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“I have it on good authority,” Aunt Georgiana said. “That Lady Langley means to have her eldest daughter marry him.”

“Mother!” Leah said scandalized. “What gossip!”

“It’s not gossip. I heard it from Lady Langley myself. Lady Ella would make him a good wife. They would be two merry souls living there at Sandbourne Hall,” Aunt Georgiana said to Selina. “She has a sunny disposition that would suit Lord Sandbourne very well.”

“She’s still a child,” Leah pointed out. “She’s only just debuted this past year—at sixteen!”

“Selina is only a year older,” her mother said. “She doesn’t seem young at all.”

Selina knew, too—she had seen quite a bit of the world. Her father had made sure of it. By the time she was ten, she’d already been as far south as Marseille. She’d been fifteen the summer that the family had vacationed in Italy. For a moment, her mind traveled to the warmth of the sun, shining over the fields of Tuscany.

The door opened, and Uncle Latimer entered. “Sorry to have kept all of you ladies waiting,” he said. “One of the mares has given birth.”

“Ah, is it Violet?” Aunt Georgiana asked. Violet was Aunt Georgiana’s mare.

“It is, indeed, my dear.” Uncle Latimer sat, and then the dinner was served. That evening, it was a roast, with roasted potatoes, and a mélange of root vegetables, covered in rosemary and butter.

“I can’t wait to see her dear little foal,” Aunt Georgiana said, turning her gaze toward Selina. “Violet is one of my particular favorites.”

Selina beamed at her aunt, then turned to her uncle. “When can we meet the foal, Uncle?”

“As soon as we’ve eaten, my dear,” Uncle Latimer said. “He’s a leggy thing, but he’s already full of energy.”

“What will you name him, Aunt Georgiana?” she asked.

“I won’t decide until I’ve seen him,” her aunt said decisively. “Although, I’ve been considering Narcissus. You know, keeping it floral.”

* * *

Jasper and Stephen had whiled away the afternoon, sitting in Jasper’s study. They’d moved to the two well-worn armchairs by the fireplace. Sotheby had brought them glasses of bourbon.

The sun had begun its descent behind the rolling green fields and hills outside of the window. Jasper felt a nice, warm burn from the alcohol. His stomach rumbled a little.

“Well, Stephen,” Jasper said. “Would you care to dine with Mother and me?”

“Where’s Reuben?” Stephen asked.

“He said he’d be dining over at the lodge,” Jasper replied. His brother had a small mansion out on the border of the estate, where he stayed several nights out of the week. Even so, Reuben was often at Gillingham Manor, where he still had a bedroom. Reuben liked having a house of his own. He was very proud of his little lodge, with his little pack of hunting dogs and his three servants.

“I’ll dine with you,” Stephen agreed affably.

They both got up, walking down the stairs, toward the dining room. As they neared the staircase, they heard someone talking urgently by the front door.

Jasper and Stephen shared a look; then both walked quickly down the steps. Once there, they found Lord Quimby, whose estate bordered Gillingham.

“Oh, Your Grace!” he said, urgency in his voice. “I’ve only just arrived. I was telling your butler all!” Lord Quimby was a middle-aged gentleman, of slight build. His face was usually stern, composed. He was clearly ruffled—frightened.

“Come in, My Lord,” Jasper said.

Lord Quimby was clutching at his cravat, and he tugged on it in agitation. “My youngest daughter just arrived home with the most disturbing news.”

“What’s happened?” Jasper asked.

“She was out walking with her maid, when they were accosted by masked men,” Lord Quimby explained.

“Did they attack her?” Jasper’s mouth had gone dry.

“They demanded her jewels,” Lord Quimby said. “She had nothing but a golden cross on a chain. She handed it over, but they held a knife to her maid’s throat.”

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