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"We can't take that chance," Damen replied, studying the tired but determined butler. "Listen to me," he continued gently. "Don't be stubborn. You're exhausted. You need some rest. And Stacie's right—you'd better be at the entranceway door tomorrow morning. Even if George believes you're ill, you can't be sure he won't check on you. If he does, and finds you missing, he'll most certainly become suspicious, especially since he knows full well how deeply you care for Anastasia and Breanna. That's a risk we can't take."
Seeing the butler's oncoming protest, Damen held up his palm, warded it off. "If you want to help us, go home. I'll arrange for an appropriate change of clothes. Then my driver will take you to Medford Manor. He'll use the closed carriage, so you can get a few hours' sleep on the way. It will be later than usual when you reach your post—which is understandable, given how ill you felt the night before—but the important thing is that you'll be there. Everything must seem in place."
"That's perfect," Breanna agreed. "If Wells goes home, I won't have to face Father until ten o'clock tomorrow night. I'll stay here, drive the phaeton to the bank, then return here, spending the rest of the day with Stacie. I'll fill her in on what happens at the bank, keep her inside and out of view—" A pointed, no-nonsense look at Stacie, "—until it's time for us to leave for our rendezvous at the docks. In the meantime, Wells can tell Father I left Medford Manor right after breakfast, took the phaeton, but mentioned nothing about where I was going. Once Father receives Cunnings's message, he'll know my destination, and why I didn't disclose it to Wells."
She gazed pleadingly at the butler, appealing to him in a way she knew would ensure he went home, got the rest he so desperately needed. "Please, Wells. You'd be sparing me Lord knows how severe an argument and how painful a beating. Do it for me."
The butler's protective instincts won out, just as Breanna knew they would. "Very well, Miss Breanna. If it will shield you and help Miss Stacie, I'll do as Lord Sheldrake asks." He rose, looking tenderly from one girl to the other. "I'll do my part," he assured them, his voice quavering a bit. "And then … I'll pray."
* * *
As always, the House of Lockewood opened its doors at nine A.M.
And, as always, Cunnings was there at half after eight, doing his paperwork in preparation for the day. His first client arrived promptly at nine.
A half hour later, their business together was completed.
Leaning back in his office chair, Cunnings nodded, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. "Excellent. You'll take care of it, then."
A smug smile curved the lips of the man sitting on the opposite side of the desk. "For such an enormous sum and an even more enormous challenge? Of course."
"Good." Cunnings felt a surge of triumph, a premonition that, at long last, he was about to come into his own. "I've given you all the information I have. I realize it's not much, but…"
"It's all I need."
"I rather suspected as much." Cunnings rose, handing the man a sheet of paper. "By the way, here are the figures you requested. If you glance at them, you'll see…" His head snapped up as a din from the hallway accosted his ears.
"Please, Graff. Hurry. I left Medford Manor at the crack of dawn in order to get here this early. I must see Lord Sheldrake now—no matter who he's meeting with. My business simply won't wait."
It was Breanna Colby's voice, Cunnings realized. Clearly, she was standing just outside his closed office door, or rather, rushing by it. She sounded breathless, and terribly distressed.
"I alerted Lord Sheldrake to the urgency of your visit, my lady," Graff was reassuring her. "He's agreed to see you at once. I assure you, I'm walking as quickly as I can."
"Good. And please see that we're not disturbed."
Her voice moved in the direction of Damen's office, and Cunnings took an inadvertent step toward the door, wondering what the hell this was all about.
"That's Breanna Colby, Anastasia's cousin," he muttered, half to himself, half to his visitor. "I'd better find out why she sounds so flustered. Maybe she's heard from her cousin. Will you excuse me?"
"By all means. I'll wait here, in case there are developments I should know about."
"Good idea." Cunnings scooped up some paperwork. Then, he crossed over, opened his door, and wandered casually into the hall.
Graff was on his return trip, shaking his head in puzzlement as he headed back to his post.
"What was that commotion?" Cunnings inquired.
"Lady Breanna," Graff supplied. "She has some critical business to discuss with Lord Sheldrake." An exasperated sigh. "Women can be so excitable at times." He shrugged, continuing on his way until he disappeared from view.
Cunnings moved down the hall, pausing a few feet from Damen's office. He leaned against the wall, scanning his papers as if he were actually reading them, in the event someone walked by or Sheldrake abruptly emerged.
The marquess's door was shut nearly all the way, a slim crack being the only open space.
It was enough—not for observing, but definitely for eavesdropping.
"She's here? In England?" Sheldrake was asking incredulously.
"Yes," Breanna replied. "Apparen
