London, April

The Marquis of Denver strode casually into his club, giving perfunctory nods to some gentlemen passing along. He went straight to the card room through the big door at the end of the hall. There were only a few people inside, and as he closed the door behind him, a hearty voice hailed his name, "Denver! My dear Denver, I say!" He stared across the room at the huge gentleman in regimental clothes, striding purposely to him. At a closer look, he was a few inches taller than Denver, of muscular bulk and rugged face typical of a soldier, belied by the ebullient air about him. His countenance was pleasant in an unremarkable way, but the irrepressible twinkle in his brown eyes and boyish smile were enough for the fairer sex to describe him as 'rakish'. He appeared not much older than Denver himself; and, as he grasped the Marquis' outstretched hand and gave it a hearty shake, seemed to share a friendship of long-standing with him. "Denver, you devil, I hope you have not troubled extricating yourself from a hectic schedule and come all this way to seek me out?" the gentleman said, grinning boyishly.


 "Believe me, I wouldn't have done it for anyone else," returned Denver, smiling back. "After all, there is only one Major Gilbridge in my long and extensive list of acquaintances."


 "Acquaintance! Well, well, it appears I have sunk low in your eyes!" objected Major Gilbridge.

"You look well, my friend: you embellished yourself with quite a few decorations it is a wonder I didn't see you at once. My eyesight must be failing me already! How was the Continent? "


 Major John Gilbridge, who had served beside no less a personage than the great Duke of Wellington himself, proudly patted the few trappings of what had been undoubtedly a successful military career that hung on his uniform. "You do have a wonderfully sarcastic tongue, Eve, but damn if I don't take that as a compliment! The Continent! Well, come, let us take a seat by the window. I've got some interesting stories to share - particularly about women."


 "You'd better not bore me with them, John," warned Denver, following his friend to the table by the window.


 "This lack of enthusiasm surprises me! You used to look forward to it, didn't you?" the Major said, raising his brows. "Or is it really that you have somehow lost interest in women? If that's the case, I'd keep my hole shut, by Jove, I would!"


 The Marquis said, his eyes twinkling, "No, not quite, I assure you!"


 "That's more like it, Eve!" said Major Gilbridge, laughing. "Thing is, you're dashed too cold, but how is it that you only have to snap your fingers and they would all grovel at your feet?"

"My dear, I have been made aware, ever since I inherited this title, that it is due to my rank and wealth," replied Denver in driest accents. "Women are mercenary in nature, you know that."


 "Cynical, very cynical!" he shook his head. "Well, I won't bore you any more of my tales overseas!"


 "By all means, do! But you know, I am more interested in politics. I find the newspapers nowadays sadly lacking credibility. How did the Treaty go? Was everyone satisfied?"



"Oh, quite so! However, Wellington opted to stay in Northern France: I didn't! Called it quits, and there he was, flying off the handle as he always does when I told him I'd go mad if I stay another three years in that godforsaken country! Well, the fellow could take a damper now that Napoleon is stuck in St. Helena."


 Denver observed him keenly. "Are you selling out your commission, John?"

He tossed off the remaining wine in his glass and heaved a satisfied sigh. "Lord, yes! I'm over and done with it. It's a weary occupation, you see? And I'd rather employ myself at keeping my father's estate nice and tidy. Beats me why I even bought a pair of colours in the first place. Must have windmills in my head when I was a lad."

"As I recall, you wanted a pair of colours because it was all the rage," recollected Denver with some amusement. "The regimental uniform, I presume."

The Major crackled. "Aye, and much good it did me! Almost turned up my toes because of a leg shot that gotten infected-yes, ghastly, I know! So I'm not going to tell what happened afterwards. You're a lucky dog, Eve, to be tucked comfortably here in London whilst all the mayhem went on the other side of the Continent. I must admit, when I came home, it feels that I've suddenly aged a decade."


 "What? Even with decorations and all?"


 Major Gilbridge glanced down at his uniform with a rueful smile. "Damme, even with decorations and all!"


 "Ah, but I envy your bravery and the sense of purpose you have. Unlike myself, who drifts from one ballroom to another, listening to useless chatters and tedious conversations- the most mundane existence a man could ever suffer!"

"Aye, you could have done better were you permitted to join the Army - but then again, I don't think it would suit you by half if you don't mind my saying!"

"No, I don't think so, too," Denver said, smiling faintly, "besides, I am too volatile. I find the uniform a trifle uncomfortable for my taste now. I suppose you have borne the discomfort in compensation for all the adventures you've been to."


 "Adventures be damned! Do you know what I'll do? Retire to the countryside and be as dull as a lamp post. I've had enough fill of adventure as it is."


 "Now we progress! I assume you are fairly contemplating matrimony by now?" asked Denver, his expression mocking.


 John shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The idea of marriage seemed to perturb him, for his expression emitted anything but delight from the thought. He said, "Damme Eve, I'm five and thirty already! What do you think? High time to get leg-shackled and raise a pack of brats."

"I agree with the former but-pack of brats!-no, John, that would be too much! Would you also want a wife who always begs for your attention and wants you to make love to her?"

This made John's brows furrowed in brief reflection. "Well," he said slowly, "why not? Not but what I don't think there's a mite of harm in that sort of wife, is there?"

The Marquis stared at him in a newfound admiration. "John, you are quite reformed. My felicitations!"

"Am I, by Jove?" said the Major, his eyes twinkling. "Point is, I'm the last of the Gilbridges in the event that my old man passes on. There are a lot of damsels in the Marriage Mart so I'd strike the iron while it's still hot, you know."

Denver raised his glass. "Then I wish you luck, my friend. You'd find London swarming with them." John grinned. "Yes, indeed! However, I'd say that women from the Continent are much warmer and less, er-restrained." The Marquis laughed. "Well, how about you, Eve? Tell me what's going on in your life right now. I can very well see that you are in good spirits."

 "Life is what it is, my dear. However..." There was an odd glint on his eyes that the Major did not fail to notice. "I must confess, it has not been without its surprises of late."

"By Jove, has it? Now I'm intrigued!"

"You'll find out soon, my friend," Denver grinned and stood up. "But I'm afraid not tonight, for I have another engagement to make. It's long been overdue."

John eyed him knowingly. "Aye," he answered. "Going somewhere to keep your night a bit warmer, eh?"

 "That's not how I would put it, but let's just say a night with-ah, a warm company. I shall see you again presently, my friend. Pray, call upon me soon." The two men shook hands, then Denver went away.

The engagement, which was on the fashionable neighbourhood of Upper Brook Street, brought the Marquis to one of the doors of the sleek mansions along a well-lit street. A wide-eyed maidservant who had a strong tendency to giggle, let him in, received his cane, hat and his coat, and skittishly slipped out of sight as her mistress appeared at the top of the staircase.

Denver looked up and smiled. "I hope I'm not too late?"

"What do you think?" replied the lady. Clad in a shimmery nightgown, her golden curls falling over her shoulders, Lady Diana St. Claire was a sight to see. A widow of a few years now, she was known to everyone in high society-both as the beautiful daughter of a duke and, later on, as the wife of an influential politician, Lord St. Claire. The marriage was of convenience, of course. It was, as it happened, became conveniently brief, his lordship succumbing to a long-time complaint of gout and a weak heart. Then came the widowhood, and Lady Diana, never wanting for fortune and fame, soon found that it suited her very well indeed. Handsome young lords were all at her feet, and not one night did she ever find herself lacking in the company, or attention. Lately, however, she was feeling more than a touch annoyed: her latest beau, a conquest she fought hard to win over, besides being one of the most eligible bachelors, seemed to neglect her more often than usual.

Nobody could have accused Lady St. Claire of possessiveness. She always made sure to conceal strong emotions under a mask of self-possession and indifference, and considered attention-seeking quite beneath her. But even her proud self was inclined to cavil at the somewhat cavalier treatment she knew she did not deserve, especially from the Marquis of Denver.

In a few long strides on the staircase his lordship was already by her side and, without ado, gave her slightly parted lips a quick kiss. "Forgive me?" he whispered, smiling sensually down at her.

 Her brows rose. "What is there to be forgiven? You don't seriously think I eagerly wait for you evening upon evening?" Her voice was faintly incredulous, but there was undoubtedly a challenge behind her sultry blue eyes.

Denver chuckled. "You won't admit it, will you? Would it move you if I say I'd much prefer you wait for me evening upon evening?"


 She smiled sweetly up at him. "But how could I, my lord? When I throw card parties almost every night, and Caroline - that is, Lady Henshaw, keeps me accompanied till the small hours and never bores me with her gossips? Between soirees and late-night tete-a-tete, I'm sure I don't have a moment to spare on you."


 "And tonight? No card parties? No Caroline Henshaw?"

 She stared at him and was silent for a brief moment. "No. You still manage to wiggle out of my black books somehow," she admitted ruefully, lowering her defences. "So tonight is your night, my lord."

"You are an angel, my dear. I am quite relieved. I hope it would please you to hear that I am to stay in London henceforth and you'll not find yourself neglected again."

Lady Diana turned and started to walk. There was a sardonic tone in her voice as she replied, "I need not worry about that! You are not irreplaceable, my lord Denver." They entered her private sitting room and she poured him a glass of Madeira. "So, will you tell me what has been keeping you occupied lately? I heard you stayed at your grandfather's throughout the Christmas holidays."

"I did. But I'm sure you do not want me to bore you with tales from the countryside, do you?"

"No, indeed. However," she sat beside him on the settee. "I heard a rather interesting talk, which I hope you'd be honest to confide to me, I beg."

"What talk is that?"

She was observing her over the rim of her glass. "About a female cousin who recently came back from France."

"Ah."

"And you have been very attentive to her lately, it seems."

There was a sharp look on the heavy-lidded eyes, but his mouth quivered into a sardonic smile. "Am I? Forgive, I was not at all aware but I infer that someone has been particularly telling tales to you and I have a fair guess who."

She smiled. "Well, my lord? Is it true? I'd be lying if I say I did not feel the slightest envy when I heard it. I feel embarrass to confess, but I don't want your attentions elsewhere - cousin or not cousin." Denver chuckled and kissed her hand. "I find your jealousy rather endearing. Being dubbed as the Ice Queen does you no justice at all."

"Should I be flattered?"

The response was a searing kiss that made her knees trembled a bit. "Yes," Denver whispered as his right hand found its way under her nightgown. He felt her shivered and let out a soft laugh. "But I am more flattered to think that I am the only one who can make you melt this way." Despite herself, Lady St. Claire was weak under the Marquis' touch. No words were exchanged as they found their way to the warm and inviting bed.

Denver returned to his townhouse a few hours later in a rather pensive mood. Spending a cosy time with his ladybird had always been a pleasure, but tonight his thoughts were somewhere else: he had a strong suspicion that Axel Branden had been poking into his affairs lately. Denver detested the man with every bone of his body, and the fact that Diana had been enjoying his company did not sit well with him. His lordship was not a jealous man, but he despised anyone who had the audacity to covet what was obviously his.

A sleepy footman opened the door for him, and, after leaving a sharp instruction that no callers should be admitted until after noon later, headed to his bedroom upstairs.

The morning saw Connor, his lordship's butler, having qualms to admit the first callers of the day. It was not yet eleven o'clock and, bearing in mind the Marquis' explicit order (and his lordship's temper when rudely woken) Connor was reluctant to receive the ladies, who had somehow admitted themselves into the narrow foyer before he could deter them.

"Be so good as to tell Cousin Denver that we shall wait upon his convenience," pronounced Miss Julia Dresdenham with an air of a lady whose authority should not be questioned. Connor had enough trouble keeping Mr Collin from badgering his lord's door at every opportunity these past few weeks, but with Miss Julia, who seemed more obstinate than her brother, the butler found himself bereft of power to object. With her was Miss Georgie, who (as he was told) was supposed to be the cousin that recently came back from France.

There was a great deal of incredulity when he first heard of the news. He served the Marquis' family for close to three decades already and not once did his lordship-or his father before him-ever mentioned of a relation in France (barring Miss Beatrice, who ran away with a Frenchman). Though privy to the affairs of Dresdenhams, Connor thought it prudent not to pry, or even express curiosity at all cost.

Although abhorrent of the French, he liked Miss Georgie well enough; and, as she was smiling, somewhat apologetically, Connor relented and cleared his throat. "Very well, ma'am. I shall inform his lordship presently," he declared and went upstairs, hoping against hope that Lord Denver had roused himself at this moment.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" said Julia cheerfully as they deposited themselves on the couch in the drawing-room. "Of course, Connor can be what Collin describes as being 'starchy' and Cousin Denver is not one at his best before noon, I'm afraid."

"Would it not be wise if we come back in the afternoon instead?" asked Georgie a little uneasily. Having glimpsed the Marquis' temper for more than one occasion, she knew how daunting it could be. Julia, less perceptive and less experienced of her cousin's vagaries and moods, dismissed this suggestion. "Nonsense! Since we are already here, we might as well wait. Besides, Mama trusts me to deliver her letter with all possible haste. Shall I ring for tea?"

Georgie nodded, somewhat reluctantly, and wondered what kind of reception they'd likely be receiving when Denver came down. It all felt strange sitting in his drawing-room where everything bespoke of quiet elegance: from the marbled mantlepiece upon which expensive knick-knacks perched, gilded furnitures, and the heavily brocaded draperies and wall hangings. She also could not help but notice the piano on the other side of the room. Did he play here on the evenings spent in solitude?

Denver did not come down until half an hour later, by which time the ladies had exhausted all the subjects they could grasp; of fashion, latest on-dits, and the preparation for the soiree that was to be held at the Duke of Montmaine's townhouse in Grosvenor Square next Saturday. It would be her first Season in London, Miss Julia having expressed the utmost desire to celebrate the happy occasion together with her newfound cousin. "Of course, this will not be your first coming out, as I'm sure you've already done so in Paris, and we have been introduced to the Court last week. I don't flatter myself to be quite intimate with all of the London Society, but by all means, dear cousin, you can ask me if you are curious about anyone at all!"

Taught by Lady Emerson that to appear too curious was unbecoming of a young lady of genteel birth, Georgie thanked Julia and explained that there was no one whom she was curious about at all. "But to be obliged to meet a lot of strangers always make me nervous, you see."

"To be sure, it's only natural that we feel shy on our first Season!" replied Julia. "I am so glad that Denver brought you home. It is prodigious fun to have a female cousin after all! Believe it when I say most men make a terrible company- after all, I have two brothers, besides all-male cousins!"

Georgie, who had been in Julia's company long enough to discover the young lady's predisposition to hold strongly to her beliefs- a trait that notably manifested in most of Dresdenhams- meekly agreed. Miss Julia might be a trifle loquacious, but her childish naivety belied a strong self-possession that Georgie admired. "I do hope your brother Ian would be home in time for the soiree. I look forward to meeting him."

"Oh, I am not at all sure of that! But I heard Mama was saying the other night that it won't be long until he is home."

"What is he like?"

Julia nibbled at her biscuit. She cocked her head, as if in deep thought. "Well," she said slowly, "He is not at all like Collin because he is a military man. However, it doesn't make him an interesting person either, I'm afraid."

Georgie's brows rose. "But I find all of you interesting!"

Julia was not convinced. "Do you? With the exception of Denver, I find that we are all sadly unremarkable."

She stared at her with one of her wide-eyed looks. "What makes you think that cousin Denver is extraordinary, Ju?"

"Because Julia thinks that men of my genus always make a habit of breaking convention," said the sardonic voice of Denver, emerging from the doorway. "And men who follow the rules are intolerably dull. Do you not think so too, cousin Georgie?"

"Yes, but making ladies wait is not entirely proper, cousin!" complained Miss Julia, still at her biscuits.

He made them a mocking bow. "Do forgive me! But I see that you have already taken it upon yourself to call for some refreshments."

"Yes! I hope you don't mind?"

"Not at all! I endeavoured to get dress as quickly as possible, but it could never be done so, cousin. Besides, I'm not at my best before noon."

Miss Dresdenham shot Georgie a triumphant look. "I told you so!"

Denver's brows furrowed. "What's this? Have you been stabbing my back this past half-hour?"

"Oh no!" Georgie quickly replied. "Indeed, we are sorry if we disturbed your morning, cousin! Were you busy?"

"Not at all," he assured her. "To what do I owe this pleasure, if I may ask?"

Julia rummaged through the contents of her reticule and handed him a missive. "Mama begs if you could have a look at this list of guests she drew up for the soiree." Denver perused the letter. A grimace slowly settled on his countenance. "'Duchess of Sutherford, Lord Corby-Dowles, Mr. Harrow Armitage, Lady Penworth'-Good God! Does she plan to invite half of Mayfair's doddering herd? These are mostly grandfather's old acquaintances," he said, putting the note in his pocket. "Anyhow, I shall write to Aunt Lilian regarding this matter."

"Oh, do! We don't want our guests to be ancients. It would be a pity, for half of them could not even dance. Don't you agree, Georgie?"

"Yes, because I suppose they are afflicted with gout?"

"Exactly! What's more, they would only crowd the ballroom and gawk at us and wait for us to commit faux pas. Then they'll get the satisfaction of nitpicking at us!"

"Oh!" gasped Georgie, "Will it be that bad?

"Yes and we certainly don't want that!" declared Miss Julia firmly and turned to Denver. "Cousin, do persuade Mama not to invite them at all cost!"

"I shall do my best, Ju," returned Denver, keeping a solemn expression.

"Well then, I believe our task is done here, Georgie." They stood up. "Oh, and Mama says you may visit us at your most convenient time. She's been engrossed with the preparations for the soiree and desires your advice on some matters."

They went to the door. Denver fell alongside Georgie and remarked, "You seem quiet today. I hope everything is well at my Aunt Lillian's house?"

"Yes, thank you. They have been very kind to me, although I must confess," she said, lowering her voice to a whisper, "the London ways confuse me sometimes, sir. I am not to speak to anyone whom I have not been introduced to, and cannot walk barely a few paces away from the house without Ynez with me! Ever since we have been presented to Court, I have to shop at least twice a fortnight and get fitted for different gowns for different occasions and-oh, I have been intent on Debrett's Peerage for fear I would embarrass myself in my first Season by forgetting names and titles! I must say, my head is in a whirlwind sometimes!"

Denver smiled faintly. "Is London not to your liking, then?"

"On the contrary, I find it most diverting!" she said blithely.

"You'll have your fill of diversions soon enough, my dear. Meanwhile, I'd best leave you to Julia's capable hands. She is-er, a bit of a rattle, but you may depend on her to keep you away from boredom."

"What makes you think I am bored? The town is anything but tiresome! Will you visit us soon?" Georgie asked, and it occurred to Denver how eager she sounded. He took her gloved hand and gave it a perfunctory kiss. "You may rely upon it, cousin."

In the afternoon, he was joined by Major Gilbridge for a meal of cold ham, cheese and fruits. The Major having divested himself of stiff regimental uniform, opted for a velvet mulberry topcoat and tan pantaloons, declaring with some amusement, that Evelyn was right in saying that the regimental uniform was anything but snug. The Marquis ran a critical eye upon his friend and remarked, "That is all very well John, but I don't like the cut of your coat. Ever considered sacking your tailor?"

Major Gilbridge did not appear affronted by this censure. "Hang it, Eve, I have not called so you could point out my sartorial errors. Besides, I am never a man of fashion. Never cared for the tomfooleries that dandy Brummell dictates the fashionables. I'll tell you what: that silly fellow would soon find himself on the rocks if half of what they are saying is true."

"A rather unfortunate situation for our friend."

"Gammon! You don't like him by half," John helped himself with a slice of ham. "But that's neither here nor there. Point is, the man's been steadily walking down the path of ruination ever since that miff with Prinny."

"I'm not at all surprised. He's reaching way above his touch. The man's arrogance never ceases to amaze me."

"I have it in best authority that 'one could only assume arrogance as his distinguished birth sees fit,' or some such fustian," he grinned at Denver.

The Marquis frowned. "Good Lord, did I ever say that? How appallingly snobbish of me!"

"Aye, and if arrogance were personified it had to be you, Evelyn."

"Thank you. I was not aware of the distinction," returned Evelyn with biting sarcasm.

"I saw Lady Lillian this morning by the way," John said, with a remarkably swift turn of mind. "Lovely lady, your aunt. She invited me for a soiree in Grosvenor Square this Saturday. I take it your cousin Julia is out for the Season?"

"Yes," he paused and added vaguely: "And another relative will be joining her, too."

His friend did not appear curious about this unknown relative. In a cheerful note he said: "Well, I suppose I can postpone my plans on coming down to Eastbourne for a while."

"I wasn't aware you're returning home so soon."

"Only for a few days, just to see my old man," John replied. "He has been a trifle ill at ease lately."

"Why? Everything alright back home?"

"Oh, very well, I assure you. My father's not one to fuss over something that's not worth a sweat but there seems to have been a number of smuggling activities across the Downs recently," John disclosed. "In fact, I heard there was a smuggler on-the-loose at Rye last summer. The George's had to be scoured when the Excisemen suspected he had escaped through the inn. My father knows the landlord, you see. He was extremely distraught by what had transpired, poor devil."

"Indeed," came the Marquis' deadpan reply.

"Moreover, one would think that with the war over, their operations would have been a great deal less lucrative, but it appears that's not the case at all. Damn those rats, they don't know when to stop. With the levy becoming less steep, I don't see the point of doing things illegally, you see?"

"I could only hazard a guess, John. There might be a great deal of ingenuity involved and some capable men."

"Aye, and the devil in it all is that they are dashed too slippery! Did you not happen to hear anything when you were down at Hastings during the holidays?"

"No, not at all. Should I have, though?"

The Major shrugged. "Well, they're setting the whole bloody Sussex coast by the ears. One of my friends down at the Customs suspicioned that there are some lads involved, too. Very young 'uns!"

"How alarming! I gather nobody has been apprehended yet?"

"Not to my knowledge, no," he shook his head. "All the same, they have been more rigorous than ever to catch these buggers-even if it means turning the coast upside down."

"And I have no doubt they shall have their just desserts in their own good time, my friend," said Denver, practically dismissing the subject. The two gentlemen passed time pleasantly enough, and afterwards Major Gilbridge begged to be excused, as he should press on with another engagement.

The Marquis elected to stay at home for the rest of the afternoon. The news his friend had brought was enough to create a frown between his brows. He knew very well how the enterprise went in those parts; in fact, he suspected that some of the bootleg goods were, in a covert operation, delivered through his grandfather's cove. But the frown soon perished as he came to his study where, perched on a small desk by the window, was his secretary, Mr Warren, waiting for him. "Ah, Edward. How fares our little investigation?" he said amiably.

"You may want to close the door first, my lord," returned the prudent secretary in his no-nonsense voice. Denver did and deposited himself on a chair across the desk, saying blithely, "A great discovery, I presume?"

"If you'd put it that way, sir, then yes: a great many, I should say."

"My curiosity is now piqued. You have all my attention, Edward. By all means, let us hear it!"

"I should inform you, my lord, that the information I acquired is of a delicate nature and requires utmost discretion."

"I am all ears."

"Furthermore, whatever purpose it would serve his lordship in -"

"For God's sake, man, have done with this roundabout fashion and tell me exactly what I need to know!" interloped his lordship wearily.

Mr Warren begged his lordship's pardon and cleared his throat. "As what I have gathered, my lord, it appears that the late Monsieur Devilliers did not lose his life to Madame le Guillotine, but to an unfortunate accident."

The Marquis, who had been toying with his quizzing glass, dropped it suddenly. "Poor devil!" he remarked and his secretary was inwardly disappointed. Mr Warren had hoped, for once, that such piece of intelligence would render his lord incapable of speech at the moment. As he searched that bored countenance, he found nothing but contempt, and those languorous eyes only held a flicker of interest that was soon gone. Five years employed in the services of the Marquis should have taught him not to raise too much hope, but Mr Warren had reflected that today might not just be any other day. Indeed, he was not exactly expecting a display of sympathy, but neither did he imagine a sheer disdain so blatantly expressed.

Whatever reasons that had prompted the Marquis to hire an impostor to pass off as his long-lost cousin, Mr Warren might never truly discover. It confounded him how his lordship managed to keep up the pretence up to this point, with no whiff of suspicion coming from his relatives. But then again, to speculate on things that engendered his lordship's caprice was utter folly. The whole matter was preposterous to begin with, and it amused as well as disgusted him how they were all pathetically hoodwinked by the Marquis.

After a pause, Mr Warren continued, somewhat bluntly, "Moreover, the marriage might not have been a happy one. The late Lady Beatrice had her own affairs whilst her husband was somewhere else. Apparently."

"Apparently," echoed the Marquis in dry accents. "This is getting more tangled than I had first supposed."

"Tangled, my lord? Forgive me, but is it not de rigueur for couples of High Society to keep lovers all the time?"

"My dear Edward, you are savage in your opinions, do you know that? More to the point: have you ever entertained a possibility that Devilliers might not have sired her daughter after all? She was not with child when she eloped with him; in fact, I am certain it could have been much later that she bore her."

"Of course!" said Mr Warren, much struck. "I daresay we can speculate on that possibility. Did you not mention that she left before she could turn twenty-one? It must have been in the '92 when she ran away."

"Exactly," Denver replied, observing his secretary with interest. "And where, might I ask, have you gleaned all this information?"

"Our man, Monsieur Deumont, had elicited these details from one Madame Pomoy, who claimed that she had once been a part of Lady Beatrice's household, more than twenty years ago. A chambermaid."

"It appears that our Monsieur Deumont has been rigorous in his little detective works."

"Indeed, sir. And you can't find a better man for the task!" Mr Warren perused one of the letters that littered his desk. "According to the madame, there was one person among Lady Beatrice's lovers that stood out the most, and as such, she could not forget this gentleman, for although he spoke French fluently, she could tell that he was an Englishman."

Denver had been absently looking out at the window, but at this point he looked at his man sharply and demanded, "Is Madame Pomoy quite certain it was an Englishman?"

"I verified this with Monsieur Deumont and he was positive that it was, indeed, an Englishman. He was the same person who had visited the Devilliers household for more than one occasion," Mr Warren cleared his throat, "that, of course, meant that whenever Lady Beatrice's husband was conveniently absent, which was always the case. It seemed that the affair was quite known in the servants' hall."

"I'm afraid discretion was not one of the strongest virtues of my late aunt. Did she say what was the name of this gentleman?"

Mr Warren hesitated, but said after a moment, "The woman only heard Lady Beatrice once referred to him as 'Ricky'."

"Ricky? Ah, Ricky! Just who the devil might you be?" mused Denver out loud. "An Englishman who crossed the Channel during the height of Terror? Only a fool would do that! In this case, a fool quite in love with my errant aunt."

"My point exactly, sir. Unfortunately, that was all she could remember. In my opinion, it does not look as promising as I would have first supposed, but perhaps your lordship might be able to discover from your family?"

"My good man, I would not have bothered hiring Monsieur Deumont if our curiosity would have been easily satisfied by my relatives," his lordship gave him an ironic smile.

His secretary coloured a bit. "Of course, my lord. I see that it's pointless to even ask."

"I very much fear my grandfather's memory is not as sharp as it was before. And since my Aunt Lillian refines too much upon the impropriety of gossiping on the old scandal, I'm afraid discussing this matter with them is very much out of the question."

"If I might ask, sir: do they suspect anything at all regarding the nature of Miss Kentsville's identity?"

Denver took some snuff before responding, in a voice devoid of any concern, "Oh, devil a bit! With the exception of my Aunt Isabela and cousin Hugo, I am confident that the rest of my family are utterly duped."

"And until when do you plan to keep this up, my lord?" Mr Warren asked, his solemn gaze intent on his lordship's countenance.

The Marquis was silent for a moment, then favoured his secretary with one of his bland looks. "How honest do you want me to be, Edward?" he asked softly.

Mr Warren returned his gaze candidly. "However may suit you at the moment, sir. My being in your employ does not give me the position to judge your intentions at all."

"You are, as always, wonderfully frank, my good man. In that case, I believe I owe you a great deal of honesty. You see, Edward, right now," said the Marquis, his eyes glinting, "I am thoroughly enjoying this charade more than I had expected I would. It would be a pity to see this all end soon, don't you think?"

The secretary relapsed into an uncomfortable silence.

"How about the other matter I asked you?"

Mr Warren looked up, his brows furrowing. "As to that sir, I am considerably perplexed."

"What do you mean by that?"

"The thing is," said Mr Warren, "there is no record of Miss Kentsville's birth in any church registry near Hayworth."

Denver stared hard at him. "Perhaps the family weren't originally from there?" he suggested mildly.

"But my lord," added the secretary with a slight frown, "the late Mr Kentsville never had a son or daughter."