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E arlier that day.

Phillip awoke to the sound of someone groaning, only to realize that he was the one making that sound. He pushed himself up on one elbow, feeling the softness of the bed beneath him and struggling not to give in to the urge to drop his head back down onto the pillows again.

“My lord?”

Blinking to clear his vision, Phillip tried to speak but he could only whisper, such was the tightness of his throat. “Yes?”

“The breakfast tray, my lord. I took the liberty of preparing it before I brought it to you. Your mother is still abed but she will break her fast soon. I thought it best to wake you before she rose, given the present state of things.”

“I thank you.” He did not know what the butler meant but given the weariness of his mind and body, he did not immediately begin to ask questions.

His face burned with shame as though the butler and the maid, who was standing to one side with the tray in her hands, were both gazing down at him with contempt in their eyes.

It was not the first time his staff had seen him in such a way, he knew, but all the same, he did not much like it.

Slowly pushing himself up to a sitting position, he waited until the butler had set the pillow behind him before the maid handed him the tray.

Scuttling off without a further glance in his direction, Phillip was left alone with the butler who, after a moment of silence, cleared his throat.

“Forgive me for my questions, my lord, but I must ask if you would be happy for us to remove your final guest from the house?”

“My final guest?” Repeating this, Phillip closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the pillows. “Is this what you mean by the present state of things?”

The butler cleared his throat and then snapped his heels together.

“My lord, the drawing room and dining room are all in need of… being righted given last evening’s entertainments.

I hope you did not mind the footmen helping you to your bedchamber.

It was under my instruction, for I did not think that sleeping on the floor of the library would be very comfortable for you. ”

Feeling utterly at a loss, Phillip shook his head. “I do not recall what I did or who was present. I did not know I even had guests!”

“You had six guests, my lord.” The butler did not sound as though he were judging Phillip’s lack of awareness, though Phillip’s embarrassment grew all the same.

“Lord Fairchild was the second-to-last present, but he returned home a few hours ago. Lord Coates is still present, however, asleep on a chaise longue .”

Groaning, Phillip rubbed one hand over his eyes.

“His carriage is ready and waiting, my lord. It will not take more than a few minutes, and it would be best to do so as soon as possible. We do not wish for Lady Coates to become alarmed when she awakens and finds her husband absent.”

Opening his eyes, Phillip nodded, wincing at the spear of pain that lanced through his forehead. “Of course. At once, then.”

The moment the butler left, Phillip dropped his head into his hands, trying to recall anything about the previous evening.

He remembered that he had gone with Lord Coates to play cards, but what had happened thereafter?

Shaking his head – and then instantly regretting his action – Phillip closed his eyes tightly, recalling how glasses of whisky or brandy had been pressed into his hands.

Perhaps the gentlemen he had been playing cards with had wanted him a little befuddled so they might take advantage of him in some way.

Or mayhap, my dark mood made me careless.

Picking up a piece of toast, Phillip took a bite and chewed carefully, relieved when his stomach did not instantly rebel.

What had happened last evening? Why ever had he been so foolish?

It had been utterly nonsensical for him to have let himself behave so!

Had he not reminded himself, as he went, that he had to be nothing like his father?

And yet, in drinking far too much liquor, that was precisely what he had done.

Shame-faced, Phillip picked at his breakfast tray; the coffee and the food were helping him recover a little.

Setting it aside, he swung his legs around and stood up, groaning aloud when the pain in his head redoubled itself.

It was his own fault, however, and he had no intention of complaining about it.

He had chosen to do this and, therefore, he had no one to blame but himself.

A knock came though Phillip did not immediately answer it, a little mortified still at the state he found himself in. He was only in his shirtsleeves, reaching to put on something a little more presentable before calling for the butler to enter.

“Lord Coates has taken his leave, my lord.” The butler came a little closer into the room as Phillip grunted his understanding. “However, there is something I wish to speak with you about.”

“Oh?” Phillip glanced at him before making his way to the mirror, taking in his pale skin and heavy eyes. “Is there another gentleman hidden somewhere in the house?”

The butler hesitated. “No, my lord,” he said, slowly. “It is only that something is missing.”

“Missing?” Phillip turned bodily to look directly at his butler. “What do you mean, missing?”

The butler looked down at the floor for a moment, then back up towards Phillip, his hands held tightly together in front of him. “My lord, it seems that one of your paintings is missing.”

It took Phillip a few seconds to understand what the butler meant, his mind feeling sluggish and weak. “Paintings?”

“From the hallway,” the butler clarified. “I am sorry to say but it has been taken clean off the wall and we simply cannot find it anywhere.”

Instantly more awake, Phillip ignored the pain in his head and gestured to the door.

“Show me.” The butler turned on his heel and Phillip followed after him, wondering what could have become of this painting.

Evidently last night had been somewhat raucous so, Phillip considered, it might well have been that one of his guests, whoever they had been, had thought to take the painting down to admire it and had, thereafter, left it somewhere else.

Mayhap he himself had done it! Silently berating himself for being so foolhardy, Phillip slowed his steps as they approached the hallway, looking from one painting to the next, seeing that the marble busts and the vases had not moved an inch.

That in itself was something of a relief, for if the busts and vases had broken then that would have been an expensive loss!

Phillip had often wondered why his father had never sold these things in lieu of his lack of funds but, as his mother had once suggested, it might have simply slipped his mind given how often it had been addled by liquor.

“This one, my lord.”

Phillip stopped still and looked at the empty space on the wall. It only took him a second to realize which one it was, his heart slamming hard into his chest as he caught his breath.

“The Turner painting is it not?” he asked, as the butler nodded. “The one that was noticed by some of my dinner guests.”

“The very same, my lord.” The butler spread out his hands. “What am I to do?”

Taking in a deep breath, Phillip thought quickly.

“Given my unexpected guests last evening, I am sure that you have more than enough on your hands to have this house turned back into presentable condition. I shall deal with this.” When the butler only nodded, Phillip winced, wondering just how much of a state the house had been in.

“Might I also enquire of you as to who all I had at this house last evening?”

“Six guests, my lord. Lord Fairchild and Lord Coates, as I said.”

“And the others?”

The butler began to tick off on his fingers. “Lord Stockton, Lord Haverstock, Lord Whittaker and Lord Raleigh.” He paused, frowned and then nodded. “Oh, I forgot Lord Mansfield. He came with the other guests but did not linger for as long.”

“I thank you.” Phillip rubbed one hand over his eyes again, feeling them hot and gritty. “I must take my leave. Lord Fairchild may remember more than I and might know what has happened to this painting.”

With an inclination of his head, the butler stepped away. “I shall have the valet sent to you immediately, my lord.”

Phillip, praying that his mother would not rise until the house was returned to its proper order for fear that he would have her upset to deal with.

He hurried back to his bedchamber. Surely nothing could have happened to his painting, he thought, as he took his shirt from his shoulders.

It must have been misplaced, though quite why someone would take it from the wall, Phillip could not imagine.

And it was being heavily admired when I had my dinner, he reminded himself, a frown beginning to burrow into his features. Surely someone would not have taken it for themselves… would they?

“My J.M.W painting has been stolen.” Looking straight into Lady Rosalyn’s eyes, Phillip found himself struggling to hold her gaze, seeing the shock lingering in her expression.

“When I first came to speak with your brother, I felt quite sure that it had only been misplaced but now, after discussing it with him, I believe it has been taken.”

“But why?” Lady Rosalyn did not ask any questions as to what had taken place the previous evening, much to his relief. Indeed, there appeared to be no tension between either of them at all. “Why would someone take your painting?”

“It is the one that was discussed at length at Waverley’s dinner party,” Lord Fairchild reminded her. “You went to see it with all of the ladies, did you not?”

With a quiet gasp, her eyes rounded as she nodded.

“My mother told me thereafter that Lady Whittaker was very eager to remind everyone that she was the one who knew a great deal about it.” Phillip shrugged. “I do not know if that means anything.”