"Really, Augusta. I doubt Papa would have made a mistake of that magnitude."
"No, no, it is entirely possible. Uncle Thomas is always mixing us up. You know that. Only think of all the times he calls one of us by the other's name. He gets so involved in his studies that he frequently forgets us altogether."
"It does not happen all that often, Augusta."
"But you must agree it has happened," Augusta insisted. "And in this situation where he no doubt wanted to convince himself he was going to get me married off at last, it is easy to see how the mistake occurred. Poor Graystone."
"Poor Graystone? I hear he is quite wealthy. Estates in Dorset, I believe."
"I am not talking about his financial situation," Augusta said impatiently. "The thing is, he will be quite horrified when he sees the notice in the papers tomorrow. Horrified and trapped. I have got to do something immediately."
"What on earth can you possibly do? It is nearly nine o'clock. We shall be leaving for the Bentleys' soiree in a few minutes."
Augusta set her jaw with grim determination. "I must pay a brief call on Lady Arbuthnott this evening."
"You are going to Pompeia's again this evening?" Claudia's gentle voice held a hint of reproof.
"Yes. Would you like to come with me?" It was not the first time Augusta had made the offer and she already knew what Claudia's answer would be.
"Heavens no. The name alone must give one pause. Pompeia's. All those rather nasty connotations about unvirtuous behavior. Really, Augusta, I do believe you spend entirely too much time visiting that club."
"Claudia, please. Not tonight."
"I know how much you enjoy the place and I know you are fond of Lady Arbuthnott. Nevertheless, I do wonder if Pompeia's might not be encouraging certain characteristics in you that are known to be latent in the blood of the Northumberland branch of the family. You should be working to restrain and control those streaks of impulsiveness and recklessness. Especially now that you are about to become a countess."
Augusta narrowed her eyes at her lovely cousin. There were times when Claudia bore a striking resemblance to her mother, the renowned Lady Prudence Ballinger.
Augusta 's Aunt Prudence had been the author of several volumes for the schoolroom. The books had titles such as Instructions on Behavior and Deportment for Young Ladies and A Guide to the Improvement of the Mind for Young Ladies. Claudia was intent on following in the illustrious footsteps of her mother and was hard at work on a manuscript tentatively titled A Guide to Useful Knowledge for Young Ladies.
"Tell me something, Claudia," Augusta said slowly. "If I get this horrid tangle straightened out in time, will you be happy to marry Graystone?"
"There is no mistake." Claudia rose and walked sedately toward the door. Dressed for the evening in a gown selected by Augusta to accentuate her image, she appeared angelic indeed. The elegantly cut pale blue silk gown she was wearing swung gently around her slippered feet. Her blond hair had been parted in the center and dressed in the fashionable Madonna style. The coiffure was accented with a small diamond comb.
"But if there has been a mistake, Claudia?"
"I shall do as Papa wishes, of course. I have always tried to be a good daughter. But I truly feel you will discover there has been no mistake. You have been giving me excellent advice all Season, Augusta. Now let me offer some to you. Endeavor to please Graystone in all things. Work hard to conduct yourself in a manner befitting a countess and I believe the earl will treat you tolerably well. You might want to reread one or two of Mother's volumes before your wedding day."
Augusta stifled an oath as her cousin walked out of the bedchamber and closed the door behind her. Living in a household populated by members of the Hampshire branch of the family could be extremely trying at times.
No doubt about it, Claudia would make Graystone a perfect countess. Augusta could just hear her cousin now as she sat across the breakfast table from the earl and discussed the proposed schedule of the day. I shall do as my lord wishes, of course. The pair would no doubt bore each other to death in a fortnight.
But that was their problem, Augusta told herself as she paused in front of her looking glass. She frowned at her own reflection, aware that she had not yet selected any jewelry to complement the rose gown.
She opened the small gilt box on her dressing table. Inside were her two most valuable possessions, a carefully folded sheet of paper and a necklace. The folded paper, marked with ominous brown stains, contained a rather unpleasant little poem Augusta's brother had penned shortly before his death.
The necklace had been the property of the Northumberland Ballinger women for three generations. Most recently it had belonged to Augusta's mother. It was composed of a strand of blood-red rubies interspersed with tiny diamonds. In the center hung a single large ruby.
Augusta clasped the necklace carefully around her throat. She wore the piece often. It was all she had left of her mother's. Everything else had been sold to buy Richard his precious commission.
When the necklace was in place, the large ruby nestled just above the valley between her breasts, Augusta turned back to the window and feverishly began making her plans.
Harry arrived home from his club shortly after midnight, sent his staff to bed, and headed for the sanctuary of his library. His daughter's latest letter detailing the progress of her studies and the weather in Dorset lay on the desk.
Harry poured himself a glass of brandy and sat down to reread the painstakingly penned letter. He smiled to himself. Meredith was nine years old and he was extremely proud of her. She was proving to be a serious and diligent student, anxious to please her father and to perform well.
Harry had personally designed Meredith's curriculum and supervised each stage carefully. Frivolous elements such as watercolor painting and the reading of novels had been ruthlessly expunged from the program. As far as Harry was concerned such things were much to blame for the general flightiness and romantical inclinations that characterized so much of the female population. He did not want Meredith exposed to them.
The day-to-day instruction was carried out by Meredith's governess, Clarissa Fleming. Clarissa was an impoverished Fleming relation whom Harry felt extremely fortunate to have available in his household. A serious bluestocking in her own right, Aunt Clarissa shared his views on education. She was fully qualified to teach the subjects Harry wanted Meredith to learn.
Harry put down the letter, took another sip of his brandy, and contemplated what would happen to his strictly regulated household once he put Augusta in charge of it.
Perhaps he truly had lost his wits.
Something shifted in the shadows outside the window. Frowning, Harry glanced up and saw nothing but darkness. Then he heard a faint scratching noise.
Harry sighed and reached out for the handsome black ebony walking stick that was never far from his side. London was not the continent and the war was over, but the world was never a completely peaceful place. His experience of human nature told him it probably never would be.
He got up, cane in hand, and put out the lamp. Then he went to stand to one side of the window.
As soon as the room went dark, the scratching noise increased. It had a frantic quality now, Harry decided. Someone was hurrying through the bushes alongside the house.
A moment later there was an urgent tapping on the window. Harry looked down and saw a figure in a hooded cloak peering through the glass. Moonlight revealed the small hand raised to rap again.