"Mrs. Reynold-Plympton has been linked with more than one bachelor since her return to England seven years ago. Her husband's health has been in decline for some time. He must be seventy-five years old if he's a day, and it is Mrs. Hamilton — do you know her? — who takes particular care of him. They were attached to each other in their youth, but his parents wouldn't let him marry her. No money in her family."

"So now he forsakes his wife for her?"

"Don't play naïve, Emily. It's most unbecoming. People find a way to cope with arranged marriages. It's a necessity of life."

"Sounds more like sanctioned hypocrisy to me."

"It's very bad of Mr. Hargreaves to have let you find out about this. Perhaps you should take Bainbridge instead. He is discretion itself."

"Colin is not involved with Mrs. Reynold-Plympton. I'm only interested in her because I saw her in the park with another gentleman."

"Really? Who was it?"

"I'd rather not say."

"Don't be tedious."

"I'm not about to start spreading unfounded gossip."

"Fine. I've no interest in playing silly little games with you." She stood. "I do hope you're prepared to make a quick decision about your wedding. The queen will expect to hear news about it before the end of the Season."

"Perhaps I shall have to flee to Greece before then."

"Don't even consider it." She departed without another word. I returned to my desk after watching her carriage pull away and had just picked up my pencil when the window at the front of the room shattered as something flew through it, the missile landing on the side table next to Colin's favorite chair. Tied onto the brick was a note with a simple message:


A little knowledge can be a dangerous thing. Stop now.

24

Even before I could ring for Davis, the police watching my house mobilized and set off after the person who had thrown the brick. Although none of them had actually seen the act, an instant before he heard the crash of breaking glass, one alert officer had noticed a man run off at top speed, and his cries immediately caught the attention of the plainclothes policeman in the square.

Davis and three footmen appeared in the library almost at once, clearly relieved to find me unhurt. It was lucky that I had not been sitting on the window seat, as was often my habit. The abrasion on my cheek from when the coach tried to run me down had healed, but the anxiety caused by knowing that I'd been targeted for harm had not faded with my wound. This latest incident only increased my feeling of unease.

Unfortunately, the miscreant eluded his pursuers, and the police were baffled as to his identity. There was very little more they could do. Inspector Manning was called to the scene, and he, along with Colin, whom Davis had sent for, examined the note. Not unexpectedly, it bore no identifying features. The only thing we were able to determine was that the handwriting was significantly different from that on the missives I had received from my admirer. Hardly surprising. I wouldn't have expected him to start flinging objects through my windows. It wasn't his style.

"We're taking every precaution we can to ensure your safety, Lady Ashton," Inspector Manning said. "But I would suggest that you perhaps consider heeding the message. There's no point in exposing yourself to further danger."

"The only way for the danger to be averted is to solve the crime, Inspector," Colin said. "And I've come to see that Lady Ashton's contributions in such matters are inestimable. I suspect the culprit knows it, too, or he wouldn't feel so threatened by her."

"So you think this has something to do with the murders in Richmond?" the inspector asked.

"I'm certain of it," I replied.

"I'm not," Colin said. "It may be that the letters you're deciphering are completely unrelated but dangerous in their own right."

"The police are confident in the case against the maid," Inspector Manning said.

"That does not mean they're right," I said.

Perhaps the most baffling thing to me at that moment was the connection between the murders and the thefts. If Beatrice were culpable, then why would the news reports of the pink diamond have correlated with her husband's death? Could learning about the stone have made her want to kill the man she claimed to love?


I looked to Ivy's masquerade ball to provide a much-needed respite in the midst of all this excitement. When at last the night of the party arrived, it seemed as if all of London had descended upon Belgrave Square. The line of carriages crowding the street paralyzed traffic for blocks, and an atmosphere of gaiety permeated the entire neighborhood. Ivy, always the most considerate of hostesses, had some of her footmen bring cider and cakes around to all the coachmen while they waited. I had arrived early to help my friend with any last-minute catastrophes but found I had nothing to do. Ivy was far too organized to allow for emergencies.

She had decided not to impose upon her guests a theme, and the result of this was a house filled with costumes of every sort. I counted at least two queens of Sheba, three Cleopatras, and, not surprising given the current goings-on in town, no fewer than eight Marie Antoinettes. Lord Fortescue had come as Cardinal Richelieu. I was dressed as Helen of Troy, in a long tunic made by Mr. Worth from the finest white silk, artfully held together at the shoulders by gold brooches. Meg had spent nearly an hour arranging my hair in a complicated series of upswept braids and curls to a stunning result. My ensemble was completed with dainty golden sandals.

I had planned my costume before deciding that I would wear something of Marie Antoinette's to the ball, and by the time I had arranged to do so, it was too late to order something different. So my Helen wore an anachronistic choker fashioned of diamonds that came from the infamous diamond-necklace affair. They weren't the actual stones; I was unable to persuade the current owner to part with them. She did, however, agree to pretend that she had sold them to me, and lent me the paste copy that she'd had made years ago for times when she wanted the look of the necklace without having to worry about losing it.

"I don't think I've ever seen you look more lovely," Ivy said, coming to me as soon as the bulk of her guests had arrived.

"I do well so long as I stand away from you," I said, smiling. She was resplendent as Britannia. Her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes commanded the attention of any gentleman in her immediate vicinity. "No one stands a chance next to you."

"You underestimate yourself," she said. "Have you seen Colin yet?"

"No. Has he arrived?"

"Yes. He's dressed as an Elizabethan courtier and looks devastatingly handsome."

Robert, appearing as the emperor Charles V, came up next to his wife. "Who is devastatingly handsome?"

"You of course, darling," she replied with the sweetest sort of smile. He kissed her lightly on the cheek, and, I'm happy to report, didn't seem distracted in the least. Nonetheless, I couldn't help but wonder if Mrs. Reynold-Plympton was on the guest list.

In the ballroom the dancing had started. Isabelle, as a shepherdess, wore the most sweetly innocent costume in the house. She was positively beaming at the gentleman who guided her across the floor. It was Lord Pembroke. My heart felt heavy for the girl, and I hoped her mother would not notice her choice of partner.

Charles Berry, proving once and for all his complete lack of imagination, appeared as Louis XIV and was hanging lecherously on a very young and very pretty girl whom I did not recognize. I couldn't find Colin but had promised the next dance to Jeremy, who was decked out as a Roman soldier, complete with bronze armor. Although he did not dance so gracefully as Colin, he was a good partner, and we spent a pleasant time together on the floor.

"Will it scandalize everyone if you stand up with me again?" he asked when the music stopped.

"I don't think so," I said. "Three in a row might raise eyebrows, but two surely wouldn't." We accepted champagne from an obliging footman and drank it, catching our breath as we waited for the next dance to begin. When the music started, he led me back to the floor, but almost immediately a gentleman wearing the robes of a Bedouin warrior interrupted us.

"If you'd be so kind, Your Grace, may I steal your partner?"

Jeremy laughed. "I knew I couldn't keep her for two full dances." He bowed and left me with this stranger.

"Are you a friend of the duke?" I asked as he placed his hand on my waist, and we started to dance.

"You could say that," he replied.

"I'm a bit embarrassed to admit that I don't recognize you."

"I didn't think you would, though I must confess to finding that slightly disappointing."

"What is your name?"

"Sebastian Capet." I racked my brain but could think of no acquaintance called Sebastian. My partner laughed, seeing my confusion. "You've no idea who I am, have you?" he asked.

"Not the slightest." I could see nothing of his face except for a pair of bright blue eyes rimmed with thick, dark lashes.

"Perhaps this will refresh your memory." He pulled me closer to him and spoke in a quiet but intense voice, reciting something in ancient Greek.

"I hoped you would come tonight," I said, a pleasant thrill tingling all the way to my toes.

"You were very foolish to announce to anyone who would listen that you'd be wearing diamonds from the queen's necklace. Although, you know, it never precisely belonged to her. She insisted that she'd never ordered it."