Lord Frederick had brought along Mrs. Canaletto, a childhood chum of the brothers, both of whom called her by her Christian name. She was several years older than Elissande, worldly, not given to the same sort of limitless enthusiasm as Miss Kingsley and her companions, but nevertheless friendly and approachable.

“Have you been to the theater yet, Lady Vere?” asked Mrs. Canaletto.

“No, I’m afraid I’ve not had the pleasure.”

“Then you must have Penny take you to a performance at the Savoy Theatre right away.”

Elissande’s husband looked at Mrs. Canaletto expectantly, then said, “Only one recommendation, Angelica? You used to like to tell us how to do everything.”

Mrs. Canaletto chuckled. “That’s because I’ve known you since you were three, Penny. When I’ve known Lady Vere twenty-six years, rest assured I will tell her how to do everything too.”

Elissande asked Mrs. Canaletto whether she’d visited the Isle of Capri during her stay in Italy. Mrs. Canaletto had not, but both Lord Vere and Lord Frederick had, on a continental jaunt the two had taken together after Lord Frederick had finished his studies at Oxford.

Lord Vere talked about the sights they’d seen on the trip, with Mrs. Canaletto correcting him good-naturedly alongside: the fabled Neuschwanstein Castle in Bulgaria, built by the mad Count Siegfried (“It’s in Bavaria, Penny, built by King Ludwig II, who might or might not have been mad”); the Leaning Tower of Sienna (“Pisa”); and on Capri, the Purple Grotto (“The Black Grotto, Penny”).

“It was the Black Grotto, really?”

“Angelica is teasing you, Penny,” said Lord Frederick. “It’s the Blue Grotto.”

Undaunted, Elissande’s husband went on. As he held forth, he dropped his handkerchief into the jam pot, knocked the contents of a slender flower vase onto the crumpet plate, and had one of his biscuits leap ten feet to land amidst the pink ostrich feathers of someone’s extravagant hat.

Lord Frederick and Mrs. Canaletto seemed to think nothing of either Lord Vere’s loquaciousness or his clumsiness. But his words and actions seemed excessive to Elissande, as if he were trying to make up for the flash of incisive intelligence he’d displayed during their predawn encounter by making himself appear especially inane.

And inept. To dilute the memory of his absolute mastery over her body, perhaps?

He had come to within an inch of convincing her that it had been a fluke—within an inch. And then he’d gone too far and directly contradicted himself—probably because he sincerely did not remember recommending, strongly, that she take measures against just such a possibility as the expanding of their family.

The lady in the pink ostrich hat, after recovering the biscuit from the depth of her millinery plumage, approached their table. For a moment Elissande thought she might have harsh words for Lord Vere, but Lord Vere and Lord Frederick rose, and both men plus Mrs. Canaletto greeted her familiarly.

“Lady Vere, may I present the Countess of Bourkes,” said Lord Vere. “Countess, my wife.”

It was the beginning of a parade. The Season was over, but London was still an important hub for the upper crust traveling between Scotland, Cowes, and the therapeutic spas of the Continent. Elissande’s husband seemed to be acquainted with everyone who was anyone. And as Lady Avery must have lost no time in trumpeting her latest exposé, the whole world wanted to see what manner of woman had been caught with him in a most scandalous manner.

He introduced her with absurd pride. Lady Vere has devoted herself to the well-being of her aunt. Lady Vere is as knowledgeable of modern art as Freddie. Lady Vere is certain to be one of London’s great hostesses.

It took her a minute to align her reaction with his. She discarded the moderately warm smiles she had thought appropriate for the situation and went for the full teeth-and-dazzle.

Lord Vere shines a precise and all-encompassing light upon the current Anglo-Prussian relationship. Lord Vere discusses the architectural history of Europe with aplomb and flair. Lord Vere’s deep and detailed reading of Ovid has provided us with hours of enthralling conversation.

They made a stunning pair, in the most literal sense. People left their table agape, barely able to totter back to their own seats. Who’d have thought that the talents she’d honed to defend the integrity of her soul from her uncle would one day be put to such public theater? If it weren’t so bizarre she’d almost find it funny.

“I rather enjoyed eloping, on the whole. I should have done it sooner. But of course I did it as soon as I could with Lady Vere,” said her husband, once he was able to sit down again.

“Well, I do think we could have done it one day sooner,” Elissande said with a giggle.

“That is true,” he concurred. “I did not think of that. Why did I not think of that?”

“But that is quite all right. We are here and we are married and it couldn’t be more wonderful.”

Across from them, Lord Frederick and Mrs. Canaletto exchanged looks of good-natured incredulity, as if marveling that such a perfect match could and did exist for Lord Vere. Lord Vere leaned in for another slice of sultana cake and—what else?—overturned the creamer in the process.

Elissande was beginning to see an adroit choreography to his ungainliness, the carefully chosen angle of his arm, the precise path of his reach, the calculated sweep of the back of his hand.

There was no such thing as a man who was more lucid when drunk, only one who was less careful, and therefore less hidden. For him, who had expressed his potent displeasure only hours ago, to then take on the part of the dizzyingly happy husband—he was nothing if not a superb actor.

It took one to know one.

* * *

There was a note for Vere from Mr. Filbert when he arrived back at his town house—Mr. Filbert being one of Holbrook’s aliases. Vere changed into his evening clothes, told his wife he was going out to his club, met Holbrook and Lady Kingsley at the house behind Fitzroy Square, and worked feverishly. He did not return home again until nearly midnight.

His wife was waiting for him in his room. “This is much too reckless of you,” she declared irately. “May I remind you that you were injured only last night from staying out too late?”

He paused in the removal of his necktie. “I, ah, well, I forgot,” he answered with an appearance of sheepishness.

She came up to him, undid the buttons on his evening jacket, and pushed it off his shoulders. “You shouldn’t be going about on your own in the dark. I don’t trust my uncle; he doesn’t play fair. When he says three days, he’d be quite happy to abduct you on the second day and then force me to trade my aunt for you.”

“Would you?”

She glared at him. “Let’s not talk about such unpleasant hypotheticals.”

“But you brought it up just now,” he said earnestly. “I thought you wished to talk about it.”

She took a deep breath and two steps back. “May I ask you a favor?”

“Of course.”

“Can we dispense with the pretenses?”

Alarm flooded him. He regarded her with wide eyes. “Beg pardon?”

“We are home. The servants are abed. There is no one else about but the two of us,” she said impatiently. “You don’t need to continue with your act. I know you are not as oblivious as you pretend to be.”

Surely he hadn’t given that much of himself away. “But this is preposterous. Are you implying that I come across as oblivious, madam? I will have you know that I have the brightest mind and the keenest wit. Why, people are often astounded by the perspicacity of my discourse and the subtlety of my insight!”

He’d done everything he possibly could this day to reinforce the impression of the idiot. Shouldn’t that have been enough?

“This morning I visited the chemist’s you recommended,” she said. “Mrs. McGonagall taught me how to cleanse after lovemaking to minimize the chance of being in the family way. I did it after I came back home.”

Christ. He told her all that? What else had he said to her? “But—but you can’t do that. A woman is supposed to—she is not supposed to interfere with Nature in such matters.”

“The whole history of civilization is one of interference with Nature. Besides, I was but following your instruction, sir.”

“But I could never have given such instructions. Why, contraception is a sin.”

She passed her hand over her face. He had never seen her in such an open state of frustration. It shocked him to realize what this meant: She had dropped her pretenses.

“Fine, then. Keep your charade,” she said. “But tomorrow is the last day of grace my uncle allowed me. He is a dangerous man and I’m afraid. Is it possible for the three of us to vacate England for a while?”

“Good Lord. Where shall we go?”

She hesitated briefly. “I’ve always wanted to visit Capri.”

At least he didn’t seem to have told her anything about the investigation. “But there is absolutely nothing to do on Capri: It’s a rock in the middle of the ocean. Minimal society, no sports, not even a music hall anywhere in sight.”

“But it’s safe. Come winter boats from the mainland will have a hard time getting to it.”

“Precisely. The horror! I shall move us to my country house in a few days, but other than that, I’ve no intention of going anywhere else. This Season has been long enough already.”

“But—”

“You should trust my luck,” he pressed on. “Some people say I’ve a fool’s luck. Of course, I take exception to that because I’ve always been a man of highly developed intelligence, but there is no denying my charmed luck. You’ve done well, Lady Vere. You’ve married me. Now my luck will rub off on you too.”

She tightened the sash of her dressing gown, her motion ungentle. “It’s maddening to talk to you.”

He was only trying to reassure her. Things had been set in motion this night, but he could not tell her any more at the moment.

“But you insist on peppering me with such nonsense, my dear.”

“In that case, don’t be surprised to find yourself drugged and shanghaied. I will do whatever it takes to keep all of us safe.”

He should be irked, since her whatever-it-takes stance was what had married them in the first place. But it was difficult to be too upset when it was his well-being that had her vexed and anxious.

“Ah, come, sweetheart,” he coaxed. “We are only on the third day of our honeymoon and we are already bickering.”

She threw up her hands. “Fine. Let’s just change your bandage.”

She assisted him in the removing of his waistcoat. He was only going to roll up the sleeve of his shirt but she wanted that gone too. “If I don’t take off the shirt, how will I put your nightshirt on you?” she said, her ire still hot. “You will pull at the wound if you do it yourself.”

Evidently the thought of his going to bed naked never occurred to her. He acquiesced.

After she changed his bandaging, she went into his dressing room and returned with a nightshirt. Something about his person caught her attention and made her frown. She pointed to the left side of his rib cage. “What are those?”

He looked down at the scars. “You’ve never noticed them before?”

“No. How did you get them?”

“They are from my riding accident.” With his good arm he made the trajectory of someone being thrown high in the air and then falling sharply. “Everybody knows about my riding accident.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“That’s very strange, considering that you are my wife. Well, it happened when I was sixteen, not long after I came into the title. I was at my great-aunt Lady Jane’s summer place in Aberdeenshire. Went for a ride one morning, took a tumble off my horse, broke some ribs, suffered a concussion, and had to stay in bed for a few weeks.”

“That sounds quite serious.”

“It was. It was,” he reassured her. “Of course, some stupid people believe that I fell directly on my head and damaged my brain. But that is an utter fabrication. I have been, if anything, a sharper thinker since my accident.”

“Hmm, I wonder why they would believe that,” she said. “Were there any witnesses?”

Smart woman. “Witnesses? What do you mean?”

“I mean, I can see you suffered an injury on your torso. But where is the evidence for the concussion? Who was your attending physician?”

His attending physician had been none other than Needham. But he was not about to tell her that.