For Lucy, dinner after their house tour had passed like a dream — or a nightmare. She’d arranged to seat Max halfway down the table, in an unremarkable location, with his sister next to him. The guests were undoubtedly wondering who he was and why he was there, but from what little scraps of conversation she could overhear, his answers were charmingly evasive.

“Charmingly evasive” was not the safest trait to look for in a prospective husband. But when she had looked down the table, at the cream of London society arrayed before her, Max’s face was the only one she chose to linger over. Max’s voice was the one she heard in the drawing room after dinner, although she mostly avoided him — it wouldn’t do for her to show too much favor for him until they’d reached an agreement.

And memories of their kiss in the spire haunted her sleep that night, more dangerous than any of Maidenstone’s ghosts.

By the next morning, Lucy was already considering how to pry Max away from everyone else. Maidenstone had hundreds of rooms — they could spend days wandering around. And she could spend weeks making up stories. He knew only the most basic history of the Briarleys — he wouldn’t guess, at least for awhile, if she told incorrect stories just to keep him close to her.

And if she was careful, he would never guess how much she wanted to kiss him again — not until he committed to marrying her.

It had taken more effort than she would ever acknowledge to stop kissing him the day before. She thought she’d managed to hide it from him, but her heart had leapt as soon as he’d mentioned rings. She could have happily, easily swooned into his arms, throwing herself into an engagement merely because he seemed to like her and was an excellent kisser.

Had she learned nothing from Chapman?

She didn’t want to repeat her mistakes. But she also knew that, if she denied him a little, it might intrigue him — it was a time-honored method of seduction. If she held out now, it might convince him to give her the promises she needed to keep herself and Julia safe. Pleasure was one thing, but the security of Maidenstone and any marriage that came with it was far more important.

Still, avoiding him the rest of the night had been difficult. And now, with the morning sun streaming through her window, Lucy wished she could spend her day with Max. But that would draw undue attention — and might tell him that she would accept him no matter how long he made her wait for an engagement.

She tried to put him out of her mind. She had menus to review, correspondence to see to, and land matters to approve. A stack of papers waited for her attention — spending the previous day with Max was the first time since her grandfather’s death that she hadn’t done any work at all, and she would have to catch up that morning if she didn’t want to fall too far behind.

For the first time, she almost regretted that she hadn’t shared any of the responsibility with Emma. More than half the tasks had originally been her grandfather’s.

How it would feel if Max took them on?

She’d always thought that she would want a puppet, who would go to London and leave her to manage the estate to her standards. But perhaps having Max’s help wouldn’t be so bad….

She was staring off into space, considering that novel idea, when Claxton showed up at her door. Lucy had canceled her usual meeting with him the day before. He was capable of choosing wine and organizing other matters without her input. Today, though, he arrived in her private sitting room at precisely ten in the morning, with the usual tray of chocolate for her. She expected that he would want to discuss the final arrangements for the decoration of the mausoleum that night, even though it was a ritual so old that they all knew the preparations by heart.

But it was obvious, even before he spoke, that he was agitated. He was as pale and somber as if he’d found a murderer at Maidenstone. And he shut the door to the hall — an unusual gesture. No one would think twice of her reputation if Lucy was found in a closed room with her butler. But he usually left the door open out of habit, since no one other than Emma and the servants were likely to walk by Lucy’s room.

This time, he not only shut the door — he locked it.

She set her papers aside. “Has something happened?”

Of course, she could only think of Julia. Lucy had sneaked out of Maidenstone at seven in the morning and dashed over to the cottage to visit her. Julia was as healthy as ever, more concerned with showing Lucy the new dress that Mrs. Pearce had made for her favorite doll than she was with why Lucy couldn’t stay to play that morning as she usually did. Lucy had hugged her tightly before leaving, and she could still feel the sweet press of Julia’s arms around her neck.

It couldn’t be that something was wrong with Julia. But Lucy was still sometimes surprised at how quickly her heart could leap to the worst conclusion whenever someone rushed into a room with bad news.

Claxton was too upset to calm her nerves. But at least he didn’t leave her in suspense. “We’re missing a spoon, Miss Lucy.”

She kept herself from laughing, but it was a close thing. “Is that all?”

“I count the spoons myself,” he said. “Every night. This has never happened before.”

“Did the scullery maid lose it?”

The look he gave her was very nearly insulted. “Scullery maids at Maidenstone do not lose the silver. I polish it all myself.”

She obviously couldn’t follow with a question of whether he’d lost it. “Do you have any idea where it might have gone?” she asked.

“A guest must have taken it.”

“And do you know which guest?”

He looked at the locked door. “I wouldn’t want to venture a guess. I do not want to offer any disrespect.”

It seemed obvious who it must be, though. Max and Cressida were the only new arrivals. “Did the spoon disappear last night, or could it have been missing since the ball?”

She had hosted a ball a few nights earlier, and it had been well-attended by gentry from the surrounding area. If the spoons had been out at supper, one might have disappeared then. But Claxton shook his head. “I count all the silver myself,” he said again. “I counted it after the ball and every night since then. It’s locked in my closet when it is not in service.”

“Was it missing last night or this morning?”

“Last night. But I didn’t wish to disturb you until I was sure it was gone.”

“Are any guests preparing to leave today?” she asked. Some of the suitors had started trickling away over the last week — some because they’d become convinced that Maidenstone was haunted, thanks to one of Octavia’s earlier tricks, and some because they realized they weren’t going to marry a Briarley heiress and so didn’t wish to waste any more time. If someone left, it was possible that they might take a spoon or some other object as they went.

But Claxton shook his head. “No one has asked for their carriage to be made ready. None of the servants have gone missing either. I counted them as well.”

“So you think it’s Mr. or Miss Vale who is to blame?”

Claxton shifted uncomfortably. He wouldn’t have lasted as her grandfather’s butler if he hadn’t excelled at managing strange situations — but a garden-variety theft of something in his domain had thrown him off-balance. “I do not want to make accusations. But the timing is suspicious.”

There was a lot that was suspicious about Maximus Vale’s arrival. What would the staff think if she married him?

Perhaps she was being just as stupid with him as she’d been with Chapman. Perhaps Max was completely untrustworthy. Perhaps the servants would watch, silent, as she made the same mistakes, and would then support her through whatever disaster came next.

But for any fault Max may have hidden from her, Lucy couldn’t believe that he was actually a fool. And only a fool would steal a spoon when he had the chance to win all of Maidenstone by marrying her.

She couldn’t say any of that aloud. Claxton was a servant; she wouldn’t take him into her confidence about her intentions with Max.

“I’ll deal with it,” she said. “Say nothing about the missing spoon. If you’ve told any other servants, please direct them to be silent as well.”

He nodded. He looked unhappy, but he wouldn’t disobey a direct order.

“Is there anything else?” she asked, sipping her rapidly cooling chocolate.

“You should know that the Duke and Duchess of Thorington are still in the neighborhood,” he responded.

Lucy was momentarily startled to hear him refer to Callie as the Duchess of Thorington, even though that was her new title. “Where are they?” she asked. “I thought they left after their wedding.”

She hadn’t just thought it — she’d been sure of it. They’d disappeared, along with Thorington’s carriage, before the guests had finished the wedding luncheon.

“According to the gossip in the village, they made it as far as Salcombe before they stopped and commandeered the largest room at the inn. The innkeeper says they haven’t left their room since. The duke throws shoes at him when he tries to inquire about their plans.”

Lucy laughed. “Be glad they went to the inn — better than having him throw shoes at you. They’ll turn up eventually, I assume.”

Claxton nodded. “Thorington sent a note to his sisters and Lord Anthony last night. Of course, I did not read the contents. But their servants report that they were told to stay here until Thorington collects them. The duke also made no arrangements to send his or Callista’s luggage to the inn.”

“The party ends in less than two weeks — I hope he shall collect everything before then. Otherwise, I’ll send his siblings and trunks to London and send Thorington the bill for their transportation.”

Claxton suddenly looked unhappy again. “On the subject of bills, Miss Lucy — do you remember the modiste that Thorington brought here?”

Lucy nodded. Thorington had decided that Callie needed more stylish dresses, and he had sent to London for a modiste before he and Callie had ever agreed to marry. “The modiste isn’t still here, is she?”

“She is. She’s made fifteen dresses for the duchess and is demanding some sort of payment before she’ll leave.”

“Tell her to take the matter up with Thorington whenever he emerges from his honeymoon.”

“I already did,” Claxton said. “But with the rumors of the duke’s precarious financial situation, and the likelihood that Ferguson will give the estate to you or Miss Octavia rather than to the new Duchess of Thorington, the modiste is demanding payment now.”

Lucy had no desire whatsoever to handle the situation. Of all of the responsibilities she had, and all of the distracting thoughts filtering through her head of Max and marriage and missing spoons, an irritated modiste was low on her list of priorities. But she couldn’t shirk her duty. “Where is she? I’ll see to it after we’re finished here.”

“She and her assistant have been working in the old receiving rooms of the Tudor wing. She should be there, unless she took my bait and went to the village to find Thorington.”

Claxton looked hopeful for the first time that morning. Lucy doubted that the modiste would risk an encounter with Thorington — surely all the servants had already heard about his whereabouts and his insistence on not being disturbed. But Lucy didn’t want to ruin Claxton’s illusions.

She couldn’t avoid delicate subjects entirely, though. “Have you heard anything about where Octavia may have gone?” she asked.

Surprisingly, Claxton didn’t lose his smile. If anything, he looked very nearly happy. “She hasn’t returned. Nor has Lord Rafael. But Lord Rafael must have caught up to Miss Octavia on the road. The coachman Miss Octavia used returned yesterday, and he had left them together at an inn in Exeter.”

Octavia and Rafe’s disappearance had finally been noticed, and speculation was rife. It would only increase if the guests knew that Octavia and Rafe were staying together, unmarried, at a coaching inn. “I hope she has the sense to marry him,” Lucy said.

“She will, Miss Lucy. It’s to be hoped that all of the Briarley heiresses would marry someone they’re so well-suited for.”

He looked at her meaningfully — but even though he’d known her since she was an infant, that was the furthest he would dare to cross such a personal line.

“Unless you have other matters to discuss, that will be all,” she said.

Claxton had enough grace to bow and see himself out without continuing the conversation. She followed a few steps behind him. She could have stayed in her room all morning, drinking chocolate and avoiding all thoughts of lost heirs and missing spoons. But there was no avoiding any of it — it would still go on around her even if she buried her head in the sand.

The best chance at success always came from action. She strode down the hall and rapped on a door at the far end.

An unfamiliar lady’s maid opened the door. “Yes?”

“Is Miss Vale available?” Lucy asked.

The maid frowned. “It’s early for callers.”

Lucy couldn’t see anything in the room — the maid had only opened the door a few inches. But inside, she heard movement.

“I thought I might ask her to accompany me on an errand,” Lucy said. “I’ve been remiss in making her welcome at Maidenstone.”

The maid looked her up and down as though she was the one in charge, not Lucy. She was pretty, in a severe sort of way — too pretty for most women to want to hire as a lady’s maid, even though the look in her eyes was glacial. She was also only a few years older than Miss Vale — perhaps Lucy’s age — but she carried herself as though she had decades more experience.

Lucy just barely stopped herself from shifting on her feet. It had been years since she’d been tempted to explain herself to a servant. She wouldn’t start with Miss Vale’s lady’s maid.

“Parker, let her in,” Miss Vale said from behind the door.

The maid eyed her again. Lucy had the strangest sense that the maid was looking for weak spots in case she needed to attack. But she finally stepped aside. She even threw in a curtsey for good measure — a curtsey that was barely passable, but at least recognizable as a gesture of respect.

Miss Vale’s manners were far prettier. “Miss Briarley,” she said warmly, rising from her seat in front of her dressing table. “I am so thankful you’ve taken a moment to visit me. How do you do this morning?”

“Well enough. How are you finding your stay at Maidenstone?”

“It is wonderful,” the girl said. “Everything is exquisite. Exactly as I’d dreamed it would be when my father used to tell us stories about the abbey.”

“Your father surely hadn’t seen it himself, had he?” Lucy asked.

If Lucy had caught her in a lie, Miss Vale wouldn’t acknowledge it. She smiled sunnily instead. “No, none of us had seen the abbey before this week. But he had a wonderful imagination, rest his soul.”

The lady’s maid interrupted. “Do you want more breakfast, Miss Vale?”

Miss Vale shot her an irritated glance. “No. You may leave us, Parker. I’ll call for you when it’s time to change for the afternoon.”

Miss Vale was already dressed for the morning, in a simple dress that looked like it had been hastily tailored for her figure. Lucy tried to remember what the girl had been wearing the evening before, but whatever it was had not been particularly noticeable. The girl hadn’t let her lack of rich attire hold her back, though. She’d flirted prettily with several of the younger gentlemen in the drawing room after dinner — and if they were wondering about Miss Vale’s presence at the party, it didn’t stop them from becoming smitten with her.

The lady’s maid looked like she wanted to argue. Lucy smiled at her, putting some steel behind the gesture. “I’ll chaperone Miss Vale well enough for the morning.”

“I’ll just tidy this up before going,” Parker said, gesturing at the dressing table.

Lucy raised an eyebrow, but Parker ignored her. Miss Vale looked exasperated again. “Ann — Parker — you can leave. I’ll be quite safe.”

“We can leave instead, if you like,” Lucy said. “I thought you might want to pay a visit to a modiste.”

The girl’s eyes lit up. Whatever tension she had with her lady’s maid was completely forgotten. “Where in the devil did you find a modiste in Devonshire?”

Then she blushed to the roots of her hair. It was shocking, really, how fast she turned red.

“I beg your pardon,” Miss Vale stammered.

Lucy laughed. “‘Devil’ is quite the right word to use, so there’s no need to apologize. The modiste was hired by the Duke of Thorington, who is very nearly a devil. And if he won’t do what’s necessary to send her home, we may as well use her in the interim.”

Miss Vale’s flush was still high, but even her embarrassment wasn’t enough to displace her excitement. “Thank you, Miss Briarley. It’s far too kind for you to think of me.”

“You don’t need any new dresses,” Parker muttered.

Lucy couldn’t help but take an immediate dislike to the lady’s maid. Perhaps it was the way that Miss Vale suddenly changed — half chagrined, as though embarrassed by her maid’s behavior, and half sullen, as though she knew the maid was right.

Lucy couldn’t fire Miss Vale’s maid — although she would urge Max to consider it if they married. But she could make sure that Miss Vale enjoyed her morning, while also putting the maid in her place. She gestured toward the door. “Shall we? Consider the dresses a gift from Maidenstone — if your brother doesn’t inherit, I’ll pay for them myself.”

Lucy wouldn’t be able to afford extravagances if she lost Maidenstone. But the promise to pay for the dresses, reckless though it was, was immediately rewarded by an intense flash of joy on Miss Vale’s face.

As they left the room, Lucy took one last glance at Parker. Lucy would have ample time to get to know Miss Vale’s character — and to determine whether she might have secretly turned to stealing spoons. But this was a good reminder that it wasn’t just Max and Miss Vale who had arrived the other night. Their servants had come with them.

And if Lucy had to place a bet on where Claxton might find his precious missing spoon, she would guess that the lady’s maid held the key.