Picking up the paper, Richard began to read.

“What does it say?” Mary asked from somewhere behind him.

He shook his head, reread the letter again. “This . . .” He stared down at the swirling script, so prettily penned . . . “This is from The South Wind,” he said, his words floating somewhere above him as if they belonged to no one.

An extended period of silence followed, and then, “Can I see it?”

The question pulled Richard out of his reveries and back into the present. “Of course,” he said, handing it to Mary.

“It is in French,” she said, almost immediately.

Just one of the clues revealing the true identity of the person who’d written the letter.

“Judging from the form, I would say that it was written by a woman, and with the subject matter in mind . . . considering what we have learned from the notebook, I think it is fair to say that this letter was sent as a warning of what awaited the French aristocracy. In fact, it almost sounds like a plea for help.” She paused. “But the mention of a box and the importance it seems to have in the context of the French revolution, makes little sense to me. If these people—”

“The box is of great value,” Richard said. He watched as Mary glanced back down at the letter, rereading the part that mentioned the box.

A faint crease appeared upon her brow. “It is described as having the image of a meadow and a shepherdess watching her sheep, carved into it. The sides are supposedly edged with mother-of-pearl.” She looked up at him, her eyes widening with surprise. “You know the box that is being referenced, perhaps even who it belongs to.”

He nodded then, still stunned by what they had just discovered. “If it is the box that I am thinking of, then it was custom-made by a craftsman in Germany—a gift from my grandmother to her sister, the Duchess of Marveille.”

Mary stared back at him. “Are you telling me that a French duchess . . . your great aunt . . . was working with your grandfather and the third Earl of Duncaster in an effort to save as many members of the French aristocracy as possible from The Electors?”

“I know how absurd it must sound, but—”

“On the contrary, it makes perfect sense that they would have needed someone in France to help coordinate their rescue efforts.” She pointed to a spot on the paper. “It says here that she was readying a final cargo of twenty and that the box would be included. Forgive me, but I still do not understand the importance of the box.”

“My grandmother used to refer to it as the only surviving part of her family. Everyone else was killed by the guillotine, including her sister.” Taking the letter from Mary, he tucked it into his jacket pocket. “According to my grandmother’s diary, my grandfather received a letter from Lord Duncaster, informing him that the box had arrived at Thorncliff. He set out immediately in order to retrieve it, but never returned. Instead, he and Lord Duncaster chose to travel to France without notice, perishing, as you know.”

“So, the box—”

“Contains my grandmother’s family heirlooms—an estimated worth of over five hundred thousand pounds.”

The shock on Mary’s face was evident. Her mouth literally dropped open. A small pause followed, and then, “It must be here somewhere.”

“What?”

“If it was sent to England, as this letter claims, and your grandfather was called upon to pick it up, then it must still be here at Thorncliff or perhaps even in this very villa. At any rate, we should try to find it.”

Richard couldn’t help but agree. It would have been illogical for his grandfather to take the box back out to sea with him, so it seemed unlikely for it to be at the bottom of the Channel. It was far more plausible that something unexpected had forced his grandfather and Lord Duncaster to flee England. Especially in light of what he now knew about them and their involvement with The Electors. “You are right. They probably knew that they did not have time to arrange for the box to be returned to my grandmother and hid it somewhere instead.”

“Let us search the remaining room,” Mary said, already heading for the door. But upon entering the room opposite, they found it to be no different than the one they’d just exited. “There is nothing here of significance. Just the necessary furniture and some clothes.”

Agreeing that their search had come to an abrupt end and feeling somewhat discouraged in the wake of the excitement that he’d felt only moments earlier, Richard turned toward the stairs. “Shall we see where these lead?”

“We would be fools not to,” Mary said, offering him an encouraging smile that immediately lifted his spirits.

Hand in hand, they started up the stone steps, following the staircase as it turned to the left, carrying them away from the brightly lit hallway and up into darkness. Richard’s lantern cast a hazy glow around them as they walked. Occasionally swinging from side to side, it made the shadows dance across the walls.

Unexpectedly, it appeared as though their ascent had been stopped by a wall blocking the way in front of them. But when Richard investigated more closely, he found a narrow gap in the wall to the right—just wide enough for a person to squeeze through. This led them into a tiny vestibule that opened up to the left behind a large pillar that effectively hid the entrance to the staircase completely.

“Where are we?” Mary asked.

“The tunnels and storage rooms beneath Thorncliff,” he said as he went to an arched doorway. The room in which they were standing was cold, the floor beneath their feet uneven. Mary followed closely behind. “I have been here before,” he told her, happy to be able to share the experience with her for a change. “The tunnels allowed me to leave Thorncliff unnoticed so I could at least enjoy the warmth of the afternoon sun upon my face.”

“I never would have imagined such a network existing beneath the ground,” she said as they entered the tunnel that lay beyond the room they’d just been in and turned right.

“It was meant to supply soldiers with food and shelter, as well as easy access to the sea during times of war.”

“Considering how cold it is right now during the summer, it must have been terrible having to live down here during the winter—for any duration of time.”

“I am sure there must be some sort of ventilation system so they could build fires for warmth. It hardly makes sense otherwise.” The pungent aroma of apples drifted toward them. “We are getting closer. The food storage is just up ahead. Next to that there is a staircase that you can use. It will take you up into Thorncliff’s interior courtyard.”

“You are not coming with me?” She sounded surprised, perhaps even a bit disappointed.

“I will use a more private route.” Reaching the door to the staircase, he placed his hand against her elbow and turned her toward him. “This past week in your company has been incredible, Mary. I know you have your reservations about committing yourself to anyone—that you would like to retain your independence—but I would like you to know that if you were to accept the offer that I plan on making you, I will never try to prevent you from singing. Of course, doing so publically, disguised as someone else, might not be possible . . .” Seeing the sadness in her eyes, he added, “But if there is any chance of you continuing to perform as yourself, I will help you do so. More than that, I can assure you that I will proudly applaud you for it.”

“You are . . .” Her voice trembled, and Richard knew that she was overcome by emotion. “Thank you,” she managed, “but there is something else.”

“What is it?” Whatever it was, Richard couldn’t imagine it being more of an obstacle than her penchant for opera or his reluctance to be seen in public. But, with their acceptance of each other and the news he’d received last night, informing him that he’d finally managed to ruin his rival, Richard was ready to put the past behind him and start a new life with Mary at his side. If she would have him.

“I was not completely honest with you when I told you about my singing,” she began. “In fact, there was a very deliberate purpose behind my performances. I did not do it for fame, for any kind of acknowledgment or even for the music alone.”

He studied her closely. “Then what was your reason?”

Inhaling deeply, she confided the truth. “For the past two years I have been using my wages from the theatre to help my brother.” Richard arched a brow. “He spent his own fortune on running his estate, so when he began speaking to me about making investments, I immediately offered to do what I could, hoping that he would secure an income. Unfortunately, he made some poor decisions, and as a result, the money I gave him is all gone. I know he must take responsibility and that I should not help him any further, but I fear what might happen to him without my support.”

“You must not fret,” he told her calmly, relieved that it wasn’t anything more serious than her desire to help her family that now stood between them. “I may be a second son with no title to my name, but my investments have been extremely profitable. It goes without saying that my offer will include support of your family, albeit within reason. If your brother needs help of any kind, I will be happy to oblige.”

“Truly?”

Nodding, he pulled her into his arms and tenderly kissed the top of her head. “Whatever it takes to convince you to be my wife, I will do it.”

“I—”

Leaning back, he placed his finger to her lips, silencing her. “Do not say anything yet. Just think about it. I would like to make a proper proposal—one that even your aunt will not be able to protest.”

“You plan to meet with her.” She sounded incredulous, which he in turn found mildly amusing. Apparently it wouldn’t be too difficult for him to be her knight in shining armor.

“Of course. I plan to follow every protocol in my quest to make you mine.” Stepping back, he caught her hand in his and raised it to his lips, kissing her knuckles with all the reverence that he felt for her. “Until tomorrow,” he said as he ushered her into the stairwell, lighting the way for her until she reached the top. From there, she blew him a kiss before disappearing into the courtyard beyond and leaving Richard feeling bereft.

When Mary awoke the following morning, she couldn’t recall ever feeling so well rested before, which of course made little sense considering that she’d only slept for about five hours. It had to be Richard and all the wonderful things he’d said to her when they’d last parted ways. Her worries had been lifted from her shoulders, allowing her to hope for a future that she’d never thought would be hers. He was wonderful.

Stretching out upon the sheets while enjoying the plush feel of the pillow cradling her head, Mary allowed her dreamy thoughts of Richard to fill her mind, right until Amy entered her room with a firm knock and a brisk stride. “Good morning, my lady. Your aunt requests your immediate presence in the yellow parlor. I am to help you dress.”

Dismayed by Amy’s tone, Mary brushed a lock of hair from her forehead and sat up. “What is the matter?” she asked her warily.

Rifling through Mary’s wardrobe, Amy sniffed a few times before saying, “I have never seen her look so angry before in my life.” She turned to look at Mary, revealing the tears in her eyes. “She knows about you and . . . I am certain of it, though I assure you that I have said nothing to her that might give you away. Please. You must believe me.”

“I do,” Mary said as she got out of bed and plodded across the floor to where Amy was standing. She offered her a handkerchief, which she gratefully accepted. “It will be all right, Amy. I am certain of it. In fact, I daresay that by the end of today you may wish me happy.”

“He plans to propose?”

Mary nodded, a bubble of laughter bursting from between her lips. She could no longer contain her happiness. “Indeed, he intends to speak with my aunt directly. Now that I know who he is, I see no obstacle in our way.”

But when Mary entered the yellow parlor a short while later, her confidence wavered in response to the hard glare in her aunt’s eyes which seemed to match the tight set of her mouth to perfection. Lady Foxworth looked visibly terrifying. “Good morning,” Mary said, her hands clasped in front of her as she crossed to the sofa that faced the one on which her aunt was seated. A tea tray stood on a low table between them.

“Hardly,” Lady Foxworth clipped while Mary lowered herself onto the sofa. “In fact, it has come to my attention that you have defied me . . . lied to me!”

Straight to the point then.

“I suppose you must be referring to Signor Antonio,” Mary said in as calm a tone as she could muster.

“Of course I am!” Her aunt practically exploded, her cheeks reddening with the exertion. “How could you, Mary? I trusted you and rather than prove yourself worthy of that trust, you went behind my back and . . . and got yourself ruined. This is a disaster! Good God! What am I going to tell your poor parents? They will be devastated!”

“Not if they approve of him.”

Lady Foxworth’s eyes narrowed. “How can they when he has no desire for anyone to know who he is? How can he offer you anything under such circumstances? You cannot hope to marry him, that is for certain, though I have asked Lady Duncaster to fetch him for me. I expect them to arrive at any moment.”

Mary’s pulse quickened with expectation. “In that case, I think that you will find yourself eating your words, Aunt Eugenia. Richard deserves your respect and—”

“Richard?” Lady Foxworth placed her hand against her chest. “How can you make such free use of his Christian name? It is not proper.” She shook her head, her earrings dangling violently from side to side. “Oh dear Lord, Mary. I expected so much better from you. I—”

The door opened and Lady Duncaster entered, followed by Richard who closed the door behind them. He wasn’t wearing the mask or the cape, his face completely visible in the bright daylight that filled the room. It was the first time Mary had seen him like this, his features untouched by shadows or flickering light. A swarm of butterflies batted their wings in the pit of her stomach, her heart skipping happily in response to the smile he was sending her way.

Dressed in a green, beautifully tailored, jacket, with beige-colored breeches and expensive looking boots, he was the very image of a well-bred gentleman. His hair had been neatly combed; his sparkling eyes the focal point of his face—a complete distraction from the pink skin that puckered over his left cheek and down the side of his neck. To Mary, he had never looked more handsome than at that very moment.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” he said, addressing Mary’s aunt as he bowed slightly from the waist. “My name is Richard Heartly. It is an absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Foxworth.”

The tension in Lady Foxworth’s expression eased, replaced by something that could only be described as complete and utter surprise. “You are Lord Oakland’s younger son?”

“The very one,” Richard said as he stepped further into the room. Still standing, he waited for Lady Duncaster to considerately claim the seat beside Lady Foxworth so he could sit down next to Mary.

“But you are supposed to be dead!” Lady Foxworth blurted. With a jolt, her eyes widened and she immediately placed her hand over her mouth. “Forgive me, I did not mean . . . that is to say, I—”

“It is quite all right,” Richard said. “I wanted it that way.” He turned the left side of his face toward her. “As you can probably imagine, I was not very eager to make a public appearance. If news of my return to England had spread, I would have had to do so in order to save my family the embarrassment of having to explain my constant absence from social events.”

“Because of the scars?” Lady Foxworth quietly asked. “They are not really all that bad.”

“A fact that your niece has eventually convinced me of.” He reached for Mary’s hand, the warmth of him weaving its way through her. “Her kindness toward me and her ability to care for the person that I am without being influenced by my appearance, has given me a tremendous amount of hope for the future.”

“I still find it difficult to agree with your method,” Lady Foxworth said, her voice tightening a notch. “After all, you refused to reassure me of your credentials when I asked you to do so. Furthermore, I have just received a letter this morning from the Earl of Rotridge, informing me that you and Mary have been cavorting with each other for the past two weeks. If you were a gentleman—”

“I hope you are not calling my character into question,” Richard said, edging forward in his seat.

“What I am saying,” Lady Foxworth continued, not the least bit deterred by the note of warning in Richard’s voice, “is that you have deliberately put my niece’s reputation at risk on numerous occasions, which is hardly very gentlemanly of you.”

Mary held her breath while Richard stared back at her aunt. If only she could dive under the carpet, but unfortunately, that was not a possibility. She looked to Lady Duncaster instead, who in turn appeared remarkably calm—as if she knew that this situation would resolve itself to everyone’s liking. Mary could only hope that this would be the case.

“Point taken,” Richard eventually conceded. “But I saw no other way in which to get to know her better. As our acquaintance with each other turned into a solid friendship and something . . . more promising than that, it became increasingly impossible for me to imagine a day without Mary by my side.”

Mary’s heart swelled until it felt as though it might actually burst. Her eyes misted and a tight knot began forming in her throat.

“With your permission,” Richard continued, “I would like to ask for her hand in marriage.”

Mary knew her aunt well enough to see that she was pleased by this outcome, even if she tried not to show it, her expression as serious as ever as she met Richard’s gaze. “A former soldier who has fought bravely for his country is certainly a quality that I cannot help but admire. Especially considering the price you had to pay for it.” She paused a moment, seemingly considering her next words. “That said, however, I would like to know how you plan on supporting her. To be blunt, what is your financial situation like?”

Mary gasped. “Aunt! You cannot . . .” Lady Foxworth gave her a quelling look that forced Mary’s words into silence.

“Commonality is all well and good when choosing your life-partner, Mary,” Lady Foxworth said, “But there is the business side to it that should not be ignored.”

“She is right,” Richard said, briefly offering Mary a reassuring smile before returning his full attention to Lady Foxworth. “May I be equally blunt?”

“By all means,” Lady Foxworth said. “I encourage you to do so.”

“Very well then. As Mary is already aware, I have made some lucrative investments over the last few years. As a result, I currently have an income of ten thousand pounds per year. In addition to that, I have recently acquired an estate which I am sure will meet your expectations. All in all, I would say that my net worth at the moment is somewhere in the vicinity of one hundred and fifty thousand pounds.”

Mary’s jaw dropped, as did her aunt’s. Lady Duncaster on the other hand looked very pleased—as if she’d known all along just how eligible Richard Heartly actually was. Which, Mary realized, she probably had.

Gathering her composure, Lady Foxworth reached for her teacup and took a sip before saying, “That sounds like a very comfortable number.”

Mary almost choked. But before she could manage an apology on behalf of her aunt, the lady surprised Mary again by saying, “My only remaining question now is whether or not you love her.”

Surely there had to be a window through which Mary could escape? Looking around, she saw that they were all firmly shut. But all plans of vaulting over a windowsill and running until her feet could no longer carry her, fled from her mind the moment Richard voiced his response. He gave no lengthy explanation and made no use of flowery prose. All he said was, “Of course I do.”

At which point Mary promptly burst into tears, which of course was silly. After all, today had just turned into the most wonderful day of her life. “I love you too,” she croaked out while dabbing at her eyes with the handkerchief that Richard offered her.

“In that case, I see no reason why the two of you should not be together,” Lady Foxworth said. “If that is what you want, Mary.”

“With all my heart,” Mary managed.

“Well then.” Lady Foxworth’s voice sounded a little more raw than before. “On behalf of Mary’s parents, the Earl and Countess of Harrodsburg, you have my blessing.”

The moment the words were out, Richard slipped off the sofa and onto one knee. He took both of Mary’s hands in his and smiled up at her with all the love that he’d just professed. “Mary Bourneville, will you do me the honor of making me the most fortunate man in the world by becoming my wife?”

Swallowing the knot in her throat, she nodded her agreement, sniffing a little until she finally managed to get the necessary words out. “Yes,” she whispered. “Nothing would please me more.”

Leaning forward, he placed a kiss upon her lips before catching her in his arms and pulling her to her feet so he could embrace her properly. It wasn’t until Mary heard Lady Duncaster whisper something to her aunt that she remembered they weren’t alone.

“We will have more time for this later,” Richard murmured close to her ear before stepping back and adding a respectful amount of distance between them.

The words sent a tremor down Mary’s spine, her cheeks grew warm and for a frightening moment she feared that her legs might collapse beneath her. So she sat down quickly and busied herself with pouring tea into cups and arranging sweetmeats on plates which she then offered to everyone in turn.

“Thank you,” Lady Duncaster said, setting her plate aside, “but I am afraid that I must leave you now. I promised the butler that I would go over the social activities for the coming week with him. Do let me know if you would like to make a formal announcement this evening and I will ensure that enough champagne is put on ice.”

As soon as she was gone, Richard returned to his seat beside Mary and addressed Lady Foxworth. “There is something else that you ought to know,” he said as he reached for Mary’s hand once more. Turning to Mary, he said, “You need to tell her about the opera.”