Davis, my butler, sent for the police at once, and their thorough search of my house proved what I had suspected after seeing Cécile's cases: Nothing was missing except the earrings. The priceless antiquities displayed in my library, the old masters' paintings that could be found throughout the house, and my own jewelry were untouched. Not even the two-hundred-carat emerald-and-diamond necklace that sat next to the earrings was disturbed. Our thief had known what he wanted.

"It is difficult to be angry with a man who shows such refined taste," Cécile said the next morning as we sat at the breakfast table. "Clearly he is not motivated by greed."

"It's a pity your dogs did not bark to warn us of the intruder." Cécile refused to leave her home in Paris without her pets and would not come to visit me unless I agreed to let her bring them. Caesar and Brutus were tiny things, more likely to cower at the sight of a cat than to bark at a burglar. "If I had woken up earlier, I might have seen him," I said, frowning. The police had found footprints in the garden beneath my room, and although the rain had washed away any identifying features, they were able to determine that the intruder had entered the house through my window. This revelation had deeply disturbed Davis, who reprimanded the entire staff and assured me that he would personally check the locks in the house every evening. I did not hold anyone responsible. Had it not been raining, I would have directed my maid to leave the window open, and I said as much to Colin when he arrived to find Cécile and me still at breakfast.

"Best to keep the windows closed and locked in the future. I am most relieved to see both of you unharmed after your ordeal. I wouldn't have called at such a beastly hour if I weren't concerned about you."

Cécile smiled. "I've always wanted to breakfast with you, Monsieur Hargreaves. Let me assure you we are quite fine, though I suspect that had you been here last night, my earrings would not have vanished. How unfortunate that you had other plans."

"Even if I had called last night, I would not have been here so late."

Cécile looked at me pointedly. "That, of course, is not for me to say," she said.

"How did you learn of the theft?" I asked.

"A friend in Scotland Yard alerted me."

"And will you investigate?"

"No, Emily. I'm not a detective."

"Such is our misfortune, Monsieur Hargreaves," Cécile said.

"It is a strange case, though," Colin said. "Lord Grantham's house was broken into three weeks ago, and the only object taken was a Limoges box. The following week, a gilt inkwell disappeared from the home of Mrs. Blanche Wilmot. Both items belonged to Marie Antoinette."

"I have great hopes for our thief, Monsieur Hargreaves," Cécile said. "It is rare to find a man with such focus."

"There is no reason to think that he will come here again, unless one of you is hiding another of the ill-fated queen's possessions."

"We aren't, so I suppose we're safe," I said, rubbing my temples and suddenly feeling very tired. "I admit that it's unnerving to have been so violated."

"I shall have Inspector Manning, who has been assigned to the case, step up patrols near your house. You needn't worry."

"I don't know the inspector, but you, Monsieur Hargreaves, inspire absolute confidence," Cécile said. "I will quite depend upon you." She patted his arm as she walked past him. "Do not keep Kallista too long." Cécile had not abandoned her habit of calling me by the name my late husband had used for me.

"Excitement seems to follow you," Colin said, accepting the cup of tea I poured for him.

"It's following Cécile. I've never owned anything of Marie Antoinette's."

"I'm glad of it." His dark eyes flashed. "I cannot stand thinking of that criminal in your room. I should have come to you last night."

"Cécile's remark was not meant as a rebuke. She merely wanted me to ponder the idea of having you here so late at night. She's quite a corrupting influence."

"Then I am forever indebted to her."

"As you should be."

"And did you ponder the idea of having me here so late at night?"

"I did. It was most pleasant." Our eyes met. At once my fatigue dissipated as the feeling of violation was replaced with a lovely warmth. "Perhaps after the Season you should come to Greece with me." I had spent much of the spring exploring Greece, using as my base the villa that had become mine after Philip's death.

"Hardly appropriate for us to travel together."

"I thought you approved of my corruption?"

"I wholeheartedly do, but I don't want to see you that corrupt." He stood up, walked around the table to me, and took my hands. I closed my eyes, anticipating his kiss when Davis entered the room, carrying the morning mail on a small silver tray. Colin contented himself with quickly kissing my hand and went back to his seat. Doing my best to show no disappointment, I turned my attention to the envelopes before me. With invitations to two or three balls every evening, and as many dinner parties, not to mention teas, garden parties, and luncheons, one could easily be overwhelmed during the Season. And that was before considering the Derby, Ascot, the Royal Academy's Summer Exhibition, or any of the numerous other events not to be missed. I sifted through the pile before me, checking for personal correspondence.

"Anything interesting?" Colin asked.

"That's unlikely, unless you've sent me something." I tossed aside a note from my mother, knowing full well that it contained an admonishment for my turning down an invitation to her friend Lady Elliott's reception for Charles Berry. Although my mother had been content to see me married to a viscount — particularly as Philip's family had connections to royalty going back to the reign of Elizabeth — she had taken a renewed interest in my status since I'd come out of mourning and had returned to her hope that I might yet marry royalty.

Another envelope caught my attention. It bore no stamp so must have been hand-delivered. Inside was a short passage, written in ancient Greek:



"Is this from you?" I asked, passing it to Colin.