“Alas, dear lady, an excellent memory is among my greatest failings.” Lord Stephen propped himself against the arm of Ellie’s reading chair, his bad left leg on the side facing the fire. “I have made further inquiries of my sisters Althea and Constance in the north, for example, and what they had to say was most distressing.”

Ellie was desperate to see Elsmore, desperate to convey her suspicions to him. After that…France was looking better and better.

“You can talk to your sisters until the King stops overspending his funds, my lord. I’ve told you more of my situation than I should have, you are bluffing, and you are prying where—”

A hard rap on the door saved Ellie from hurling his lordship’s flask at his head.

“Mrs. Hatfield, it’s Ned.”

“And Elsmore.” This second voice was louder than the first.

“Come in.”

And there he was, Elsmore in the flesh, looking a bit tired, a bit worried, and perilously dear. He was still in morning attire, his boots were damp, and his greatcoat was only half-buttoned.

“Your Grace.” Ellie curtseyed, mindful of Lord Sticks-His-Nose-Everywhere Wentworth watching this exchange. “Thank you for coming.”

“What’s he doing here?” Elsmore asked, lifting his chin in Lord Stephen’s direction.

“I’m engaged in my usual occupation,” Lord Stephen said, shoving to his feet. “Trying to talk sense into a rock. You’d think she was a Wentworth, as stubborn as she is. Come along, Ned. Designing incendiary devices is more entertaining than waiting for Eleanora Hatfield to explain that her grandfather got caught on the wrong side of a few rumors, and decades later, she’s still afraid of the scandal.”

“I am not afraid of a few rumors,” Ellie retorted. She was terrified of hanging felonies, charges of accessory after the fact, and a broken heart, not in that order.

“That will be enough, my lord,” Elsmore said softly. “I’ll bid you and Wentworth good evening.”

Ned obligingly marched out the door, while Lord Stephen lingered, leaning on his cane. “Tell the poor man what he needs to know, Eleanora, because as a brilliant auditor has often declared, we cannot solve problems we refuse to face.” He offered a slight bow and left with the immense dignity of a man whose every step brought pain.

“I cannot plant him a facer,” Elsmore said, unbuttoning his coat, “though somebody dearly needs to.”

“Many somebodies already have,” Ellie said. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’ve been thinking about my final report to you, going over my notes.”

“What the hell is that?” Elsmore’s gaze was aimed at the hearth.

“That is Wodin, on loan from Her Grace of Walden.”

Voltaire was curled up next to the dog, who panted gently and regarded the humans as if surely every sensible canine had a soft, warm, furry little feline companion. Voltaire was purring audibly, nose covered by the tip of her tail.