Prologue
September 1811
London
Mr. Alfred Carruthers was ready to lock up the doors ofThe Morning Postand go home. It was late, and it had been a long day. This was not unusual; crime in London never stopped, and so the chief editor of a daily paper expected to put in long hours. He stepped outside and was about to put the key in the lock when a voice whispered, “I have something for you.”
Surprised, he looked up and saw a woman of middle age, nicely dressed, with a scarf over her head as if she feared recognition.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
“No one of importance. But I have a bit of gossip to share that should be worth a little something in exchange.”
Mr. Carruthers sighed. He hated the society section of his paper, founded as it was on innuendo and implication, but as a good many people subscribed to his magazine simply for that particular section, he could not afford to ignore it. “Very well; what is this bit of gossip?”
She held out a palm.
“No,” he said, curtly. “You tell me what it is and I will tell you what it is worth to me.”
She dropped her hand. “Very well. You know of the Darcys?”
“Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley? Of course.”
“I have information to the detriment of Miss Darcy.” Her voice was sly, cunning.
“And how did you come by this information?”
She laughed, a breathy little noise in her throat. “I was the girl’s companion.”
Mr. Carruthers felt a little sick at this betrayal of a young woman, but he had long understood that his occupation would not always be a pleasant one. “Can you prove that this information is true?”
She laughed again. “When did the society papers ever care if something could be proven?”
Mr. Carruthers considered this. The Darcys were a powerful family, connected to the Earl and Countess of Matlock as well as to the de Bourghs of Rosings Park. It might not do to upset them. On the other hand…
The woman saw his hesitation and shrugged. “No matter; if you do not want this information,The Morning Heraldwill.”
Mr. Carruthers sighed. “Very well; come in.”
She emerged some quarter of an hour later. A shadow moved out from behind the wall of the building.
“How much?” the shadow hissed in her ear.
“Ten shillings,” she whispered.
The man held out a hand and she poured some coins into it. He shook his hand, jingling the coins and hissed again. “More!”
“It is enough,” she protested, but he would not be satisfied until she put more coins into his hand. Then they both disappeared into the dark.
Chapter One
Matlock House in London
What on earth?” The Countess of Matlock leaped to her feet, dropping her newspaper and spilling her morning tea all over the breakfast table.
A footman rushed forward at once to tend to the spill. The Countess paid him no mind.
The Earl, startled, also got to his feet. “Are you not well, my dear?”
