"As I am, madam. I daresay Stanby has beaten me to the first dance?"

"No, we were speaking of something else.” She allowed her fingers to play with the sapphires, to indicate in a seemingly unconscious way what they had been discussing. “Shall I give you the first dance?"

"I would be honored."

"It is settled, then. How horrid of me to interrupt your dinner. There is nothing so unappetizing as cold mutton. Do sit down, Mr. Hartly."

She waved and moved along, nodding to Ponsonby on the way.

"Am I allowed to have just one glass of wine with dinner?” he asked playfully.

"You shall have a glass of my champagne as a reward for being a good lad,” she replied in the same spirit, and called Wilf to fill a glass for Mr. Ponsonby.

It was only a small assembly at a village inn, but still Moira felt the evening held the promise of some pleasure. The champagne lent a festive atmosphere, and the gentlemen were all done up in their best jackets. Mr. Hartly was the only one with any real claim to looks, of course. She would flirt with him and see if he let anything slip about his being a Revenueman.

Jonathon carried the burden of conversation at dinner. He waxed enthusiastic about Firefly and told Moira he had found a suitable ride for them to take the next morning.

"There is a church big enough to hold a couple of thousand people,” he said, “which is strange, for there aren't above three dozen houses in the whole village. I daresay Blaxstead must have been a larger place once. I wonder what happened to all the people?"

"I have no idea,” she said distractedly. Her mind was working on how she could get Stanby to offer to buy the jewels.

When dinner was over, Bullion began to harry the servants into clearing the room of tables and chairs for the assembly. The gentlemen removed to the small room, but as there was a liberal sprinkling of undesirables there, Moira elected to await Cousin Vera in her room abovestairs. Jonathon remained below to watch and listen.

Lady Marchbank arrived shortly after eight.

"Have you learned anything about Hartly?” was her first question. “John is worried to death about him. I feared Jonathon might have mentioned all the barrels in the caves. That is where John stores his spare cargo."

"Jonathon did mention it, but Hartly suggested that the smugglers were using the caves without your knowledge."

"Ah, that is good! That is what we shall say if he asks. John disliked to remove them, for the cave is so handy. I shall tell him Hartly is onto that hiding place. The stream would be safer. Did Hartly do anything about the lad who stole money from him here at the inn?"

"What are you talking about, cousin?"

"He did not tell you someone took money from his room?"

"I heard nothing of it."

"Then John is right,” she said grimly. “He made the story up on the spot. It was a ruse to confirm that John is the magistrate. We could be in a dreadful pickle if Hartly takes that tale to London. When anyone lays a charge against the Gentlemen, John always dismisses it for lack of evidence-after he has disposed of the evidence, of course. I fear Hartly is working with the Customs people. Dear me, how can we get rid of him? Do you think he might be susceptible to a bribe?"

"That would only make your position worse, if he refused the bribe,” Moira said.

"So it would. You could always marry him” was her next notion. “He would not report his own family. He is really quite handsome and gentlemanlike. Not in the style of your usual Preventive man."

"Marriage is a little drastic-and besides, he has not asked me. Jonathon and I shall watch him closely, cousin, and if he appears to be looking for evidence, we shall get word to you at once."

"There is a good lass. Bullion is keeping an eye peeled for us as well. Now, shall we go below? I feel like a jig tonight, but with my bad knees, I shall have to make do with a game of whist by the grate."

The Great Room had been cleared of all but two of its tables. They were set up near the grate for the older guests to play cards. A small platform had been brought in to hold the three musicians. The inn did not boast a pianoforte, but two fiddlers and one man with a cello were tuning their instruments.

The limited space available and the small smattering of guests were only sufficient to make up four squares, three of them composed of the local gentry. Moira took her place with Hartly for the quadrille, Jonathon stood up with a local belle, and Ponsonby and Stanby found partners to complete the square.

Hartly paid a trite compliment to Moira on her appearance. Soon he moved on to more interesting matters. “It is a pity Lord Marchbank did not come to the assembly,” he said. “He seemed well enough this afternoon."

"The gout comes and goes. He must have had an attack,” she replied. She wondered if Marchbank was even then engaged in his illicit business, and if Hartly was prying to discover it.

She noticed that Hartly was examining her sapphires. “I daresay I should not wear my jewels at a public place like this, but if one does not wear them to parties, what good are they? Of course, I would not wear the Crieff emeralds to a place like this. They are much too valuable."

"It might be wise to leave them with the Marchbanks while you are at the inn,” he suggested.

"That is odd! Major Stanby gave me exactly the same advice."

"Did he indeed!” Hartly was surprised to hear it. If Stanby meant to steal them, it would be more easily done from the inn. Was it possible the old goat had something different in mind… like offering for Lady Crieff?

"You and the major are becoming fast friends, I see."

"He is quite a father to me."

"I doubt if that is the relationship he has in mind. But of course Lady Crieff needs no advice on how to handle amorous gentlemen,” he said, with a deprecating smile.

"Amorous! It is not that sort of friendship, I assure you. He is old as the hills,” she said lightly, without a thought to her alleged old husband, Sir Aubrey.

Hartly smiled blandly. “Then may I consider Stanby is not among the competition?” he asked boldly. “That leaves only Ponsonby and myself."

"Stiff competition for you indeed!” she replied, with a laughing sideways glance from her silver eyes.

"I enjoy a fair competition, but I trust you will not put me on a water diet, as you have Ponsonby."

"There is no need. You handle your wine like a proper gentleman. Then, too, if I forbid you to have wine at your table, you could not share it with me. I should be forced to drink Bullion's vinegar. Why does he serve such awful stuff, I wonder?"

"Because he is not accustomed to serving such out-and-outers as you and me, Lady Crieff, who can discern the difference."

"I am no connoisseur of wine, but I agree the clientele leaves something to be desired. Present company excepted-when he behaves himself."

"If that is a compliment, I thank you. You said the length of your stay was undecided, Lady Crieff. Have you come to any conclusion yet?"

"Why, Mr. Hartly, you sound as if you are trying to get rid of me."

"You would have to be shatter-brained to come to that conclusion-and you are not shatter-brained. My concern is that I must be off to London soon, and I wondered when I might expect to see you there. I should like to call on you, if you permit."

Moira's happiness at hearing he wished to continue the acquaintance was diluted with fear. Was he darting off to London to report to his superiors? “I have not decided when I shall go, nor where I shall stay. If you would give me your direction, I could let you know when I arrive."

"Alas, like yourself, I shall be putting up at whatever hotel has a room vacant. Is there no friend or relative I might apply to, to discover your address?"

"I have not decided whether I shall be in touch with Sir Aubrey's relatives or not. I have never met them. They might be horrid. It would be best if you gave me the name of someone I could notify when I arrive."

After a brief pause, Hartly said, “I shall be calling on my cousin, Lord Daniel Parrish, at Hanover Square. You could write to me there."

She blinked to hear him calmly drop a title into the conversation. Hartly must indeed be related to the gentleman, or he could not use his address. Lord Daniel might very well have got his cousin appointed to the plum position of Revenue inspector. It was beginning to seem that Cousin Vera was right, and Mr. Hartly was here at the behest of the government to snoop into smuggling. While this was vexing, it was better than having him allied with Stanby. She concluded that Hartly was a decent, respectable, handsome young gentleman-and he was receiving a wretched opinion of her.

A small, wistful sigh escaped her lips. Looking at her, Hartly was struck with her youth and unhappiness. He felt convinced that this innocent young girl had nothing to do with Stanby. She had been inveigled into marrying Sir Aubrey by an avaricious father, and now that her husband was dead, she was running off to London. There was nothing wrong in that. It was what any venturesome lady would do, if she had the pluck.

"I hope you will write to me at Hanover Square, Lady Crieff,” he said earnestly. “I should like to see you again."

Upon hearing that note of earnestness, she peered shyly at him. Their eyes held for a long moment, then the movements of the dance drew them apart. Moira felt she was really talking to Mr. Hartly for the first time. He seemed different tonight, more approachable. If he was here only because of smugglers, then she could tell him her true plight, and perhaps get him to help her.

What would he think of her, trying to steal twenty-five thousand pounds? Legally, that was what she was doing. The money was hers and Jonathon's by rights, but not by law. No, it was too risky to tell him, but perhaps, after she had regained her fortune, she might write to him at Hanover Square and see him again, away from Owl House. To confess a fait accompli was easier than to involve him in it.