleading.

“He is a powerful man. If anyone has the influence to clear your father's name, it is him.” The Dowager Marchioness magicked a handkerchief from somewhere within the folds of her gown and began to dab at the smeared makeup beneath Gemma's eyes.

“I know I do not need to tell you how important this is for your sisters.

Poor Veronica's dance card is virtually empty tonight. It should not be that way. She is a beautiful person, both inside and out. Not to mention the sister of a duchess. And as for poor Jane, well… She deserves far more than to?—”

“I know, Grandmother.” Gemma cut her off, sensing the Dowager Marchioness veering towards another tirade aimed at the Earl. “I will speak to the Duke at once. He will know what to do.”