Minnie shook her head. "He tried to let Constance down lightly, but her feelings were cast in stone, never to be rewritten. In the end, Reggie did the gentlemanly thing and kept away. He lost all touch with his children. He couldn't visit them without seeing Constance, which led to situations he couldn't countenance."

His frown deepening, Vane resumed his pacing. "What, for want of a better word, lesson, would Patience have drawn from that?"

Minnie watched him pace, then her gaze sharpened.

"You say it's this deep reason that's keeping her from accepting your offer-I presume you're therefore certain she would otherwise agree to your suit?"

Vane shot her a glance. "Perfectly certain."

"Humph!" Minnie narrowed her eyes at his back. "If that's the case," she declared, her tone tending censorious, "then, as far as I can see, the matter's perfectly obvious."

"Obvious?" Vane bit the word off as he rounded on the bed. "Would you care to share your insight with me?"

"Well"-Minnie gestured-"it stands to reason. If Patience is willing to accept you at that level, then the odds are that she's in love with you."

Vane didn't blink. "So?"

"So she watched her mother endure a life of misery through marrying a man she loved but who didn't love her, a man who cared nothing for her love."

Vane frowned and looked down. He continued to pace.

Eyes widening, Minnie raised her brows. "If you want to change Patience's mind, you'll have to convince her her love is safe with you-that you value it, rather than see it as a millstone 'round your neck." She caught Vane's eye. "You'll have to convince her to trust you with her love."

Vane scowled. "There's no reason she can't trust me with her love. I wouldn't behave like her father."

"I know that and you know that. But how does Patience know that?"

Vane's scowl turned black. He paced more aggressively.

After a moment, Minnie shrugged and folded her hands. "Funny thing, trust. People with reasons not to trust can be very defensive. The best way to encourage them to give their trust is if the same trust-the complementary trust-is freely given to them."

Vane shot her a far from complimentary glance; Minnie raised her brows back. "If you trust her, then she'll trust you. That's what it comes down to."

Vane glowered-mutinously.

Minnie nodded. Decisively. "You'll have to trust her as you want her to trust you, if you're going to win her to wife." She eyed him measuringly. "Think you're up to it?"

He honestly didn't know.

While he struggled with the answer to Minnie's question, Vane hadn't forgotten his other obligations. Half an hour after leaving Minnie, he was shown into the snug parlor of the house in Ryder Street shared by his uncle Martin's sons. Gabriel, so Vane had been informed, was still abed. Lucifer, seated at the table, engaged in devouring a plate of roast beef, looked up as he entered.

"Well!" Lucifer looked impressed. He glanced at the mantelpiece clock. "To what do we owe this unlooked-for-nothing less than startling-visit?" He waggled his brows. "News of an impending fixture?"

"Contain your transports." With an acid glance, Vane dropped into a chair and reached for the coffeepot. "The answer to your question is Minnie's pearls."

Like shedding a skin, Lucifer dropped his inanity. "Minnie's pearls?" His gaze grew distant. "Double strand, thirty inches if not more, exceptionally well-matched." His frown deepened. "Drop earrings, too, weren't there?"

"There were." Vane met his arrested gaze. "They're all gone."

Lucifer blinked. "Gone-as in stolen?"

"So we believe."

"When? And how?"

Briefly, Vane explained. Lucifer listened intently. Each member of the Bar Cynster had some special area of interest; Lucifer's specialty was gems and jewelry. "I came to ask," Vane concluded, "if you could sound out the cog-nescenti. If the pearls have slipped through our net and been passed on, I assume they'll pass through London?"

Lucifer nodded. "I'd say so. Any fence worth his salt would try to interest the denizens of Hatton Garden."

"All of whom you know."

Lucifer smiled; the gesture was not humorous. "As you say. Leave it with me. I'll report back as soon as I hear anything to the point."

Vane drained his coffee mug, then pushed back his chair. "Let me know the instant you hear."

An hour later, Vane was back in Aldford Street. Collecting a still sleepy Patience, he installed her in his curricle and made straight for the park.

"Any developments?" he asked as he headed his greys down one of the quieter avenues.

Yawning, Patience shook her head. "The only change, if change it be, is that Alice has turned even more prudishly odd." She glanced at Vane. "Alice declined Honoria's invitation. When Minnie asked why, Alice glared, and declared you were all devils."

Vane's lips twitched. "Strange to tell, she isn't the first to have labeled us that."

Patience grinned. "But to answer your next question, I spoke with Sligo-despite being left all alone, Alice did nothing more exciting than repair early to her chamber, where she remained for the whole evening."

"Praying for deliverance from devils, no doubt. Did Whitticombe attend the ball?"

"Indeed, yes. Whitticombe's not affected by any puritanical streak. While not jovial, he was at least willing to be entertained. According to Gerrard, Whitticombe spent most of his time chatting with various senior Cynsters. Gerrard thought he was sounding out possible patrons, although for what project remained unclear. Of course, Gerrard's not the most unbiased observer, not when it comes to Whitticombe."

"I wouldn't sell young Gerrard short. His artist's eye is remarkably keen." Vane slanted a glance at Patience, "And he still has the ears of a child."

Patience grinned. "He does love to listen." Then she sobered. "Unfortunately, he heard nothing to the point." She caught Vane's eye. "Minnie's starting to fret again."

"I've set Lucifer on the trail of the pearls. If they've made their way to London's jewelers, he'll hear of it."

"He will?"

Vane explained. Patience frowned. "I really don't understand how they can have so thoroughly disappeared."

"Along with everything else. Just consider-" Vane checked, then wheeled his team for the turn. "If there's only one thief, and, given none of the other stolen items have been found either, that seems a reasonable bet, then all the items are probably hidden in one place. But where?"

"Where indeed? We've hunted all over, yet they must be somewhere." Patience glanced at Vane. "Is there anything more I can do?"

The question hung in the air between them; Vane kept his gaze on his horses until he could keep the words "Agree to marry me" from his lips. Now was not the time-pressing her was the wrong tack to take. He knew it, but swallowing the words took real effort.

"Check Minnie's inmates one more time." At a spanking pace, he set the curricle for the park gates. "Don't look for anything specific, anything suspicious. Don't prejudge what you see-just study each one." He breathed deeply, and flicked Patience a hard glance. "You're the one closest and yet most detached-look again, and tell me what you see. I'll call for you tomorrow."

Patience nodded. "Same time?"

Curtly, Vane acquiesced. And wondered how much longer he could refrain from doing something-saying something-rash.

"Miss Patience!"

Hurrying along the gallery on her way to join Vane, impatiently waiting downstairs, Patience paused, and waited for Mrs. Henderson, deserting her post supervising the maids down one corridor, to join her.

With a conspiratorial look, Mrs. Henderson came close and lowered her voice. "If you'd be so good, miss, as to tell Mr. Cynster that the sand's back."

"Sand?"

One hand to her ample bosom, Mrs. Henderson nodded. "He'll know. Same as before, just a trickle here and there about that heathenish elephant. I can see it sparkling between the floorboards. Not that it comes from the gaudy beast-I took a cloth to it myself, but it was perfectly clean. Other than that, even with these London maids-and Sligo's hired ones with the sharpest eyes in Christendom-we've not spotted anything awry."

Patience would have requested an explanation, if the expression on Vane's face when he'd called and found her in the drawing room, rather than ready, waiting for their drive, had not been indelibly imprinted on her mind.

He was impatient, champing at some invisible bit.

She smiled at Mrs. Henderson. "I'll tell him."

With that, she whirled, and, clutching her muff, hurried down the stairs.

"Sand?" Her gaze fixed on Vane's face, Patience waited for clarification. They were in the park, taking their usual route far from the fashionable throng. She'd delivered Mrs. Henderson's message; it had been received with a frown.

"Where the devil is she getting it from?"

"Who?"

"Alice Colby." Grim-faced, Vane told her of the earlier report of sand in Alice's room. He shook his head. "Heaven only knows what it means." He glanced at Patience. "Did you check out the others?"

Patience nodded. "There was nothing remotely odd about any of them, or their activities. The only thing I learned that I didn't know before was that Whitticombe brought books up from the Hall. I imagined, when he took such immediate possession of the library, that he'd found some tomes there and had settled to a new interest."