John Alderney was a thin man with wide blue eyes and a nervous blink that seemed to be made worse by the presence of the Duke of Wakefield in his London sitting room.

“I’ve sent for tea,” Alderney said, beginning to lower himself to a chair before popping back up again. “That’s all right, isn’t it? Tea? Or… or there’s brandy about somewhere, I think.” He peered around his little sitting room as if expecting the brandy to appear of its own accord. “French, of course, but then I suppose most brandy is.”

He blinked rapidly at Maximus.

Maximus fought back a sigh and sat. “It’s ten of the clock.”

“Oh, er?”

They were both saved by the arrival of the tea. An awestruck maid stared at Maximus the entire time she was pouring, and he couldn’t help but think it was a miracle she didn’t spill the tea on the carpet. She backed from the room, revealing as she opened the sitting room door a bevy of servants and Alderney’s pink little wife gawking in the hallway before reluctantly closing it.

Clutching a steaming cup in both hands seemed to settle Alderney enough that he was at least able to sit and form a coherent thought. “Quite the honor, of course—don’t have dukes comin’ to visit before noon all that often—and I can’t say enough how… how grateful we are, but I… I was wonderin’…”

But that seemed to be as far as Alderney’s courage took him. He broke off to gulp half his dish of tea and then winced as he apparently burned his mouth.

Maximus took the emerald pendant from his waistcoat pocket and put it on the table between them. “I’m told that this used to belong to you. Where did you get it?”

Alderney’s mouth dropped open. He blinked several times, staring at Maximus as if he expected some further explanation, and when none was forthcoming, at last stretched out his arm to pick up the pendant.

Maximus growled.

Alderney snatched back his hand. “I… er… what?”

Maximus took a breath and deliberately let it out slowly to try and release some of the tension in his body—a move that seemed to alarm Alderney. “Do you remember this pendant?”

Alderney wrinkled his nose. “Ah… n-no?”

“It would’ve been some years ago,” Maximus said, holding his patience with both hands. “Thirteen years or so.”

Alderney calculated, his lips moving silently, and then suddenly brightened. “Oh, Harrow! That’s where I was thirteen years ago. Pater hadn’t the money himself, of course, but Cousin Robert was kind enough to send me. Jolly place, Harrow. Met quite a lot of fine fellows there. Food wasn’t what you might call elegant, but there was lots of it and I remember a sausage that was simply…” Alderney looked up at this point and must’ve read something on Maximus’s face that alarmed him for he started. “Oh, er, but that’s perhaps not what you want to know?”

Maximus sighed. “Lord Kilbourne said that he had this pendant from you.”

“Kilbourne…” Alderney laughed, high and nervous. “But everyone knows the man’s mad. Had an attack of some kind and killed three fellows.” Alderney shuddered. “I heard that one man’s head was nearly severed from his body. Bloody. Never would’ve thought it of Kilbourne. Seemed a nice enough fellow at school. Remember he once ate an entire eel pie. Not something you see every day, I can tell you that. The eel pies were quite large at Harrow and usually—”

“So you did know Kilbourne at Harrow?” Maximus asked to clarify.

“Why, yes, he was in my house,” Alderney said at once. “But there were many other quite sane fellows in my house as well. Lord Plimpton, for instance. Quite a bigwig in Parliament now, as I understand. Though”—Alderney’s brow knit on a thought—“he wasn’t a very nice fellow at school. Used to gobble rare beefsteak with his mouth half open.” Alderney shuddered. “Surprised he didn’t turn out to be a bloody raving madman, now that I think of it. But there you are: can’t predict these things apparently. Perhaps it was all that eel pie.”

Maximus stared at Alderney for a moment, trying to decide if the man were lying or really as foolish as his words seemed to paint him.

Alderney appeared to brighten at his confusion. “Was there anything else?”

“Yes,” Maximus gritted out, making the man cringe back. “Think: when could you have given that pendant to Kilbourne?”

“Why…” Alderney knit his brows. “Never, as far as I know. I don’t remember even talking that much with Kilbourne beyond the usual ‘Good morning’ and ‘Are you eating your portion of sausage?’ We weren’t really friends. Not,” Alderney hastened to add at Maximus’s growing scowl, “that I wasn’t friendly or anything, but he was the sort who actually read things in Latin, and I was more interested in sweets and smuggling tobacco into the house.”

Alderney stopped abruptly and stared at Maximus rather helplessly.

Maximus closed his eyes. He’d been so sure that here at last was the trail he could follow to find the murderer—only to be stopped by a fool’s faulty memory. Of course, that was supposing that Kilbourne had even been telling the truth. He was a madman, after all.

Maximus opened his eyes, scooped up the pendant, and stood. “Thank you, Alderney.”

“That’s it?” The other man didn’t hide his relief. “Oh, well, glad to be of help. Don’t have such illustrious visitors, as I said, only Cousin Robert, and he hasn’t been by since Michaelmas of last year.”

Maximus halted on his way to the door and slowly turned on a sudden thought. “Who is your cousin Robert, Alderney?”

His host grinned, looking quite idiotic. “Oh! Thought you knew. He’s the Duke of Scarborough.”

ARTEMIS HAD JUST sat down to dinner that night with Phoebe and Maximus at Wakefield House when her world came tumbling down about her ears.

She’d only taken in the dear sight of Maximus frowning over his fish when the commotion began. Armageddon was heralded by voices in the corridor outside the dining room and the hurried footsteps of the servants.

Phoebe cocked her head. “Who could that be at this time of night?”

They hadn’t long to speculate.

The door was flung open to reveal Bathilda Picklewood. “My dears, you should’ve seen the roads! Simply awful, all of them. I thought we would be stuck forever in a mud hole at the turnpike near Tyburn. Wilson actually had to get down from the box and lead the horses out, and I won’t even repeat the language he used.”

Belle, Starling, Percy, and Bon Bon all trotted over to greet Miss Picklewood, while Mignon rumbled from her arms at the other dogs.

“Hush, Mignon,” Miss Picklewood scolded. “Goodness, you sound like a bumblebee! Where did all these dogs come from? Surely you didn’t bring them from Pelham?”

“We thought they’d like the change of scenery,” Phoebe said brightly. “I’m so glad you’ve arrived! We didn’t expect you back for another fortnight or so.”

“Well, I thought I’d pop in to see how you all were doing,” Miss Picklewood said, exchanging a look Artemis couldn’t interpret with Maximus.

The duke’s expression had shut down as surely as a door closing. “I trust your friend is doing better?”

“Oh, much,” Miss Bathilda said as she sat. Footmen scurried under the eagle eye of the butler to set another place for her. “And dear Mrs. White was so sweet. She told me I must come at once, just for a small visit, so that I wouldn’t tire of Bath.”

“That was kind,” Maximus replied flatly.

“Now, dear.” Miss Picklewood turned to Phoebe. “You must tell me what you did today.”

Artemis was quiet, poking the tines of her fork gently into her fish as she listened to Phoebe prattle. Once she glanced up and caught Maximus staring at her broodingly. She couldn’t help a shiver of premonition. It seemed very strange that Miss Picklewood would leave her friend’s sickbed just to “pop in.”

It wasn’t until after a lovely apple tart that Artemis could only pick at that she found out Miss Picklewood’s true intent.

She and Phoebe rose to retire into the sitting room for tea, but the older lady spoke up, halting them. “Artemis, dear, won’t you stay here? I do wish to discuss something with you and His Grace.” Phoebe’s brows knit, and Miss Picklewood addressed her, “Phoebe, Agnes can help you to the sitting room. We’ll be along in a bit.”

Phoebe hesitated, but in the end accepted the arm of Agnes the maid and left the room.

Artemis slowly retook her seat.

“Panders,” Miss Picklewood addressed the butler, “can you leave His Grace’s brandy? We shan’t have need of you for the next half hour, I think.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Panders said without a speck of curiosity.

“Oh, and Panders? I do know you’ll make sure we’re not overheard.”

At that subtle hint about the eavesdropping of servants, Panders stiffened imperceptibly. “Of course, ma’am.”

And then, he, too was gone.

Maximus sat back in his chair, looking like a particularly dangerous cat lounging. “What is this about, Bathilda?”

Artemis was rather admiring of Miss Picklewood’s courage. She didn’t even hesitate as she looked at her powerful relative. “You’ve seduced Miss Greaves.”

Maximus didn’t move. “Where did you hear that?”

Miss Picklewood waved a hand and reached over to take the decanter of brandy. She spoke as she poured herself a slight inch into the empty wineglass before her. “Where I heard it from doesn’t matter. What matters is that it is true and it is now, or very soon will be, public knowledge.”

“What I do in the privacy of my own home is no business of anyone’s but mine,” Maximus said with all the arrogance of a man with a thousand years of aristocratic ancestors.

Miss Bathilda took a delicate sip of her brandy. “I’m sorry, but I must disagree, Your Grace. What you do, even in the privacy of your own home, affects many other people, including Phoebe.” She set down her glass firmly. “You cannot keep your mistress in the same house as your maiden sister. Even you must bow to the dictates of society.”

Artemis’s gaze dropped to the table. She noticed absently that her hands, laid sedately on the wood before her, were trembling. Carefully, she balled her fingers and let her hands drop to her lap.

Maximus waved his hand as if he were swatting a fly. “Artemis won’t corrupt Phoebe, you’re aware of that.”

“You know as well as I that a reputation is based purely upon what is perceived rather than any reality. You’ve made Miss Greaves a fallen woman. By her very presence she soils all ladies around her.”

“Bathilda!” Maximus’s warning was a growl.

Artemis couldn’t help a small gasp at the same time. She’d known what she was now, but to have it so bluntly stated by someone she’d considered a friend was still shocking.

Miss Picklewood turned to Artemis for the first time. Her face was determined, but her eyes were sympathetic. “I’m sorry, but I did warn you, my dear.”

Artemis nodded, ignoring Maximus’s glower. “So you did.”

“You need to leave.”

Artemis held the other woman’s gaze. “And I will. But tomorrow night Phoebe has her heart set on seeing the opera at Harte’s Folly with the other ladies from the Ladies’ Syndicate. She’ll be upset if I don’t attend.”

Miss Picklewood frowned.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Bathilda,” Maximus ground out. “One day more won’t taint Phoebe.”