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  Taking a moment to catch her breath, Lady Battenburn surveyed the rumpled bed and the figure sprawled across it. Elizabeth was most certainly present and she was not stirring. Louise's mouth tightened as she surmised Elizabeth had surely taken a sleeping powder. Her eyes fell on the bedside table for supporting evidence but saw only a book and two candlesticks. Odd, that.

  "Elizabeth!"

  Louise gave a start when she heard her husband's voice from the other side of the door. How much had Elizabeth taken to be sleeping through that? "It is all well, Harrison," Louise called to him. "She is merely asleep." Out cold was a more apt description. It occurred to her belatedly that some injury had been done to Elizabeth. She approached the bed to investigate before sending Lord Battenburn on his way.

  Standing at the foot, Louise saw the steady rise and fall of Elizabeth's chest. Even as she watched, one of Elizabeth's feet burrowed under the covers. Satisfied, Louise went to the door. "You can return to your room, Harrison. Nothing untoward has happened to her." She did not offer to open the door for him. "Go on! Have her breakfast attended to."

  Louise smiled to herself as he grumbled some reply. She waited for his footsteps to recede before she looked for the key. Since it was not in the expected place on this side of the door, she made a cursory sweep of the bedchamber and spied it on the vanity. Louise slid the wainscoting panel into its closed position and pushed the vanity back against the wall. She did not, however, return it to its previous place, where it had blocked the hidden entrance. She might have need to use it again and Elizabeth well knew that.

  Louise glanced toward the bed and sighed. She could not remain annoyed with Elizabeth for long. This small act of rebellion was not entirely a bad thing. No one was harmed by it, and it afforded Elizabeth a measure of comfort that she was once again acting independently. "Poor darling," Louise said gently. She inserted the key in the door but did not turn it, preferring to wait for the arrival of the maid.

  Elizabeth pushed at the hair that had fallen over her eyes. She raised the lashes of one when she felt Louise's weight depress the mattress. The tears she had shed served her now. Her eyes were faintly red-rimmed and swollen, and it appeared she was rising from the dregs of sleep. Elizabeth's soft groan only furthered this effect.

  "Louise?"

  Lady Battenburn laid her hand on Elizabeth's shoulder and patted it lightly. "Indeed it is. I have been considerably worried about you. Are you feeling quite the thing?"

  "Tired."

  Louise snorted. "I can see that for myself. Whatever did you take to make you sleep so soundly? You have missed the most incredible goings-on this morning. It is really not to be borne."

  Elizabeth's response was reflexive. "I'm sorry."

  "And I forgive you." Feeling rather magnanimous, Louise offered to help Elizabeth sit up.

  "I can manage," Elizabeth assured her. "I am not so befuddled as all that." She yawned widely, hoping it would make her seem otherwise, and pushed herself up. She leaned against the headboard and took the pillow Louise plumped for her to place behind her back. "Tell me about the goings-on." She rubbed her temples, her eyes darting to the door. "How did you get in, Louise? I thought I locked the door."

  "I came through the wall. Really, Libby, it was very bad of you to block it with the vanity. I had quite a struggle moving it from the opening. And I do not enjoy any time spent on my hands and knees." She paused, considering the import of those words. "That is to say, I do not enjoy just any time spent in that position." The sly slant of her eyes and the inflection in her voice imparted her meaning clearly. She laughed lightly when she saw Elizabeth flush."However do you manage to affect such innocence, m'dear? You are familiar with the beast with two backs, are you not?"

  Elizabeth stared at her hands. Her mouth was dry and she could not have responded to Louise's pointed and ribald humor if she had wanted to.

  Louise patted Elizabeth's knee. "But I digress," she went on blithely. "As I said, I used the passage to arrive when you could not be roused to come to the door. Harrison waited in the hall. I do not believe we attracted attention. What with this morning's trying activities, nearly everyone has returned to the haven of their beds. I considered ringing for a key but decided the other route was faster. You won't block the panel again, will you, dear? As you can see, it was not entirely effective, and it did put me out with you."

  Louise cupped Elizabeth's chin and lifted it. "I would have your promise, Elizabeth."

  Elizabeth nodded.

  "I would have you say it."

  "I promise," she answered dutifully.

  Louise did not pursue any response beyond these two words. She released her hold and stood. "I sent Harrison off to order breakfast for us. I shall tell you everything over toast and hot chocolate." Louise's eyes fell on the overturned vanity stool and she crossed the room to right it. "You have not told me what you took last night," she said.

  Elizabeth did not mistake that the question was without purpose or that it had ever been forgotten. Louise had impeccable timing when it came to interrogation. "A sleeping draught," she said. "I prepared it myself."

  Louise sat on the stool and turned so she faced the mirrored vanity. Beyond the image of herself she could see Elizabeth pulling at the covers. Was that a shawl she had in bed with her? "Perhaps in the future you would let Mrs. Fitz or your personal maid prepare it for you. You appear to have taken too much. There are stories of women who have died from swallowing too strong a dose. Some say it was that way for Mrs. Archer, though it is unclear if it was entirely accidental."

  "I will do as you ask."

  "Will you?" Louise smiled at Elizabeth's reflection. "That is very good of you. There are other consequences besides death, you know. Laudanum has that peculiar quality of making one crave more of it. I do not like to think of you as one of those women who must drink the stuff to stay alive. It is a very sad existence."

  "I believe it is."

  Louise nodded. She turned on the stool and regarded Elizabeth directly."It might be better if I took your powder. Where do you keep it, dear?"

  Elizabeth's heartbeat tripped over itself. "I don't have any here."

  "You don't? Then how—"

  "That is, I used the last of it. So you see, there is no reason to concern yourself. It is only that I misjudged how much remained."

  "Hmmm." Louise was thoughtful. "Well, if you're certain..."

  "I am. Please, I'm feeling no ill effects now."

  "Oh, my dear, that is only because you have not taken a full account of yourself." Her eyes dropped to the bruise on the curve of Elizabeth's neck but did not linger there. Neither did she comment on it, secreting the knowledge away instead. "Your hair is a complete tangle. Your eyes are red. The sheet has impressed its crinkles on your cheek, and I believe that is your shawl twisted in the covers. Did you take a chill last evening? I found it only tolerably cool for sleeping myself."

  Elizabeth tugged at the fine woolen shawl only partially hidden by her blankets. She stared at it as if she had no idea how it had come to be in her bed. "I suppose I did forget to remove it," she said. "I must have fallen asleep while reading."

  Louise's glance swiveled to the night table were Elizabeth's book lay, but she made no comment. She rose to her feet. "Shall I choose something for you to wear?" she asked. "I think I should rather enjoy playing your lady's maid this morning." Without waiting for Elizabeth to reply, Louise went to the dressing room.

  Elizabeth pressed her fingertips to her closed eyes. The stirrings of a headache were very real. She listened to Louise rooting around in the armoire, knowing with certainty that the motive for the search involved something more than finding a morning gown. It was just as well that Northam had a discomfort of cramped spaces and no liking for farce, else Louise would have discovered him. Elizabeth did not permit herself to think ahead to the likely consequences of Lady Battenburn's Eureka!

  Louise appeared in the doorway and held up a lilac gown. "Oh, do not rub your eyes
so. You shall only make them redder. Here, look at this. Chintz is such a lovely fabric, is it not? And I have always admired this scalloped button closure. It sets off a very simple gown. Your modiste is to be commended." Louise looked down at the dress and frowned. "What is this?" She ran her finger over a small area of the bodice and sighed with some agitation. "There is really not enough light here."

  Elizabeth's breath simply remained trapped in her chest as Louise opened the curtains and fastened them with the tiebacks. She almost expected to see Northam's face on the other side of the leaded glass.

  "Oh, bother," Louise said, studying the gown's bodice more closely. "Who can see anything through these smudged windows? I will have to speak to Jennings. There really is no excuse." She flung open the window. "You have need of fresh air, by the look of it. I think a walk in the gardens would be just the thing this afternoon. You can carry that ivory parasol I gave you." She leaned closer to the opening and examined the morning dress again. "It is nothing after all; a mere shadow on the chintz. My, what a glorious view you have here. This is easily one of my favorite rooms." She thrust her head and shoulders out. "Oh, what have we here?"

  Elizabeth tasted blood on her bottom lip. The pain was not enough to make her stop biting it. She required this sharp focus to keep her from making a full confession.

  Louise withdrew from the window, her smile at once cunning and content. She regarded Elizabeth with a great deal of satisfaction. "Lady Powell is taking her constitutional with Mr. Rutherford," she said. "That was my idea, you know. It should easily bring Lord Southerton around."

  * * *

  Lord Southerton knew nothing about Lady Powell's defection. He had only just risen and was applying himself to cracking the crown of a soft-cooked egg. He pulled back the bowl of his spoon, preparing to give the shell a smart thwack, when a scratching at the window diverted him. The spoon flew out of his hand, missed the egg entirely, and skittered across the table. Somewhat annoyed by this, South waved Northam off.

  "Go press your face to someone else's shop window," he said. "I have no intention of sharing my breakfast." It occurred to him that North could not hear him properly but that he would get the idea eventually and move on. South picked up the spoon and considered the matter of his egg again. The scratching was more insistent this time. Southerton sighed, placed the spoon carefully beside his fork, and pushed back his chair. He watched North through the glass with decidedly more amusement than concern. Northam understandably returned his regard with less humor.

  "Oh, very well," Southerton said, rising. "You might have bothered East, you know. He's bound to have been up for hours." He crossed to the window and made a study of the situation. "You'll have to get out of the way. You're on the wrong side of it opening." He watched Northam carefully inch his way clear of the window before he lifted the latch and swung it out. He stuck his head into the opening and looked straight down. "Not a comfortable landing, is it? I make it out to be at least fifty feet and a broken neck."

  "That was my calculation as well," Northam said dryly. "Help me in, will you?"

  Southerton extended a hand, which North caught at the wrist. "Easy," South said. "I've got you." He saw spots of blood on his shirtsleeve when North's fingertips slipped. Southerton put out his other hand, grabbed his friend by the scruff of his jacket, and heaved once, hauling Northam in through the opening with enough strength and momentum to make them both take a spill to the floor.

  They lay still for several moments, breathing hard before carefully disentangling themselves. Southerton looked down at his bloody shirtsleeve. "It's quite ruined."

  "I'll replace it with a half dozen."

  "That's very generous of you." He brushed himself off and stood. "But you'll have to use my shirtmaker. Firth's on Bond Street. No one else cuts the line of them to my liking."

  "Firth's," Northam repeated. He sat up and pushed himself backward so he could rest against the wall under the window. His legs and arms were still trembling from the exertion. He was not at all sure he could stand.

  Southerton eyed his friend critically. "How long since you took your turn at a few rounds in the ring?"

  Northam merely grunted.

  "I thought so." South went to the mahogany highboy on the opposite side of his bedchamber and opened the middle drawer. He riffled through the neat stacks of shirts before he found the exact one he wanted. He began to remove his linen. "I regret letting my valet wander away to whatever part of this damnable place he has his room. I didn't expect to require a change of clothes so soon."

  Northam's voice was dry as dust. "How fortunate you can manage the thing yourself."

  One of South's brows lifted. "I shouldn't adopt that tone if I were you. You don't look as if you can properly defend yourself." He tossed the stained shirt on the bed. "Not that I would land you a facer for something so minor, but still, you cannot count on others being so even of temperament."

  "South." There was a hint of warning in the way Northam said his friend's name.

  And Southerton ignored it. "Hmm?"

  Northam sighed. Southerton could not be ruffled. It was one of the very best things about him. "Nothing."

  Southerton's mouth edged up in a rather ironic smile. "Do you require help getting to your feet?"

  "Yes. But I intend to sit here a while longer."

  "As you wish."

  "Aren't you going to ask me how I came to be at your window?"

  South smoothed the spotlessly clean shirt over his chest. "No. It would be a waste of my breath. You wouldn't tell me." He turned to the cheval glass and adjusted the chitterling until the frill on the neckline lay just so. He glanced at Northam's reflection and caught his friend's rather put upon look. "Oh, very well. It's not as if I haven't sufficient breath to waste." He turned around, faced North, and asked dutifully, "How did you come to be outside my window?"

  "You know I can't tell you."

  South rolled his eyes. "Now that you have proven again how irritatingly discreet you are, I will return to my breakfast." On his way to the table he picked up his discarded shirt from the foot of the bed and tossed it to Northam. "Here, catch. For your hands."

  Northam snatched it out of the air. "Thank you." He saw South wince slightly as he ripped the linen cleanly in two. "A baker's dozen," North said to placate him, more than doubling the promised replacements. "Firth's. I haven't forgotten." He wiped bits of mortar from his palms. Some of it was ground into the pads of his fingers. He would attend to it more carefully later. For now he merely loosely wrapped each hand in a piece of the linen.

  Tipping his chair back on two legs, Southerton watched North fumble with the makeshift bandages. "Shall I ring for someone to find Brill so he can attend you?"

  "No."

  Southerton dropped his chair hard. "Oh, for pity's sake, let me do that for you. You never had any skill in the surgery and you're making a mess of it." The fact that North didn't protest said a great deal to Southerton. He hunkered down beside his friend and indicated that Northam should raise his hands. He unwound the strips and examined North's palms and fingertips for himself. "Christ. What a mess. Give me a moment. I'm going to get the basin."

  "You don't—" He stopped because Southerton was already walking away.

  South carried the bowl and pitcher from the washstand back to Northam's side. He poured water into the bowl and put the bowl on North's lap. "Wash up, and don't be gentle about it."

  North plunged his hands into the bowl. In truth, the cool water felt good on them. It was only when he rubbed them together to remove more of the ground-in mortar that he winced.

  Southerton couldn't quite tamp his grin. "Hands have gotten a little soft, have they?" He held up his own hands in a gesture of surrender when North shot him a sour look. "It's the same with me. Too many gloved functions." Neither of them was sure if he was complaining. "Here. Let me look now." He examined the heels and fingertips and nodded approvingly. "You'll live."

  "Oh, good," Northam said.
"I collect there was some doubt."

  South ignored the sarcasm this time. "Would it be indiscreet of you to reveal how long you attached yourself to that wall?"

  "An hour, I think. Perhaps a bit more. The going was slow."

  "The terrain, my dear North, was vertical. You're not a bat, you know. What in bloody hell were you thinking?"

  "Can't answer that, I'm afraid, circumstances being what they were."

  Southerton shook his head. "I hope she was appreciative of your sacrifice."

  Northam said nothing and gave nothing away.

  Expecting no other end than this one, South did not pursue it. He neatly wrapped North's hands and then removed the basin. "Do you think you were seen?" he asked.

  "I hope not. I certainly didn't notice anyone."

  "Rather difficult for you to do with your nose to the grindstone, as it were."

  North found that he still had the wherewithal to laugh. "Here. Help me up. My sticks are like willow branches."

  Southerton pulled North to his feet."Have you had breakfast?"

  "Um, no."

  "You may as well dine with me, then." He pointed to the Windsor chair at the small table. "Sit. I'll pull this other around." He moved a ladderback chair from the hearth to the table and sat down himself. Taking a blueberry muffin from the silver tray, he cut it in half and spread a dollop of butter on one of the open faces, then handed it to North. "You don't look as if you can manage the thing properly, and you know how I cannot abide poor table manners."

  Since they could both recall the time South had buried his face in a bowl of trifle on a dare from Marchman—and went on to lick the bowl clean—they shared a moment of comfortable laughter.

  "You know," South said, "I don't believe I've eaten trifle since. Mother has it prepared every Christmas for me, unwavering in her conviction that I still like the stuff. And every Christmas I arrange for that trifle bowl to be delivered to Marchman's door."