It took two more days before Lady Broadbent was satisfied that Thea didn’t have a cold. Then she took her out shopping. But

Thea’s first request after her release from bedchamber-gaol was to make a quick detour to Fife’s Feathered Quill.

She’d done little more than write during her incarceration and wanted Mr. Fife to read it.

“What do you think?” she asked him as he turned over the last page and began to tap them against the glass case into a neat

stack.

Instead of answering her straightaway, he pursed his lips then walked toward the wall of shelves. Climbing a rolling ladder,

he withdrew a slender box. Then he returned and lifted the lid.

“What I think, Miss Hartley, is that this play deserves a proper home.” His eyebrows lifted as he grinned at her. Then he

opened a lovely leather portfolio and slid her pages inside.

She beamed. “So you like it? I mean, it’s only the beginning of a play. There isn’t an ending quite yet... But you like

what I have done so far?”

He was already nodding before she finished speaking. “I especially enjoyed that handsome devil of a character who sells ledgers.”

“Thought you might.” She laughed.

The pads of his fingers drummed against the cover. “You thought all this up from our little conversation, hmm?”

“That conversation started it all,” she said, without elaborating.

She’d believed it was good, too. But she didn’t want to show it to Lady Broadbent for a couple of reasons. The first was that

she would recognize the part about the highwayman. And second, she might begin to wonder how much of the tale was true.

There was probably too much truth, though she took care to make the highwayman with the dual identity not resemble St. James.

She wanted to protect him. Yet, at the same time, she wanted to expose cowards and monsters like Lord Abernathy and Redcliffe.

She wanted people to have their eyes opened.

“I think it’s your best yet,” he said. “Of course, this is unlike the other plays. Because there certainly wouldn’t be a highwayman

roaming around the ton , now would there?”

She issued a laugh. “No, indeed. The very idea is rather fantastic.”

“Quite.” He grinned in agreement and put the lid back on the box, his gaze full of mischief. “Although, speaking of the extraordinary,

I’ve heard an interesting tidbit just this morning that might inspire a new character.”

“Oh?”

He leaned across the glass case as if they weren’t the only two in the shop. “I heard that the Duke of Sherborne invited that

viscount to dine with him.”

“What viscount?” she asked, only half listening as she smoothed her hands over the box.

Mr. Fife snapped his fingers, thinking. “You know the one. He’s forever crashing into things. Oh, what’s his name... Ah,

yes, I’ve got it. St. James!”

Thea went still. Sherborne had invited Jasper to dinner? He hadn’t said anything to her. Then again, they hadn’t seen each other for two days. But she had to wonder if it was true. And, if it was, then what did that mean? “I had not heard.”

“Perhaps you can write a character like him in your play, some clumsy fellow.”

She frowned, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip. “Perhaps.”

***

“I just caught the most peculiar bit of gossip at the tea shop,” Lady Broadbent said the instant Thea entered the waiting

carriage.

Or, at least, the second waiting carriage. The first carriage door she’d opened had belonged to someone else. She’d apologized

profusely to the alarmed and vexed Lady Chetwynd but, honestly, all black carriages looked alike. She was surprised it didn’t

happen all the time.

Then again, she was distracted by the news from Mr. Fife.

“Woolgathering, Miss Hartley?”

“Hmm?” Dimly, Thea registered the beginnings of exasperation in her chaperon's cool, rounded tones. “Apologies. What were

you saying?”

The countess was so eager to share that she didn’t bother to be affronted. “You’ll never guess. But the Duke of Sherborne

has invited St. James to dine. Can you imagine?”

She punctuated the last three words by rapping the tip of her cane on the floor of the carriage.

So it was true. And the entire ton was likely all abuzz with the news.

“Whatever do you think it means?” she asked, telling herself not to speculate. Not to hope. Not yet.

“There is no way to know for certain. However, if St. James is able to win the support of Sherborne, he might come to have

a welcome place in society.”

Thea felt her heart rise higher in her chest, beating erratically. But she tried not to reveal her excitement. “How wonderful for him.”

“Indeed.” The countess pursed her lips in thought. “It does make one wonder how this will affect Redcliffe. He has never been

kind to his nephew, and if St. James should win Sherborne’s support then there would be many a critical eye cast in the earl’s

direction.”

Which would make it possible for society to see Jasper in a new light. And that meant they might be able to be together sooner

than either of them thought possible.

Dare she hope?

Lady Broadbent rubbed her hands together. “Oh, to be a fly on the wall at Sherborne’s that night.”

A fly? Thea was willing to be a mounted boar on the duke’s wall if it meant she would be the first to know if she had a future

with Jasper.

***

The gossips and scandal sheets had a banner day of speculation over the news of Sherborne’s surprising invitation.

But the following day brought an entirely new scandal.

Thea heard a shout from Lady Broadbent’s sitting room and went running.

She flung open the door to find the countess holding a magnifying glass to the morning’s scandal sheet. “What is it?”

“My dear,” she said, her face pale, her hand shaking as she laid the glass aside, the forgotten newspaper drifting to the

Aubusson rug. “It’s Lord Abernathy. He has returned from his hunting lodge.”

Stepping into the room, she closed the door behind her, so the servants wouldn’t overhear. “Well, I’m certain London doesn’t need another cad in residence, but I don’t understand what has you so distressed.”

“He has told his tale about the highwayman and his wolf.”

Thea stopped cold, her feet turning to lead. Her thoughts went back to that night, to what a sniveling cretin the viscount

had been.

Then another thought had her heart thudding in a panic. If she had been able to discover the identity of the highwayman, she

couldn’t help but wonder if anyone else had... like Lord Abernathy.

But, surely, if he had even whispered a suspicion about Jasper, that would have been the first thing the scandal sheets printed.

Wouldn’t it?

Lady Broadbent gestured with a limp hand toward the escritoire. “I need my vinaigrette.”

Forcing her feet into motion, she crossed the room to retrieve the small vile, then delivered it to her chaperone. “What all

did he tell?”

“They are speculating”—the countess paused to take a wincing whiff—“that he wasn’t alone in the carriage.”

Suddenly, Thea understood why her chaperone was so alarmed.

Oh, this was not good. Not good at all. “And with my stories about the highwayman... specifically the one about Lord Zed...”

“Yes, my dear. We could very well be ruined.”

Another Hartley scandal.

Blindly, Thea groped for the vile and inhaled, bracing herself for what was to come.