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V ivacity. Wickedness. The widow Perry had managed to adopt that vacuous empty-headedness designed to make him feel superior. Sir Frederick sighed. How he did despise women like that. And yet, good manners required that he first engage. And then he did what he always did: collude.

No wonder he was a draw card for vivacious, vacuous, empty-headed women, young and old.

No wonder serious women of substance like Miss Fairchild turned the other cheek when he made overtures.

Not that he’d exactly made overtures to Miss Fairchild though he had found himself, on more than one occasion, unable to keep his distance. She was so very regal and self-contained. And intelligent. So very intriguing.

She, however, clearly held him in contempt though he was encouraged that he did have the ability to make her laugh.

As for that sweet child Miss Playford, Sir Frederick made a mental note to keep a brotherly eye on not just his sister.

A short rap on the door heralded Dombey, the new valet supplied to him by Lord Pendleton.

As Frederick waited to be dressed for the morning’s activities, he wondered if he could prevail upon Miss Fairchild to aid him in his endeavors.

She’d done marvelously by casting Mr. Greene a lure, one that would put him off his sister.

Miss Fairchild certainly understood a great deal she did not convey.

What she had no hesitation in conveying, however, was her disparagement of him.

“Your shirt, if you please, sir.”

Sir Frederick raised his arms so that a fresh linen shirt could be donned.

“Are you all right, sir?”

Sir Frederick realized he’d been musing over Miss Fairchild and had neglected to either prime his new valet or don his own shirt.

Now the valet was frozen, his eyes fixated on the latticework of scars that criss-crossed Sir Frederick’s back.

“A youthful injury. Long healed and nothing to concern yourself over,” Sir Frederick said brusquely.

“You winced, sir.”

“I did. But I am perfectly capable of putting on my own shirt every morning.” He tried to keep the annoyance out of his tone. It wasn’t often that he was so careless.

“The injury still pains you, sir?”

The injury was not something Sir Frederick wished to discuss but the young man went on, “Pardon my impertinence, sir, but my sister is gifted with herbal concoctions that I know have the power to ease such afflictions.”

“You mean she was a witch in a less enlightened age?” Sir Frederick smiled to see the young man blush though, to his credit, he persisted.

“She has treated terrible scars and injuries with an herbal balm she concocts from plants in the woods.” He cleared his throat.

“It might benefit you, sir, if you are still troubled by the pain.”

“Oh, I feel no pain whatsoever these days,” Sir Frederick said in as bluff and hearty a manner as he could manage as he again raised his arms above his head—being sure not to wince this time—so that Dombey could slip on his shirt. “Nevertheless, I thank you for your concern.”

“Very good, sir,” replied his valet with commendable restraint as he finished dressing Sir Frederick in silence.

But when, after a day’s activities in which Sir Frederick did not participate but made all manner of excuses about how he wanted nothing more than to play billiards—when in truth it was the pain of his old injury that wouldn’t stop niggling—he really did wish he’d taken Dombey up on his offer.

Well, it was too late. He’d just have to take himself off to bed for an early night and forgo the pleasure of possibly seeing Miss Fairchild for a delightful bit of conversation.

But then, he’d also escape the possibility of being ensnared by Mrs. Perry, so that was one good thing, he decided, as he nodded politely in passing, to the very young woman he’d like nothing more than to take off to a secluded corner of the drawing room.

*

“Miss Fairchild, would you like to join us for charades?”

Amelia turned to see Miss Playford signaling to her from the depths of a large chair in the drawing room as Amelia took herself off to bed.

She’d passed Sir Frederick not long before and he’d barely acknowledged her. Not long before that, she’d noticed the vivacious Mrs. Perry talking with great animation to a rear admiral, a sight which she had found unexpectedly pleasing.

So, why had her mood plunged so precipitously into the doldrums when Sir Frederick had merely nodded at her with barely a smile as he’d passed her in the great hall?

Hadn’t they nearly solved a mystery together?

Well, they’d been duped by their hostess, but they’d been cleverer than most of the guests.

And then Amelia had concocted a clever decoy to dilute Mr. Greene’s interest, so shouldn’t that earn her more than a curt nod of the head after he’d appeared almost to ignore her all day?

“Another time, Miss Playford. But thank you for the offer. I hope you enjoy yourself,” Amelia said in reply.

And she really did. Miss Playford was with the other Miss Ps, giggling at some private joke like the very young girls they were.

But Amelia did not dismiss them as vacuous, air-headed creatures like she did Mrs. Perry, who was old enough to know better.

She’d developed a much greater respect for Miss Playford’s faculties since their time together.

“Amelia, Lady Pendleton is explaining the myths and truths about her ancestor, Lady Pernilla, if you’d like to hear it.” Edward was with Freddy and Caroline in another darkened corner of the massive drawing room.

“Another time, Edward, but thank you,” Amelia said with more coolness than she’d intended, and which she realized might offend Lady Pendleton, who clearly had not the capacity for being offended.

Lady Pendleton was old and indulged and liked making her guests believe untruths for her own entertainment.

Amelia felt very lukewarm towards her right now, though perhaps that was on account of her low spirits that were unaccountably due to Sir Frederick’s manner.

She sighed. Didn’t that just show Sir Frederick was now really showing his true colors? The convivial and collaborative episodes on the trail of discovery had been temporary and designed purely to charm the ladies while he had to suffer their company.

No, Sir Frederick had reverted to his taciturn self, and it was as if he barely knew Amelia, who was so inconsequential anyway with her tiny inheritance!

And then that thought nearly felled her with despair because maybe she wouldn’t even have that since it looked as if grumpy Sir Frederick had no thoughts for anyone other than himself.

Pausing as she crossed the large, stately room, she heard Lady Pendleton’s hushed voice. “Pernilla was renowned for her beauty, as you will have seen in the painting in the Long Gallery. Sometimes I wonder if it is a blessing to die young when you are remembered mostly for your beauty.”

Despite her skepticism and contempt for Lady Pendleton’s tactics, Amelia slowed her footsteps and then halted by a tall column.

“I wouldn’t want to die old and miss out on everything that’s before me,” said one of the Miss Ps brightly to her friends.

Her views were shared by the other Miss Ps, one of whom said, with a shiver, “No, not at all. Who’d want to be bent and wrinkly so that all the men would look the other way and say harsh things behind one’s back?”

Amelia noticed that the girls were within hearing of old Lady Townsend, who’d just caught her eye and who now signaled to Amelia to sit down, which she did, for she felt a little embarrassment at the way the girls were speaking within hearing of someone clearly in the category they were so denigrating.

The older lady was alone, reading a book, but she looked up with a smile as Amelia took a seat opposite her. “And did you learn much about the history of Pendleton Castle during your Ghost Hunt?” Lady Townsend asked.

“I became more curious about Lady Pernilla,” replied Amelia. “We found some letters, you know.”

“Oh, my dear Miss Fairchild, you know how Lady Pendleton plays fast and loose with the truth. I thought you knew she concocted those letters herself and put them where you would find them so you could create your own versions of the story. It was all in the spirit of entertainment.”

“Some letters were real,” Amelia replied. “And I think Lady Pendleton would be interested to know that Lady Pernilla’s lover, William, was not just a lowly groom—”

“And does Sir Frederick believe that, too?”

Amelia frowned. What had Sir Frederick truly thought? she wondered.

“Did you discuss it with him?” asked Lady Townsend. “He’s such an agreeable gentleman, I’m sure you both learned much about each other, as well as about Lady Pernilla.” Leaning forward, she added, “We missed you at charades this afternoon.”

Amelia shuddered. “I do not like to bring attention to myself.”

“Ah, my dear! Don’t be guilty of what too many earnest young ladies are,” Lady Townsend warned. “We are all so self-conscious of how we project our inner selves until those dried up feelings become the extent of who we are.”

The unrestrained giggling of the three Miss Ps cut short her words and Amelia smiled. “Not all young ladies are at such risk,” she remarked.

“But the serious ones are.” Lady Townsend looked a little sad. “The serious ones are at risk of never revealing their inner selves and what is in their hearts. As a result, happiness passes them by and they may spend decades regretting their inaction.”

“I think our three vivacious young ladies are at no risk.”

“Perhaps. You’d know better than I being so much closer in age in a different era and having spent time with Miss Playford yesterday. I thought she seemed quite taken with Sir Frederick, but he regards her in a brotherly light. He is a very charming gentleman, don’t you think?”

Amelia shifted uncomfortably. “A touch taciturn,” she said, and Lady Townsend’s eyebrows rose.