He insisted that four of his sturdiest footmen accompany Ravenna and her aunt on their shopping excursion. Ravenna objected as he followed her downstairs after breakfast.

“The indignity of it,” she said, shaking her head. “Browsing for shifts and unmentionables in the presence of four young men, who shall thenceforth know whether I am wearing French pantalettes beneath my frocks.”

He stood firm. “Do not attempt to provoke my possessive inclinations in this matter. The fact is that I would rather see you clad in only a handkerchief than see you come to harm.”

“Only you, Simon, could make such an admission.”

“’An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.’”

She buttoned on her gloves. “Says he who has become a Mayfair housebreaker and my constant gaoler.”

He accompanied her outside to the front steps. The quartet of footmen awaited her in silence on the pavement. “Purchase something delicate from me,” he said under his breath. “I am partial to sheer white lace.”

“And for Aunt Glynnis? Do you have a particular undergarment in mind? Would you like to see her in blush silk stockings and diamond-studded garters?”

He winced at the suggestion. “Do not talk to strangers.” He cast a covert glance at his footmen who, he just remembered, had been hired by a housekeeper with a predilection for muscular young men. “Do not talk to anyone, in fact, unless it is necessary.”

“Simon.” She patted his arm in dismissal. “Read a political pamphlet. Write one. Go for a walk or visit Heath.”

He shook his head in surrender. “Enjoy your afternoon.”

Indeed, she had not been gone two hours than his vigilance proved warranted. He, Rhys, and Heath had been digging through a collection of Bruxton’s stolen correspondences, most related to bloodstock, some belated expressions of sympathy for Susannah’s death, when the butler and three housemaids appeared. Each carried a salver brimming with the post.

“What on earth?” Rhys said, looking slightly unkempt from a night in his agile lover’s arms.

“Leave them for Ravenna,” Simon said. “She and her maid spend a few hours each morning replying to acquaintances.”

Heath removed a cigar from his vest pocket. “Don’t you ever read your letters?”

“Of course, I do, but I’ve fallen behind since the wedding. Timpkins weeds through the bulk of them first. These are liable to be congratulations. Or invites, which I’d prefer not to acknowledge.”

Heath stared down at the table. “One should never ignore a written correspondence. You might have received a fortune from a long-lost relative. Or another note from a secret admirer.”

“He’s right,” Rhys said. He picked up a sealed letter and held it to his forehead like a seer. “We wouldn’t want a message from one of your old paramours to upset my sister, even though she can stand up to any rival.”

“She has no rivals.” Simon pushed aside Bruxton’s portfolio and reached into the pile of letters. “I daresay she’s the one collecting admirers.” He opened one of the missives and read it aloud. “’Would his grace care to participate in a rowing race?’ No, he wouldn’t. ’Is her grace interested in attending a lecture given by Dr. Angus Fraser on a new method of breeding sheep?’ Positively not. Timpkins and Isolde should sort this out. It’s an utter waste of time.”

“That one.” Heath motioned with his unlit cigar to a lightly inked letter that protruded from the pile. “It’s not franked and the seal bears no insignia.”

Simon examined the missive in question. Blue-black ink. A common vermillion seal melted into a blob without a crest or initials. “I see nothing else remarkable about it.”

“Open it,” Heath said, standing to light his cigar at the fireplace. “Someone had it slipped into the post.”

Simon broke the seal and felt as if a blizzard had blown into the room. A ballad had been clipped from a book and pasted to the paper. “How could you have known?”

“I have a suspicious nature. What does it say?”

---

“’When a lovely woman stoops to folly

And finds too late that men betray,

What charm can soothe her melancholy,

What art can wash her guilt away?

The only art her guilt to cover,

To hide her shame from every eye,

To give repentance to her lover.

And wring his bosom -- is to die.’”

---

“I believe that’s a song by Oliver Goldsmith,” Rhys said, gripping the arm of his chair.

Heath exhaled a plume of smoke. “I believe that is a threat. At base it is a petty and personal attack. We need to fetch the ladies without delay and if possible without panic. I’d like to compare the script on the outside to the anonymous note you received the night of the ball.”

Simon was on his feet, in his jacket, papers flying to the carpet. “Do me a favor, Rhys. Ring for Timpkins before you leave. Ask him and Isolde to gather up any letters that I have not seen.”

Heath picked up the ominous letter from the carpet. “I was under the impression that Isolde was no longer speaking to your steward.”

Simon strode to the door. “They shall forgive and forget, or else.”

Ravenna smiled in resignation. No sooner had she emerged from the milliner’s shop than she sighted her husband advancing across the pavement in her direction. “I suppose he can’t help himself,” she said to the bonneted woman beside her. “If only he understood I do have a backbone.”

Aunt Glynnis nodded in approval. “I have never known a man to be so enamored of his wife. He does care for you, Ravenna. It is quite touching.”

“Or he is touched,” Ravenna said. “In the head. I begin to wonder.” In truth she was pleased to see the handsome devil until he came close enough that she could read the anxiety in his eyes. His careworn smile seemed more designed for her aunt’s benefit than for hers.

“Ladies,” he said, relieving Ravenna of her boxes. “I am traveling home with you.”

He led them to the carriage in a silence so profound that as Aunt Glynnis thumped upon the seat, she whispered, “Perhaps the shopkeepers alerted him to the cost of your purchases. He appears to be in a mood.”

“He gave me carte blanche,” Ravenna murmured.

“He must have set a limit.”

“Not as of yet.”

Simon looked anything but his indulgent self as the carriage set off, the interior crammed with parcels that the footmen could not stow above. Ravenna knew Simon well enough to perceive that his appearance did not mean he had missed her or was concerned that she’d broken the bank purchasing accessories.

He waited a moment before satisfying her curiosity. “I wouldn’t have ruined your day without good reason.” He removed a letter from his waistcoat pocket. “Ravenna, read this as best you can in the light.”

“Not another scandal sheet?” Aunt Glynnis said with a sigh. “Our reputation falls by the day. I shall be disgusted if this is another poke at your voluptuous passions.”

Ravenna unfolded the letter with a prickle of foreboding. She scanned it twice, her aunt peering down her shoulder. “This is disturbing,” she said, looking up at Simon.

Aunt Glynnis was less reserved. “You must cut to the heart of this, Simon. One cannot ignore a death threat.”

“You don’t recognize the handwriting on the outside?” he asked Ravenna.

“No,” she said tightly.

“Until this person is found,” he said, his face flushed with anger, “you shall not leave the house without me. Call me a tyrant. I do not care.”

“I shall have to move from Griffin’s house into the room down the hall in yours,” Aunt Glynnis stated. “Never mind that I detest the color of the wallpaper. All I need is a reliable pistol. It is clear that you need me as you did when you were younger. I am frightened to the teeth for you both.”

Simon snorted. “What do you think you can do to protect us, Glynnis?”

Ravenna shook her head in warning, but he continued.

“I do not need to worry about you shooting someone in the dark should you be overcome with nerves,” he said, clearly too agitated to realize he had offended an ally.

Aunt Glynnis glowered at him. “I’ll have you know that Primrose and I held the castle against brigands more than once when our men were absent or lying sick. I fought a duel on the stairwell against the suitor who would have forced his attentions on me.”

He swallowed.

“And she won,” Ravenna added, not certain whether Simon or Aunt Glynnis needed her comfort the most. They were afraid for her.

“Neither of you are fighting this battle,” he said, the birthmark on his cheek dark and prominent. “I have no intention of leaving you defenseless. Aunt Glynnis, you are welcome to stay with us. I apologize for my outburst.”