Gideon impatiently pushed away his plate and sank deeper into the fine leather chair.

“Will that be all, Lord Flint?” Ames, the Standard club’s steward bent over him solicitously.

“Yes, Ames. Just show Mr. Clarke to my table when he comes in.”

“Of course, my lord.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, picking up his paper again, turning back to an article about flooding down south as Ames took away his plate.

Gideon tried to focus on the news sheet, but in his mind, a pair of bright blue eyes burned brightly. Eventually, he threw the sheet aside. Passing a hand over his face, he sighed and examined the minute changes in the familiar surroundings.

Despite the number of years that had passed, little had altered at the old Standard. Just a few new touches here and there. A new leather chair in the corner, a vase on the table next to it. Though other clubs had invited him to join their rolls—some of which he had—loyalty compelled him to spend most of his time here, despite his membership in other more fashionable and exclusive establishments.

The Standard had granted him membership when he was a mere mister. Old Ames had even given him extensions when he hadn’t been able to pay his dues on time. As a young man, Gideon had privately teased Ames about his preference for him having more to do with his dislike of his uncle, who was also a member. Old Ames steadfastly denied it, insisting he felt the same way about all their patrons.

Many members of the Standard were either very young men or part of the old guard. During his time with the war office, he had found both types useful. The younger military types were happy to talk as long as the liquor flowed freely. Something similar could be said for the older set, although in that case, the vintages he’d been required to buy to encourage loose tongues had been substantially more expensive.

That reminds me. He ordered a fine bottle of port and displayed it prominently on his table. When his quarry appeared, it would be useful. A few minutes later, his uncle walked into the room.

“Sir Clarence,” he hailed.

Across the room, his uncle looked up. His face stiffened before breaking into something resembling a grin.

Close, but not quite right.

“Gideon, my boy, hello.” He sat down across from him, making sure the others in the room noted his easy familiarity with the wealthy earl. “How are you doing?”

“I’m well, Uncle, and very glad to see you,” he said, pouring himself a few fingers of port. “Would you like some?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” his uncle murmured, accepting the glass Gideon offered. He relaxed in his seat, chatting for a few minutes before asking. “So…when did you arrive in town?”

The unspoken implication that Gideon should have notified him hung in the air.

“I arrived yesterday. I was planning on calling on you tomorrow if I didn’t find you here.”

His uncle waved that away. “Don’t be silly. You’re an earl now. It’s my place to call on you,” he said generously, though his tone was a trifle flat.

“There is no need for us to observe such formalities as rank. We are family,” Gideon assured him smoothly before segueing into a discussion of mutual acquaintances. After his uncle had helped himself to a few more glasses of port, Gideon guided the conversation toward his true aim.

“I met a friend of yours last night.”

“Which one?” His uncle wasn’t slurring yet, but his speech was deliberate and careful, a sure sign he had imbibed too much before his arrival at the club.

“Mrs. Spencer.”

“Ah yes, Ellie. Met her a few years ago.” Sir Clarence coughed, his florid round face growing a touch redder. He hesitated. “She’s a fine woman…and after a certain age, a man needs companionship.”

Gideon leaned in. “There’s no need to explain. Aunt Carol has been gone for a long time now. Your new friend is quite charming. Very bright and vivacious.”

“Yes, she is, isn’t she?” Sir Clarence didn’t smile, however. “She mentioned meeting you…and Amelia.”

Gideon murmured noncommittally. Instinct told him to keep quiet.

“That girl never listens,” Sir Clarence hissed before taking a long sip. “Running all around town with that fop Worthing. What an embarrassment.” He polished off his glass in one swallow. “No matter. She won’t be a problem much longer.”

That last was said without much heat, but it didn’t seem to matter. Gideon’s whole body reacted as if he’d heard a trumpet’s call to arms. He stifled the inexplicable impulse to leap out of his chair and beat his uncle senseless, forcing himself to remain passive and distantly amused. The only thing that betrayed his true feelings was a twitching muscle in his cheek, the side effect of clenching his teeth too hard.

“Soon, she’ll be someone else’s problem.” Sir Clarence sighed and rolled his eyes.

Gideon took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. Interesting. “Why do you say that?”

His uncle poured himself another, substantially fuller glass. “She’ll remarry. I doubt her new husband will allow her to fritter and waste her time about town as she is doing now.”

Gideon frowned. “Do you mean Lord Worthing? From all accounts, he seems to enjoy town.”

Clarence laughed shortly. “No, not that sod.”

“Then who do you mean?”

His uncle squinted at him, his hand lifted halfway to his mouth. “Never mind, boy, never mind.” He looked around and spotted a pair of his cronies in the corner. “Oh, there they are.”

Sir Clarence rose, putting down his glass. “Fine vintage, my boy, thank you. I must run along. Promised Southeby and old Tremaine I would luncheon with them.”

“Of course, Uncle. And please send my regards to your friend Mrs. Spencer. I enjoyed meeting her last night.”

“Hmm. Oh good, good.” Sir Clarence wandered away without another word, weaving slightly.

Kyle Clarke slipped into his vacated chair, watching Sir Clarence stumble before joining his party in the corner.

“Potent stuff, isn’t it?” he said quietly, lifting the bottle of port and examining the label.

“It’s his favorite,” Gideon muttered, weighing the distance to the nearest men in the room and deciding they were too far to be overheard provided they didn’t shout like his uncle had.

“Learn anything new?”

“One or two useful things. For one, he doesn’t share society’s impression of his former daughter-in-law. There’s more, but I believe that’s the most significant because Clarence has always been excessively conscious of popular opinion. He follows the crowds in that regard, but not this time.”

“Do you suspect he knows more about Martin’s death than he’s saying?”

Gideon considered that. “If he did, I think he’d be angrier. He was never one to prevaricate or hide his feelings. I suspect he believes it was an accident. He wrote as much in the letters we’ve exchanged since.”

No, whatever Clarence was hiding had to do with Amelia…

If Amelia were to remarry, Worthing was the only possible candidate. Her name hadn’t been attached to anyone else—not publicly anyway. Gideon would have to get closer to her to be sure.

Gideon was still mulling mystery suitors when Clarke waved a hand in his face. “Sorry. I was thinking.”

Clarke huffed. “That much was obvious.” He paused and tilted his head to one side. “I don’t suppose you’ve reconsidered this quest now that you’ve met and spoken with the girl.”

Gideon narrowed his eyes at his old friend. “And just why would I do that?”

“I was watching the two of you last night, in case you’ve forgotten. You two and Worthing. I thought you were going to interrogate her, but from my vantage point, you were…gentle with her.”

“In case you’ve forgotten the finer points of espionage, making your target feel comfortable is often key to winning their trust.”

“And you forget I’ve seen you work—often enough to know when you’re dissembling. This was different.”

Gideon glowered. “Of course it was different. I’ve been acquainted with her since she was in the schoolroom.”

Clarke raised a brow.

Gideon set down his glass with a thump. “Fine,” he muttered. “There is a chance—a small one, mind you—she wasn’t directly involved.”

Clarke looked triumphant, but Gideon forestalled him. “I still think she killed him. All the evidence points toward it…but I’m willing to entertain the idea she brought his death about unintentionally. Perhaps Worthing acted alone. It’s too soon to be sure.”

“Hmm. You never explained what evidence you had, aside from all the rumors and conjecture.”

Gideon glanced around to confirm no one was close enough to hear them. “It’s something I got from one of the maids who was there that night. Several of the servants overheard what Amelia said when she found Martin’s body. She blamed herself.”

“You spoke to her servants? When was this? Weren’t you buried in Derbyshire with your estate managers the past few months?”

“I was. Did I introduce you to my new footman Jessup?”

“Ah. I take it this man came to you from your cousin’s household.”

Gideon nodded in confirmation.

“And has this new servant proved useful?”

“Up to a point. He admits to being there in the aftermath, but claims there was at least one man, an old retainer named Willie, who witnessed the deed. Jessup also confirmed Amelia arrived home after Martin had died. It was Willie and one of the maids who found his body and alerted the other servants. Amelia came home from her afternoon calls in the carriage soon after.”

“So at least you know she didn’t push him down the stairs. Any chance of tracking this Willie down, or at least the maid?”

“The maid stayed on with Amelia. Most of the servants did. The bulk of them had been hired when they lived abroad, and Amelia didn’t downsize the household. Only the ones hired after their return to England left, Willie included. I have people looking, but they haven’t heard a hint of him yet. According to Jessup, the old man was spooked by the death but wouldn’t say why.”

“Well, let’s hope he has something useful to add,” Clarke said with a contemplative sip of port. “Is there anything you want me to do?”

“As a matter of fact, I think it’s time you dug up your cosmetics case from your attic storage.”

His friend wrinkled his nose. “I take it you want me to resurrect my servant disguise?”

“Don’t worry. I don’t expect you to take a position in Amelia’s household.”

“Of course you do.”

Gideon’s lip curled. “All right, if I thought there was a chance she would hire you—but she’s got too much staff as it is. Her townhouse requires a much smaller number than the home she kept in the country, but she didn’t let anyone go. By all accounts, they have to invent tasks to keep busy. Amelia either doesn’t care or hasn’t noticed they’re bleeding her dry.”

“From what I hear, it would take a legion of servants to make a dent in her fortune. Precisely what is it you wish me to do?”

“I would like you to befriend the maid, an Italian woman named Carlotta. Charm her with your dismal pronunciation of her native tongue. I’d also like to take a closer look at Worthing’s staff, but the only one who travels with him is his valet, and he’s a loyal man.”

Clarke’s lip quirked. “How inconvenient. But even the most loyal men need something. I’ll just have to find out what it is.”

“Make sure your disguise is a good one when you do in case his employer happens to get a look at you.”

“If I could fool Napoleon…”

Gideon laughed aloud, the booming sound filling the room. Several heads turned in their direction. “I told you it was not Napoleon, just a short officer,” he said, lowering his voice.

“You don’t know that. It gets very dark in the French countryside at night.”

“The dark is the same everywhere.”

Clarke’s mouth compressed. “Well, considering what we’re investigating—murder in your own family—I wouldn’t bet on that.”