Beryl pulled away at last. “How did you know it was me and not Camille? Even people who know us well still get confused. And the light is rather dim here near the tree. Yet you recognized me from across the length of the gallery.”

“My dear, darling wife.” He wrapped his arms tighter around her and stared into her eyes. “I know the way you stand, the way you hold your head, the faint difference in the sound of your voices, which may be apparent only to me. I daresay, if there were a dozen of you all exactly alike, I should still know which one was you, and you alone.” He smiled. “I think I know in my heart, and I always will.”

“Oh, my.” Beryl stared up at her husband and sighed. Camille sighed as well. “I am a lucky woman.”

“And I am a lucky man.” Lionel kissed the tip of her nose. “Shall we join the rest of the, um, cast? I am dying to know how Camille’s farce is progressing.”

“Oh, darling, I think that would be a dreadful idea. Things have not gone exactly as planned.”

He chuckled. “That is not unexpected.”

“Besides, I have missed you entirely too much to share you.” She brushed her lips across his. “I think retiring for the night is a much, much better idea.”

“And who am I to argue with my wife on Christmas Eve?”

Beryl took his hand and started toward the stairs. She called back over her shoulder, “Good evening, Camille.”

“Good evening, Beryl,” Camille called back, and grinned. “And thank you.”

Beryl’s laughter, accompanied by her husband’s, trailed through the halls behind them.

Camille smiled. It was good to see her sister so happy. Who would ever have imagined Lord and Lady Dunwell, whose amorous adventures had once been the lifeblood of London gossips, would have found happiness in each other’s arms? True love. Who would have thought?

Now, she squared her shoulders, to find it for herself.

“Mr. Elliott.” Pruzinsky or rather Dunstan’s eyes widened at the sight of Gray. “My apologies.” He looked around the library. “I was to meet Lady Lydingham in here.”

Gray perched on the edge of the desk, arms folded across his chest. He’d told Beryl earlier in the evening what he had learned and she’d offered to send Pruzinsky to the library when he was ready. “She’s not here, but please come in.”

“I really do need to speak to her, so if you will excuse me—”

“And I really do need to speak to you, Count.” Gray paused for appropriate dramatic effect. “Or should I say, Mr. Dunstan?”

Dunstan’s eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon?”

“Come in, Dunstan, and close the doors.”

Dunstan hesitated.