Mrs. Thornton had come down in the world. The street where the late Simon Hastings lived in the heart of Mayfair was one of the most fashionable in London. Camden Street was a proper upper middle-class neighborhood. It was the kind of place where Emmott or Wycliff would live. Perhaps a physician. More typically, men who earned their living would live here. As opposed to Mayfair where the majority of the landowners were aristocrats or those with very hefty purses.

Anyone here in Camden Town would leap at the prospect of hiring a housekeeper who'd recently been engaged in Mayfair.

Well aware of his own cultured voice, Adam told the butler at 151 Camden Street they needed a few moments of Mrs. Thornton's time regarding her last employer. Eyeing how well dressed Emma was (and Adam thought she looked exceptionally pretty), the butler asked that they step into the morning room.

They passed through a dark corridor that featured a narrow wooden staircase and came to the neatly kept morning room where the opened draperies allowed sun into the chamber. Adam and his wife sat next to each other on a dark green settee that was perfectly serviceable but modest and bit dreary.

A few moments later a neatly dressed middle-aged woman came into the chamber.

Adam stood and introduced himself. "You are Mrs. Thornton?" he asked.

"I am." Mrs. Thornton looked at Emma.

"I," Emma said, "am Simon Hastings' niece, and I should like to ask you some questions about him. Please sit."

The housekeeper sat on a wooden arm chair facing Emma. Her face went somber as she offered Emma condolences. "Your uncle was greatly looking forward to you coming. He authorized me to completely refurnish our prettiest bedchamber for you." She sighed. "I wish you could have seen it."

"I do, too," Emma said solemnly. "How I wish I could have seen my uncle, gotten to know him. I feel so cheated."

"He said you were an orphan, and he was responsible for you."

Emma's eyes misted. "I haven't come here to talk about me. I need to know about my uncle, need to know about his . . . death. I understand my uncle spent a good deal of time in his library."

"Indeed he did, miss. He loved to read by the fire. Always in his same shabby chair. Even though he was a wealthy man, he loved that chair!"

Emma cracked a smile. "Did he, by chance, give orders that his library not be cleaned regularly?"

Mrs. Thornton folded her hands in her lap. "I wonder how you should know that! He did not want the parlor maid disturbing his books at all. The library was the only room that wasn't cleaned daily. Though cleaning was not included in my duties, I personally cleaned Mr. Hastings' library on the first day of each month. I was the only one he trusted. He kept private papers in his desk there."

"How long did you serve my uncle?

Now, Mrs. Thornton's eyes misted. "Since the day he moved into his house five-and-twenty years ago."

"I am sorry for your loss," Emma said to her. "You and my uncle must have gotten on very well, and you must have been pleased to make your home on Curzon Street with him."

"He was the kindest man. No one could ever have a finer employer. I miss him dreadfully. He did leave me a nice legacy. I plan to tuck away my earnings here on Camden Street for ten years. They should be enough to buy me a little cottage somewhere in the country. I'll have a garden for my food, and your uncle's pension to tide me over year in, year out for the rest of my life. I owe much to him."

Adam wanted to change the topic before both women got too weepy. "We have received a list of Mr. Hastings' servants," Adam said. "It appears it was a fairly small staff. A valet. One cook. Two parlor maids. A butler and housekeeper."

"Mr. Hastings lived alone. He never entertained and rarely had visitors. His eating tastes were simple, hence a single scullery worker," Mrs. Thornton said.

"Do you know men named Jonathan Booker or Sidney Wolf?" he asked.

She shook her head.

Adam blew out a breath. "Was it Mr. Hastings' custom to give all the servants the entire day and night off every Sunday?"

Mrs. Thornton nodded. "From the day he bought the house. He once told me he looked forward to being completely alone one day a week." She paused, her eyes downcast. "The butler said Mr. Hastings told him he liked to walk about the house without his clothes. I believed Mr. Hastings was just jesting."

Adam chuckled.

"You mean his servants were not even allowed to stay in their own rooms on Sundays?" Emma asked.

"Only if they were sick. He encouraged us to go to Sunday service. Then we could do whatever we wished—walk about in the park or visit friends or family. "

"What hours were the servants gone on Sunday?" Adam asked.

"We usually left by nine in the morning and returned anywhere between nine at night and midnight."

"Did my uncle say he was expecting a visitor the night he died?"

Mrs. Thornton shook her head. "Your uncle normally did not have visitors. He said he dealt with many people at the tea company all day, that he enjoyed a quiet home. He only used three chambers: the library, his bedchamber, and the dinner room."

"Had my uncle been sick before his death? Had he missed going to the tea company?"

The housekeeper shook her head. "He had not been sick at all."

"Finding his body," Adam said in a grave voice, "must have been a harrowing experience, and I'm very sorry you had to be the one, Mrs. Thornton. I'm even more sorry that I have to ask you some questions about that morning."

She shut her eyes tightly. "It was horrible. I shall never be able to efface that vision from my mind." She shook her head and peered at Emma. "It's very hard to lose someone you care for, but to see them like that- - -" She burst into tears.

Adam wondered if he could have handled that better.

Emma leapt to her feet and went to comfort the weeping woman, whilst glaring at him. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Thornton." Emma cupped a hand on the woman's arm. "I am so grateful that Uncle had you to care for him."

Mrs. Thornton looked up at Emma through bleary eyes and attempted a smile.

"I know it's difficult," Adam said, "but can you describe the scene when you found him?”

The housekeeper nodded, sniffing. She began, but her voice was thin, like that of one just short of hysteria. Made him feel like a bloody reprobate.

"Davis—that's Mr. Hastings' valet—told me Mr. Hastings hadn't slept in his bed. On a few occasions Mr. Hastings fell asleep in the library, so I went there with the intention of awakening him. It wasn't like him to sleep so late." She stopped and drew a shaky breath. "When I walked into the library, he was sitting in his chair. At first I thought he was asleep, but as I came closer, I saw the . . . the vomit down the front of him." Here her voice was a low moan. "Thinking he was sick, I stood there asking him in a loud voice if there was anything I could do for him. There was nooooooo answer," she wailed.

After a short pause, she continued. "It was a moment before the idea that he might be dead slammed into me. I froze. I couldn't bring myself to determine if he was still alive. I turned around and raced up the stairs to get Davis.

"Davis is the one who felt for a pulse. His face was ashen and he was trembling mightily when he turned around and told me Mr. Hastings was dead. It was such a shock to both of us because Mr. Hastings had always been so healthy. Cook blamed herself. Said he'd never have had a stomach complaint if he'd eaten her food. She had left him some of Saturday's bread and some cheeses, but she thinks he must have eaten elsewhere, and it must have killed him."

"What happened next?" Adam asked.

"Davis said he would clean up his master. He and the butler carried Mr. Hastings upstairs, and laid him on his bed. I asked the downstairs parlor maid to clean around Mr. Hastings's chair. Then I got out of the room and never went back. It was too painful. "

"Did Uncle die in his favorite chair?" Emma asked.

Mrs. Thornton nodded.

"Was there a glass beside his chair? Perhaps an empty glass?"

"There was no glass. I looked at his table to see if there was something there that could have made him so sick."

* * *

Once they were back in the carriage, Emma turned to him. "I feel so flat. I feel as if my suspicions have been validated, but there's no joy in knowing my poor uncle was most likely murdered."

He covered her hand with his. "There can't possibly be joy in such knowledge, but I am most proud of my wife for her fine deductive reasoning."

His comment lifted the mantle of gloom which had settled on her. "What do you think we should do next, my dearest husband?" How she loved saying that! How she wished she could use true endearments with him. He only used his endearments to convince others theirs was a normal marriage.

"I'm thinking we shall need Sawyer's lock-picking talents once again."

"You mean to go back inside Uncle's house again?"

He squeezed her hand. "Unless it would be too painful for you."

"It will be painful, since I feel as if I know him a little better after getting Mrs. Thornton's perspective, but I'm angry, too. I don't care about the money or the house or the tea company. I care that my kindly uncle was cruelly murdered—and for no other reason than to steal his fortune. I'll not stop until the thieving, murdering spawn of Lucifer is brought to justice." She glared at him. “I, sir, happen to believe there’s a devil.”

"If there is, then the man who killed your uncle deserves his fiery fate. Your uncle sounded like an admirable man. I'm sorry I wasn't a more friendly neighbor."

"Don't be. Had he wanted more friends, he would have made overtures. From what Mrs. Thornton said, his chief interest and the thing that pleased him most was sitting in his library. Just him and his books."

"I still wish I'd known him."

"So do I," she said solemnly.

"I'm trying to decide if we've enough time to do a thorough search of his house today, or if we should wait until tomorrow and devote the entire day to it." He put his arm around her shoulders and drew her closer. "Don't forget we go to the theatre tonight, and I want you to be ravishing."

Her bows lowered. "I'm not quite sure how the word ravishing applies to a woman in a theatre box."

He chuckled. "You don't need to know, my dear one. It was not the best choice of words. I should have said I want all eyes in the theatre on my beautiful wife tonight. Will it take you long to prepare?"

"Actually, it will. Perhaps it's best we do go back to Uncle's tomorrow."

* * *

He had told her that Therese was not to put the amethyst necklace on her. "I want that pleasure myself. Once you're dressed, have your maid tap at my door."

Now Emma sat before her looking glass, hardly recognizing the woman in its reflection as herself. She was completely dressed in her new lavender gown and thought nothing could ever be lovelier than her dress.

But it was Therese's artistry with hair that made Emma look as if she were a leader of fashion—in the highest circles. Not only was her hair swept back beautifully, but Therese had pinned diamonds throughout. A duchess's coronet could not have been lovelier. Her heart filled to capacity when she thought of Adam's kindness in procuring the diamond pins and giving them to Therese for his wife's hair. He knew so much more about what was fashionable than Emma.

Her stomach coiled as she sat waiting for Therese to return from knocking on Adam's door. Would he think her pretty?

Her heart stampeded when he strolled into her bedchamber, the velvet jewel box in his hand.

He stopped just past the doorway and stared. "My god, you're lovely!"

She finally exhaled and timidly said, "Thank you."

He came to her and placed the Bourbon jewels around her neck. She watched in the looking glass and was mesmerized, so awed over how beautiful the necklace was she did not even see Adam's handsome reflection.

When he finished, he commanded her to stand. "I want to see the full effect."

She did as bid, once more holding her breath. She was a bit embarrassed over the low cut in the front of her gown. It barely covered her small bosom, yet somehow made her breasts seem larger than they really were.

Aunt Harriett would have been mortified. She would never have allowed Emma out of her bedchamber in so scandalous a dress.

Emma blushed as her husband stood back and lazily perused her from the tip of her head to the slippers on her feet. His gaze missed nothing.

Without saying a word, he came forward and planted a kiss on top her head. "I shall be the most envied man at the theatre tonight. You are perfection." Then he offered his arm, and they left for Drury Lane.

She felt as if she were a celestial being, her heart and her step were so light. He thinks I am perfection. He kissed her on the top of her head.

Once they were in the Birmingham box at the theatre, they were soon joined by William and Lady Sophia. "Emma," Lady Sophia exclaimed, "you look as if you could be a Russian princess or something equally grand. And, of course, you are utterly beautiful."

"I owe much to Therese. I’m so grateful you sent her to me. I could not be happier."

"I knew she would be perfect, but she did only your hair—and she did that beautifully—but you cannot credit her for your supreme loveliness."

"You're too kind."

Their conversation was cut short as the candles were snuffed, and the curtain went up. As fascinated as Emma was to see a Shakespearian play in person, she was too exhilarated by everything to follow the actors' words as closely as she should. She spent more time looking at the audience, taking in all the beautiful gowns, each one varied from the others.

She was in awe of the baroque u-shaped theatre with its high walls ringed with luxurious boxes. They looked like gilded pockets. Many of them were filled with the nobility, some of whom she recognized from the illustrations in the periodicals Auntie received. There was Lady Waverly in turquoise across the way, and Emma was quite sure the Duke and Duchess of Gorham were in one of the boxes that faced the stage.

She drew in her breath when she realized the notorious courtesan Mary Steele (caricatured so often in the press that Emma had come to recognize her) sat on one of the lower- rung boxes. Emma must have stared at her for ten minutes. She'd never thought she would ever see so scandalous a woman in the flesh. Whatever she had expected to see was not this. The woman appeared perfectly normal. Were she passing Emma on the street, Emma would not take notice of the rather plain woman.

Had she thought perhaps Mrs. Steele would be sprouting horns like some Beelzebub? Or be dressed so indecently that parts that shouldn't show, did so?

Emma felt less guilty for not watching the play when she realized most of those who sat in the boxes were also gawking at those in the other boxes.

Was it her imagination, or were many of them training their eyes—and their opera glasses—on the Birmingham box? Most likely because the Birmingham brothers were so handsome. Then she was reminded of her husband's words about being the envy of every man there. Those people couldn't be looking at her.

Could they?

Even though Adam had said she was lovely and that she was perfection, and Lady Sophia had said she was beautiful, and even though her looking glass displayed an uncommonly pretty woman, Emma refused to believe any of those people could be interested in a nothing like her.

Before Emma had the good fortune to wed Adam, she would have been thrilled just to be able to stand on the floor below with the rest of the masses. Even now, she still expected to be told there had been a ghastly mistake, and that she must go back to Upper Barrington.

After the third act of Richard III, which was much too grim for her taste, the sconces around the theatre's perimeter were lighted. She turned to her husband. "But it's not over!"

He chuckled and drew her close. "I forget you have no theatres in Upper Baddington. This is intermission. People will go visit other boxes or procure refreshments during this break before the final two acts."

She gave him a mock glare. "Barrington."

He laughed again, then stood. "Excuse me whilst I go for refreshments."

* * *

Adam felt as if he were a member of the Royal Family when he descended the stairs and was mobbed by half the men he knew from White's. All of them wanted to know who was the—and they did use the word ravishing—woman he'd brought. He felt as if he'd grown a foot taller.

"Sirs, I beg you not use the word ravishing in connection with my wife."

They gasped.

"We did not know you'd wed," Lord Tremayne said.

William came to his side. "Gentlemen, my brother is newly married."

"You Birminghams all have an eye for everything exquisite," Lord Ruggles said.

Adam turned to the earl and bowed. "I thank you, my lord. I count myself most fortunate. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must procure refreshments for my wife."

After the play, it was some ten minutes before his carriage was brought along, owing to the large number of theatre-goers awaiting their own conveyances. Once in their coach, Emma said, "How fortunate we were that we didn't have to wait an hour. Look at all the fine lords and ladies who are still waiting!"

He dared not tell her he paid handsomely for his driver to be one of the earliest in the queue.

"I was correct when I predicted I'd be the most envied man in the theatre tonight."

Her eyes widened. "You can't mean the people actually noticed me?"

"I most certainly can. They did. I was almost accosted by men clamoring to know who was the beautiful woman at my side tonight."

Her lashes lowered. "You're just saying that to flatter me."

He lifted her chin and eyed her. "I'm saying it because it's the truth. And you were the loveliest woman there tonight."

She started to protest that Lady Sophia was far lovelier—which was the truth—but for once, for the first time in her entire life, she wanted to bask in the warmth of his praise. No one had ever in her life told her she was pretty. For this night, sitting here beside the man who owned her heart, she wanted to be lovely. "Thank you," she whispered.

"So, dear one, was this you first play?"

She was powerless to control her wide smile. "It was, and it's been the most exciting night of my entire life."

He laughed. "Has it occurred to you that each successive day has been the most exciting ever? How nice it must be to see the world in hyperbole."

"Oh, but it's the truth." She shrugged. "I know it may sound as if I speak in hyperbole."

"There's nothing wrong with having so positive an outlook," he said, smiling. "I'm happy to hear that you enjoyed tonight. I want London to be exciting for you."

"I've never had excitement in my life, and now I'm rather embroiled in it."

"Right down to a murder"

"In a way, it is rather exciting. I daresay I would never have had the opportunity to investigate a murder in Upper Barrington."

He chuckled.

* * *

Once they reached the Curzon Street house, he walked her to her bedchamber. He felt as if he were in some rose-scented stupor of blossoming affection for this enticing little package of femininity he had made his wife. "Good night, dear one." He lowered his head and settled a light kiss upon her lips. "You are beautiful."

As he pulled back, her eyes widened. Good lord, had he scared her?

What had gotten into him? He'd not thought about kissing her. It had just happened as naturally as one reaches to pet a dog.

"Good night," she returned, no malice in her sweet voice.

Long after he'd undressed, long after the candles had been snuffed, he still remembered her wide-eyed look when he'd shocked her with his unwanted kiss. His own thoughtlessness rankled him.

He vowed to better control himself in the future.