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“How do you know these things?” Gussie asked helplessly.

April cast her a wry look Piers knew only too well. He was also painfully sure he knew the answer before she spoke. “In this case because I dodged her and her minions myself for some time—till they decided I was too wild to be tamed. She’s a nasty old crow and Park was quite right to eject her.”

From the door, which he had entered silently, Park said, “Thank you, my lady. I told her to come back with witnesses and said that Lord Petteril would bring the magistrate. I’m confident we shall never see her again.”

Gussie scowled at him. “How did you know?”

“She was wrong . One develops an instinct over the years.”

“Will I?” Gussie asked dispiritedly.

“Probably not to that extent,” Piers said. “Which is why you will always have someone like Park to sniff out the bad apples. Thank you, Park. And thank you, Gussie, for giving me another idea.”

“What?” Gussie and April demanded at once.

“I’ll tell you over luncheon,” Piers said.

“Which is now served, my lady,” Park said and withdrew.

***

B ERNIE THE STABLE BOY was enjoying himself hugely. Not only was he spared mucking out in the stables, but he got to lounge around the other mews, engaging other lads and indoor servants in idle conversation while he mooched around and pretended to compare masters.

In fact, he was sure no one’s master compared to his.

Lord Petteril looked like a gent. When Bernie had first seen him, he had frozen and quaked in his shoes at what he had perceived as his lordship’s haughty magnificence.

He had lived in terror of displeasing him in case the godlike creature dismissed him with one careless flick of his long finger.

But then his lordship had addressed him like a human being, overlooked a clumsiness, always said thank you— thank you !—and smiled so that Bernie, like the rest of the staff, was devoted. Mostly, Bernie suspected, his lordship didn’t even know that.

Her ladyship was a different kettle of fish. Bernie had heard the rumours, of course, that she’d been born no better than him and had once been a servant. After he was cuffed for making a joke about her, he kept his lips resentfully buttoned about her.

But then he found her in the stable one day, feeding carrots and even sugar to the horses, and murmuring nonsense into their receptive ears.

That she liked horses had been enough for him to throw off his resentment.

The conspiratorial grin she had given him had won his heart.

He didn’t care where she’d been born, and clearly neither did his lordship. It was all fine with Bernie.

So, he was perfectly happy listening to stories of other, lesser masters and mistresses.

He didn’t gossip about his own, merely said a word or two and then listened, which was all most folk wanted of you anyway.

He learned more than he ever wanted to about several of the neighbours.

And he learned that Mr. James Darcy was a top rank wastrel.

Oddly, his grooms were quite proud of the fact he got jug-bitten every night and had the naughtiest and prettiest of lady friends. Rolled home at dawn most mornings. Except for the last couple of nights when he had been in bed before midnight. His valet was, apparently, afraid his master was ill.

Since his quarry was expected to go out around midday, Bernie sauntered off with an airy wave and lounged about the square instead until, sure enough, Mr. Darcy emerged from his front door and walked briskly toward the park. Bernie slouched after him.

Darcy did cast quite a long look at Petteril House, which Bernie thought interesting, and at a hackney driving by at snail’s pace, but he didn’t stop, merely kept on to Piccadilly where the crowds conveniently hid Bernie, though they also tended to hide Darcy, whom he almost lost twice before he turned into St. James and walked into one of the buildings. Bernie loitered outside.

It was a gentleman’s club, judging by the doorman and the number of idle nobs ambling in and rolling out. Some of them were positively bosky by two in the afternoon.

Oddly enough, Darcy didn’t seem to be. He waved off his friends, who seemed eager to drag him off somewhere else. Darcy however, held firm, causing one of his friends to exclaim, “It’s a woman. Has to be.”

“Who is she, Darce?” one of the others called roguishly after him.

Darcy merely raised his hand again without turning.

Bernie eased himself off the lamppost and shambled after him, kicking a stray stone as he went.

A hand fell on his shoulder, making him jerk violently to be free, though the hand held on with ease. “Here, boy.”

One of Darcy’s friends was waving a silver coin in front of his face, so he stopped struggling. “Follow that fellow in the grey hat and see where he goes. Come and tell me here same time tomorrow, and I’ll give you another.”

Bernie snatched the coin and grinned. “Thank you, my lord!” he said and walked faster, kicking the stone harder and leaving Darcy’s friends guffawing and speculating behind him.

Darcy, however, appeared to be going home for he walked back along Piccadilly the way he had come. At the last moment, he swerved and entered Hyde Park by the Cumberland Gate.

Bernie hoped for some nefarious meeting, or at least an assignation, but none appeared to be forthcoming.

Darcy merely walked, then sat on a bench so suddenly that Bernie was forced to walk past him.

He was too afraid of giving himself away to glance back, but his shoulders were itching in case Darcy disappeared while he wasn’t looking.

In the end, he paused against a tree as if for a rest and glanced back. Darcy’s grey hat still lurked above the same bench. Phew . In a little, the man stood up and sauntered out of the park by a different gate into Park Lane and walked home.

Only he didn’t quite make it home. He turned up the steps of Petteril House and knocked at the door.

Bernie sped up, walked past him for the second time, then ran as fast as he could for the mews and the back way into the house.