She looked at him in surprise. "Uh, just mint, I suppose."

He nodded. "I think you would do well to wear a darker shade to enhance your coloring. Emerald, maybe."

Her brows drew together. "I don’t recall asking your opinion. I believe this color is perfectly suitable."

He waved a hand in a negligent fashion. "You really should take my advice in these matters. I have more experience, I can assure you."

A spark lit in her eyes and she crossed her arms. "How have the scores of women been able to stand you, my lord?"

He shot her a lazy look and leaned back in his seat. "Just ask one, my dear."

Her lips compressed and she turned to gaze at the flowering countryside. Her hands were no longer clenched.


A number of carriages arrived at the Pettigrews’ estate within minutes of each other.

"Angelford, my dear! So wonderful to see you," cooed Penelope Flanders as she sashayed across the slate tiles on the front portico. "The weekend will be so much more enjoyable with you in attendance."

James forced a smile and took her offered hand. "Lady Flanders, you look lovely as usual. Is your husband with you this weekend?"

She preened. "He will be arriving tomorrow evening. He has important business to attend and insisted I come ahead and enjoy myself."

James felt Calliope’s eyes sear a hole in his back.

"Well, then we shall see you tonight," he could not resist answering.

Penelope glanced at Calliope and dismissed her. “Delightful," she said, eyeing him with relish before strolling into the house.

James smiled at Calliope and tucked her hand under his arm, doubting she would willingly do so.

"Angelford, my dear. My husband’s away and I’m ripe for the plucking," Calliope mimicked.

"A woman of your worldly nature, Miss Minton. You sound amazingly like an outraged virgin."

Interestingly enough, sometimes she acted like one too.

Calliope was spared a response as Lord Pettigrew descended the stairs to warmly welcome them.

"Angelford, good of you to come. Esmerelda, my dear, it’s always a pleasure to see you." He raised her hand to his lips and held it a second longer than was proper.

She smiled becomingly and a flash of irritation swept through James.

"The roads are deplorable this time of the year. You must be tired from your ride. Please make yourselves comfortable and let the servants know if there is anything you require. Dinner will be served at eight. I look forward to seeing you there."

Pettigrew exemplified the word leer.

He motioned for a servant to assist them to their rooms. James had been to the estate before, but he observed the look of wonder pass over Calliope’s face as they entered.

The estate was impressive. It had been in the Pettigrew family for seven generations and the family collection of antiques was notable. The Pettigrews had not experienced the downturn in finances that many wealthy English families had faced during one generation or another.

James’s family had been so blessed until his father’s downfall. It had been up to James to repair the broken finances. But he had always known he would succeed. Always been sure he wouldn’t be forced to sell any of the family heirlooms. So he continued to take the display of wealth as second nature. He had never chosen to look at it any other way.

But Calliope’s posture caused him to pause. As she gazed around at the trappings of wealth, her first expression was one of awe, quickly replaced by anger.

She caught him looking at her and an indifferent mask fell into place, but too late.

The servants guided them to rooms across from one another in the west corridor of the second floor. He excused himself, leaving her to rest while he entered his room. It was a large room with Oriental silks and dark mahogany furniture. He had a similarly styled room in his main country estate. He wondered what Calliope would say about his forty-room Yorkshire manor. He felt fairly certain she would not be pleased.


Calliope glanced at the clock. The hour had passed quickly. She pressed her cheek into the pillow and gazed at the fancy mantelpiece. It was entirely covered in gilt. Small angels were trapped in the corners and held there with the heavy gold. The frills in one room alone would feed a small village.

What was she doing here?

Trying to find Stephen. Interrogating people. Searching rooms. Keeping a firm distance from Angelford.

Not necessarily in that order.

She shoved her face more firmly in the pillow and groaned. Flipping back the covers, she rolled until her legs fell off the bed and her feet touched the cold floor. She pushed herself upright and tiptoed to the settee.

Calliope put her feet up on the settee and pulled her day dress over the top. Betsy would be in soon to help her prepare for the evening. Funny how one became used to the assistance. Calliope grimaced.

Betsy tapped on the door and entered. "What a lovely house, miss. The country is so different from the city."

Betsy’s eyes glowed. Was poor Herbert, the footman, already being replaced?

"Anything interesting belowstairs, Betsy?"

"Indeed, miss," she said as she entered the closet and withdrew a red evening gown. "I have heard the most unusual things about the Pettigrews and their parties. Supposedly this is not one of their more wild weekends. Tame entertainments are planned."

Calliope hid her grin at Betsy’s disappointment. "Why do you suppose that is?"

"Servants don’t know, miss. They say Lord Pettigrew’s been awfully preoccupied with some government hubbub lately and has been curtailing boisterous types of entertainment. They say Lady Pettigrew is bored." Betsy shook her head and helped her into the gown. "Never a good thing, a bored noble."

"This is Lady Pettigrew’s birthday weekend and they haven’t planned anything above mild?"

Betsy nodded sadly and her disappointment reflected Calliope’s own. She had been expecting at least some caricature material from this trip. Lord Pettigrew had been promising especially lurid activities for weeks. Not that she would participate, but she had planned to actively observe and document.

What had made the Pettigrews change their plans?

Betsy went to work on her hair. "Don’t worry too much, miss. The maids are hoping for some extra activity, in any case. Seeing as there are still quite a few of the notorious in attendance, we should be able to have an exciting weekend."

Calliope looked at Betsy’s eyes in the mirror. Poor Herbert.

Betsy chartered while she worked and finally stuck the last pin in her hair. "Too bad you don’t go with your own hair, miss. It’s much nicer. "

"This is my hair, Betsy. "

Betsy sighed. "Yes, miss."

Betsy, as gossip-hungry as she was, wouldn’t say anything. She wanted the position more than anything. It was too big a step up for her. Moreover, Calliope genuinely liked Betsy and she thought the feeling was mutual.

However, Calliope wished she could dispense with the wig as well. It itched. She surveyed herself critically. The brown wig had been styled artfully so ringlets fell around her face and the ample expanse of skin that her Turkey red gown afforded. The gown’s gold satin trim and accompanying long lace scarf accented the beautiful color and style.

This was one of her more daring gowns. Although the gown she was saving for tomorrow was definitely Madame Giselle’s masterpiece. But this one would do?-nicely, since the purpose of wearing the dress was to keep all eyes away from her face as she took measure of the house.

There was a knock and James entered her room. Betsy hiked her skirts and ducked through the open doorway.

Calliope cocked an eyebrow at his impertinence but swished forward to greet him. His eyes swept her and his expression left her satisfied the gown would do its trick.

"Forget what I said earlier in the coach about your taste in clothes."

Her stomach did a little flip. She placed her hand on his outstretched arm, and they exited the room. The gold picture frames winked in the candlelight as they walked down the hall and descended the stairs. `

"Just be your charming self and remember not to venture away from me. We will only observe tonight, agreed?"

She nodded and they reached the dining room, where other guests were milling about waiting for dinner.

"My dear Esmerelda."

Calliope turned to see Lord Pettigrew ambling forward, hindered by his large girth.

She pasted a smile on her face and extended her hand to the earl. "My lord, you are looking very dapper this evening."

He beamed. "Saw this style at the races last week, and with all our success that day I took it as an omen and thought I might try it."

"Well, it suits you," she flattered. "Will you keep your horse running?"

" Thunder Peak is an excellent piece, but I believe I will put him to stud this year. He should make me a nice profit." He gave her a meaningful glance. "Suitable enough even for extravagant purchases."

She gave him an inviting smile but bristled at the implication. She offered a noncommittal, "Mmm, yes."

James escorted her to the table as dinner was announced. She found herself seated between James and Mr. Ronald Ternberry. Lord Roth was seated across the table.

Ternberry’s expression was pinched as he surveyed the table. "There are to be charades later. How trite."

Although Ternberry was on their list, Calliope couldn’t picture him doing anything as remotely exciting as committing a crime.

Roth seemed to delight in Ternberry’s boorishness. "Ronnie, there is to be a musicale too. I hope you regale us with your spring larklike voice."

Calliope smothered a smile. Roth was a rogue. "Oh, yes, Mr. Ternberry, I look forward to hearing you sing."

Roth smiled at her approvingly and turned back to monitor "Ronnie’s" reaction.

Ternberry sniffed delicately as if he were appeasing mere mortals with his magnificence.

"Well, I do have a passing voice, my dear, although I don’t often perform for others. I may do you the honor after dinner."

"Afterwards we can do charades. I really hope I get to choose my own." Roth dropped the statement innocently and took a drink of his wine.

Ternberry’s brows drew together. It was obvious he was unsure what Roth’s statement implied. Calliope sipped from her wine goblet, hoping to conceal her mirth.

"Won’t it be fun?" Roth shot her a wicked glance and Calliope gave in and laughed. James was conversing with a lady on his left, but turned at the sound. The first course was served and the servants moved between them. Light chatter flowed around the table during the next courses. Dessert was served and the conversation at their end of the table shifted to politics.

"Making a tidy profit these days. Yes, I do say," Ternberry said.

Roth eyed him sharply. "Feels good to keep those Corn Laws intact, doesn’t it?"

"Yes, yes, it does. A good landowner must make an ample income."

"Of course, Mr. Ternberry. A good coat must be purchased no matter the price of grain." Calliope sugar-coated the words, trying to keep her voice neutral.

"Yes, right. Good sense you have, Esmerelda."

"So Ternberry, you don’t mind that your workers are unable to afford the cost of the grain they themselves reap?"

Calliope glanced at James in surprise. She hadn’t known he was listening.

"Part of being a landowner, Angelford. You know that. We have rights."

"We have votes, you mean," James said.

"Since only large landowners can vote." Roth casually threw in the statement.

James fiddled idly with his knife. "There are rumors of reform bills in the works. Something about having a minimum yearly income, something under fifty pounds, to gain voting privileges."

Ternberry recoiled. "Rubbish! Common riffraff deciding the fate of our nation?"

"Isn’t it their nation also?" James said.

Ternberry sniffed. "Second-class citizens. What to propose next, women being allowed to vote?"

James put his hand over Calliope’s, loosening her grip on the cutlery.

"I do think there are many ladies in England who might be more sympathetic and a good deal better equipped at decision making than the members of the current House," Roth said.

Ternberry turned an ugly shade of purple. "Criticizing the government borders on treason, Roth."

Roth popped an apple slice into his mouth and surveyed the guests. "Let’s see them come and arrest me."

Calliope was concerned Ternberry might explode on the spot, but after his insulting remarks she wasn’t feeling congenial toward him and made no attempt to smooth things over.