"Of course!" Rose said, her face alight with glee. "The perfect thing! They are holding a memorial service for Sir Edwin Roscastle the day after tomorrow."

Hester was at a loss. "Who was he? And would she go?"

Rose's expression was comical with distaste.

"A frightful old humbug, but very influential because he made such a parade of being good. Could flatter all the right people, and it got him no end of appreciation," she replied. "Everybody likes to be seen praising the virtuous dead. Makes them feel good by association." She sniffed. "Morgan doesn't have anything to do with it because he couldn't stand Roscastle and didn't pretend his feelings were otherwise. But I know Lord Montague, who will be arranging it, and I can persuade him to ask Argyll for a donation, and to become a patron of the memorial fund. He'd never refuse that-it's far too useful in business."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I am! It's at eight o'clock tomorrow evening, and we can both go."

Hester was alarmed. It was a superb idea, far too good to miss, but it was years since she had been to such a function, and she most certainly had nothing suitable to wear. "Rose, I. .." It was embarrassing to admit, and it might even look as if she had lost her nerve and were making excuses.

Rose looked at her, then suddenly understood. "Short notice to get a gown," she said tactfully. "Borrow one of mine. I'm taller than you are, but my maid can take it up this afternoon. We must make a plan of action."

Thus it was that Hester accompanied Rose Applegate to the memorial service for the late Sir Edwin Roscastle. It was an extremely formal affair with a large number of people attending, including the cream of society. They arrived at the church and alighted from their carriages in magnificent blacks, purples, grays, and lavenders, according to the degree of mourning they wished to display and the color they believed most became them. Some were deeply mistaken as to the latter, as Rose observed to Hester in a whisper as she pointed out who they were. Rose herself was wearing lavender and dark gray. With her fair hair and pale skin, she cut an extremely elegant figure.

"There she is!" Hester interrupted as she saw Jenny Argyll walking up the steps, clothed in highly fashionable black. She moved with grace and a complete disregard for the biting easterly wind, although she did take care to keep to the leeward of her husband.

Rose shivered convulsively. "We can go in now. Why on earth do they always seem to hold these things at the bitterest time of the year? Why can't people die with some consideration, in the summer?"

"It will be warmer at the reception afterwards," Hester replied. "I hope to heaven the Argylls stay for it!"