“There is,” Effie replied. “Not the documents your brother stole, I grant you, but the translation of Aristotle’s Historia Animalium. I told you in my latest sampler, it has your note in it. It proves a connection—a contract of engagement. And the fact that he’s now in possession of your entire collection…Surely, that must count for something?”

“A revelation, admittedly,” Miss Corvus acknowledged. “I’d have thought he would have sold it by now.”

“It belonged to your family?” Nell asked.

“My mother’s branch. One of our treasured possessions. Generations upon generations had safeguarded it for centuries.” A rare trace of self-loathing infiltrated Miss Corvus’s voice. “All for me to give it to a man for whom I was deluded enough to cherish an affection. If I never see it again, it will be no less than I deserve.”

“I shall get it back for you,” Effie said.

Miss Corvus blinked. “Impossible.”

“Not the whole collection,” Effie amended. “Even I have my limits. But I can certainly retrieve the book that holds your message to Compton. It’s proof, if you’re willing to use it.”

Miss Corvus stared down at her hands for a moment, appearing to wrestle with her thoughts. Longing and regret warred in her face. “Very well,” she said at last, lifting her gaze. “Bring it to me if you can. I shall know how to act.”

“And if that fails?” Nell crossed toward them from the window, arms still folded at her waist. “If you’re unsuccessful in retrieving the book. Or worse—if it’s not enough to undo the man. What then, Effie? What is your contingency plan?”

Effie’s mouth hitched at one corner. “Chaos,” she replied. “What else?”

28

Gabriel was in the habit of attending the Derby at Epsom Downs every May, both in his role as bookmaker and as horse owner. He had two young colts running today. The favorite was a striking bay named Sparkler who had shown great promise at Northampton races.

“A fine specimen,” Lord Haverford said, joining Gabriel outside the young horse’s loose box in the stables. “As good as any I’ve seen.”

Gabriel leaned against the stall door. He was absent his coat, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his forearms. He’d spent the better part of the morning in the barn with the horses rather than at the track. It hadn’t mattered that Lord Haverford and his influential friends had been present in one of the racing boxes. Gabriel had been in no frame of mind to engage them. He knew what he’d say if he did. It wasn’t a conversation he contemplated with any degree of eagerness.

“Better.” Gabriel gave the colt a distracted scratch on its gleaming neck. He wasn’t a rider himself, but he was a fair judge of horseflesh. “He’ll be worth a fortune after this afternoon’s race.”

“You’re confident he’ll win?” Haverford asked.