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“The one Viola pinched?” Roz asked.

“Yes, Graymont gave it to me for safekeeping until after the ball.” Mir and Roz stared. “He … worried that it might be lost with so much going on in the courtyard. Where is Viola, by the way?”

Mir dropped her gaze at once. “There was no stopping her,” she said in her small voice.

Roz added, “She’s gone to the castle to view the ball arrangements.”

Cordelia sighed and looked down at her hands holding the sketchbook. There really was no containing Viola. Her youngest sister had a sort of volatile energy that must be released. Waiting at home for the day of a ball was not in Viola’s nature. But Winter and Graymont were equal to the task of keeping the preparations moving forward. She looked up and smiled at Mir and Roz. They were not to blame. “What trouble can she get into? She won’t want to disrupt the preparations.”

*

Gray returned to the castle, thinking about Cordelia Staveley. As much as he enjoyed ruffling Bernie’s feathers, he had been looking forward to a dance with Cordelia. Now, opening the ball with Bernie was unavoidable, and to dance immediately after with Cordelia would expose her to Lionel’s attention. Gray did not want his brother imagining that Gray had any interest in Cordelia. She was merely his neighbor, one whom he could trust. He would have to dance with other partners before he could seek her out. The idea filled him with impatience.

In the courtyard Finch sat at one of the little tables set up for ball guests who wished to take a respite from the dancing. Under Winter’s direction, men moved about, positioning potted palms and hanging lanterns.

Finch rose, his gaze taking in Gray’s relaxed appearance. “Do not hurry on my account,” he said drily.

“Have I kept you waiting long?”

“A quarter of an hour.”

“You have urgent news?”

“I have news.” Finch had a blunt way of speaking that could be mistaken for coldness or hauteur, but Gray knew it was simply a kind of candor, a way of looking at the world directly without needing to dramatize or soften what was.

“Can it wait until we spar?” Gray asked.

The corners of Finch’s mouth lifted in the smallest of smiles. “I’ll tell you as we go.”

“Come on, then,” Gray invited.

They went up the west tower stairs, collected their sparring gear, and headed for the ring set up around a grassy square beyond the north end of the Italian garden. Along the way, Finch explained the details of an old lawsuit by which Catherine Leigh’s family had established the passing of the property through the female line, and how the castle, part of a separate parcel of land, remained outside of that agreement.

“So,” said Gray, stripping off his shirt and reaching for his gloves, “the land will likely pass through one of the two sons.”

Finch shook his head. “Not for some time. Henry is keen on the navy, says he is not inclined to marry until he makes commander at least, and if his twin brother is anything like him, it may be years before either of them produces an heir.”

“Will Henry get the post he wanted?” Gray felt some satisfaction in helping the youth.

“I suspect he will. He made a good impression at the Admiralty, and Wenlocke and the duchess have taken him in.”

Gray stepped into the makeshift ring. The Duke of Wenlocke was a good friend for a young man in Henry’s position to have. Wenlocke had helped a number of young men of limited means unlock the secrets of their past and rise to positions of rank and prominence in London. Of that group, only Finch, his past unknown, remained working directly with the duke.

Finch pulled off his shirt and slid his hands into his gloves. “There’s a further clause protecting the Leigh female line. There is no bar to inheriting through a daughter. That, in fact, is how Staveley got the property. He married Catherine Leigh, whose older brother died of typhus at school. As her parents’ only remaining child, she became the heir to Delamere.”

“When was that?”

“The brother, another Henry, died in ’10. Catherine Leigh married Staveley in ’13, and her parents died in ’20.”

“You have been thorough.”

“You wanted to know.” Finch stepped into the ring.

He was taller than Gray, with a longer reach. They’d often sparred together, and trained by the best trainers at Moody’s Boxing Salon, each knew the other’s strengths and weaknesses.

Finch’s height and reach meant Gray had to remain light on his feet and sharp in his timing, knowing when to drop his shoulder or roll his head away from a blow aimed at his jaw. Finch had to defend against a body blow from Gray, a punch straight from the shoulder to Finch’s midsection.

In the end, the undistracted Finch had the advantage. Gray’s mind wandered for an instant to the prospect of having Cordelia Staveley as his near neighbor for perhaps years, swimming with her daily. Finch seized the opening to land a punch on Gray’s chin.