Patrick threw him an amused glance as he strolled through the doorway. Then he paused.

“I wasn’t here,” he said gently.

Philippe nodded. Not for nothing was he born in France.

“It is possible that a thief has been in the house, however,” Patrick added.

Philippe’s eyes shifted desperately to the side. He wished Carroll were there.

“A thief, sir?”

“Unfortunately,” Patrick murmured. “There is a thief in London who brings a ladder, climbs into open windows, and steals whatever jewels have been left out on a dressing table. It is entirely possible that the thief is on the prowl tonight.”

Philippe felt a chill of alarm down his spine. What was he supposed to do next? The tall aristocrat’s eyes were making his head whirl.

“Perhaps we should summon a runner,” he said with a gulp.

He was rewarded by a cool smile. “That would undoubtedly be wise.” Patrick jauntily walked down the outside stairs. Even as Philippe watched, he vaulted into a carriage waiting at the corner. Only then did Philippe dare look at the banknote in his hand.

“Gorm!” Philippe had been handed more money than he could make in three years … enough to get his little sister out of her position as a scullery maid, which she hated so much, and into an apprenticeship with a mantua maker. A flood of gratitude washed his soul.

Then he turned quickly, running back toward the servants’ quarters. He’d just remembered hearing a rumor about a thief who entered houses by a ladder, stealing jewels so quietly that sleeping inhabitants heard not a whisper.

And thus it was that when an extremely disgruntled marchioness and her husband returned to their house, an hour or so later, they disembarked from their carriage to find all the lights burning, and a small circle of Bow Street runners standing about awkwardly.

Eloise stopped in utter confusion. There was her daughter, hastily dressed and with her hair tied back with a simple ribbon. Obviously Sophie was not belting down the post road toward Gretna Greene. Eloise was propelled into the room by her husband’s strong hand in the middle of her back.

“What seems to be the problem here?” The marquis’s voice was sharp and the little group swung about instantly.

The head runner’s eyes brightened. Here was the man of the house to talk to.

“It’s like this, milord,” Grenable said importantly. “There’s been a robbery here.”

“A robbery?”

“Yes, sir. Your daughter’s lost a valuable pearl necklace—”

“Pearls?”

Grenable cast a look at the mistress of the house. She seemed a bit dazed.