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  Lady Ballymere gazed earnestly into Lady Ellsworth’s eyes. “I had hoped to inquire of her particular friends—to ask them, you know, if she had said anything to them. She may have told your son John things she would not have said to her mother. You know how these young people are. Once they form intimate friendships, they confide in each other rather than a parent.”

  Lady Ellsworth looked surprised. “Why, you may speak with John if you wish, of course. If he can shed any light on Lady Cynthia’s whereabouts, I am certain he will do so. But I can’t imagine why she would confide in him.”

  Lady Ballymere laughed indulgently. “Oh, come now, Lady Ellsworth. You must have noticed, as I have, the friendship growing between your son and my daughter.”

  Lady Ellsworth looked even more surprised—and not pleasantly. Her husband held her chair for her and she sat, looking as if she did not know what to say. “Thank you, Sir Peter,” she murmured, then lifted troubled eyes to Lady Ballymere. “If you have noticed any sign of close friendship between Lady Cynthia and John, I confess it has escaped me. But I will admit that I have not looked for it, and often one must look closely to perceive such things.”

  Lady Ballymere gave another little trill of laughter. “I have not had to look closely, I promise you, to see the impression your John has made on my daughter. She has expressed to me repeatedly how much she esteems him. In fact, it crossed my mind that—oh! No matter,” she added hastily, pretending to discard what she was about to say.

  Sir Peter was frowning. “What crossed your mind, pray?”

  Lady Ballymere bit her lip in what she hoped was a pretty embarrassment. “Forgive me. I am so distraught this morning, my tongue is running away with me. I should think before I speak. I was about to say something so ridiculous! I was about to tell you that my first thought this morning, when I saw Cynthia’s absence, was that she must be with Mr. Ellsworth. Is that not absurd?”

  Lady Ellsworth’s eyes flashed. “Perfectly absurd.”

  Lady Ballymere spread her hands apologetically. “Do not misunderstand me. I knew it was absurd, the moment it occurred to me. For one thing, neither John nor Cynthia would do anything so improper. So grossly improper. And for another, why should they?” She shook her head, trying to look arch. “One does not steal what one might have for the asking.”

  Lady Ellsworth sat very straight in her chair. “My dear Lady Ballymere, what can you mean?” she exclaimed. “There has been no thought of marriage between Lady Cynthia and John.”

  “Certainly not,” said Lady Ballymere, trying to look shocked. “I did not intend to imply it.”

  “John is far too young to contemplate such a step.”

  “Oh! Well, as to that, I have known many a young man greatly improved by marriage. And apart from his youth, I assure you, I would have no objection to the match. No serious objection, that is. Although—” She shook her head, trying to look firm. “It would be difficult to tolerate a match brought about by such sledgehammer tactics as these.”

  Sir Peter swelled like a toad. Lady Ellsworth looked ready to jump from her chair. The duke and duchess were stiff with disapproval. Lord Grafton turned to his wife. “My dear, may I suggest that this conversation does not concern us?” he said mildly. He rolled his eyes significantly toward their daughters. Jane and Betsy had stopped eating their breakfasts several minutes ago and were hanging on the unfolding drama, agog.

  Lady Grafton bit her lip. “Of course, my dear. Girls! Come along.” A brief silence fell while the marquess and marchioness shepherded their disappointed daughters out of the room.

  Lord Grafton paused in the doorway. “Pray summon me if you require my assistance,” he said dryly. “In searching for Lady Cynthia. Or, of course, for Mr. Ellsworth.” The marquess bowed and departed.

  Lady Ellsworth blanched at these fell words. “Good heavens,” she exclaimed, her voice shaking. “Has everyone run mad this morning? Why look for John? My son has not abducted Lady Cynthia!”

  “Calm yourself, Eunice,” said the duchess soothingly. “No one is suggesting such a thing. Lady Ballymere is overwrought.”

  Lady Ballymere decided to overlook this unflattering characterization of her behavior. It would avail her nothing to antagonize the Chases. “At any rate, this portion of the mystery will be quite easy to solve,” she said brightly. “Where is your son, Lady Ellsworth? I would like to ask him a question or two. He may have some idea that has not occurred to the rest of us.”

  Lady Ellsworth played with the edge of her collar, looking uneasy. “I have not seen John this morning.”

  It was exactly the answer Lady Ballymere was expecting, but she pasted a look of astonishment and disquiet on her face. “My word! Can it be possible? Sir Peter, have you seen your son?”

  Sir Peter was looking extremely disturbed. “No,” he said bluntly. “But, my dear Lady Ballymere, we must not jump to conclusions.”

  She naturally ignored this piece of advice. Lady Ballymere flew out of her chair and paced the room, her voice rising to a pitch of near-hysteria. “We must find him! Send for his manservant—send for someone! Someone must know where he is. Oh, I shall go mad! Both of them missing—Sir Peter, I beg you—” She faced him, clasping her hands at her bosom. “For pity’s sake, set my heart at rest! If anything has happened—if my daughter’s honor has been compromised—”

  “Preposterous!” cried Lady Ellsworth.

  Sir Peter had risen when Lady Ballymere did. “Now, now,” he said testily, “you are fretting yourself to flinders over nothing, Lady Ballymere. Whatever has happened here, whatever the answer to this mystery may be, I promise you that John has not compromised your daughter. My son absolutely, positively, would not do such a thing.”

  She flung out her hand toward the duke. “Your Grace,” she said piteously. “I appeal to you!”

  A formidable frown had gathered on the duke’s features. “I find this entire scene highly distasteful,” he said acidly. “But I assure you, Lady Ballymere, if anything untoward has occurred—which I sincerely doubt!—justice will be done. Loose behavior will not be tolerated under any roof of mine.”

  The duchess’s mild voice interjected, “I cannot think you risk anything, Sir Peter, in making the promise Lady Ballymere desires to hear.”

  “Oh, yes, yes, of course,” said Sir Peter hastily. “For heaven’s sake, madam, sit you down. This will all come to nothing, mark my words. But if you must have my assurance, you have it. My son will do the right thing, never you fear.”

  Outwardly pathetic but inwardly rejoicing, Lady Ballymere sank back into her chair. “Thank you, Sir Peter,” she said faintly. “I am sorry to be such a ninny. I should not have cast aspersions on your son’s character. Of course he will do the right thing—should it be necessary.”

  Sir Peter snorted under his breath, but sat back down. “I make every allowance for your feelings, Lady Ballymere,” he said grudgingly. “You are understandably overset by your daughter’s disappearance. But I take leave to tell you, you have worked up a great lather with very little cause.”

  The duchess rang the little bell beside her plate. “I shall ask Cummings to ascertain Mr. Ellsworth’s whereabouts,” she said calmly. “We must put that portion of Lady Ballymere’s anxieties to rest.”

  “An excellent idea,” said Lady Ellsworth stiffly. “I shall be happy to relieve your mind, my lady, regarding my son’s complicity in Lady Cynthia’s little adventure. For I am quite certain he had nothing to do with it.”

  Lady Ballymere reminded herself that she had Sir Peter’s promise, and the duke and duchess as witnesses to it. She could now afford to be charitable. She smiled weakly, therefore, and waved her hand in a gesture of apology. “I am so sorry, my dear Lady Ellsworth, to have offended you. Indeed, I hope you may be right. I believe you are right. Your John is an excellent young man in every way. Forgive me. I am...” She placed her hand over her mouth as if stifling a sob. “Clutching at straws.” She shook her head, as if refusing to cry. “
I am hoping against hope,” she said tragically, “that my poor Cynthia has fallen into such good hands. But I fear you are right, and she is not with your son.”

  It was impossible for her to weep. With victory at hand, she was far too excited. But she covered her eyes with her handkerchief, uttering broken apologies, and then pretended to bravely master her emotions. The servants were duly dispatched to find Mr. Ellsworth, and the party fell silent as they waited. Lady Ballymere sipped nervously at a cup of tea. Lady Ellsworth poked listlessly at a plate of buttered eggs, but did not consume anything. Sir Peter ate his way methodically through a slice of ham, but the worry on his face seemed to indicate that he was not enjoying it. The duke and duchess were composed, as always, but the duke had a grim look about his mouth. Only the duchess seemed her normal, unruffled self.

  Quick footsteps sounded in the hall. The door opened. Lady Ballymere glanced up, her sense of anticipation so keen she could hear the blood roaring in her ears. Whatever she was expecting, however, it was not this: Mr. Ellsworth entered, looking both flustered and harassed, and alone. Alone! Worse, he was wearing morning dress.

  What could it mean? How was it possible? He had somehow found an opportunity to change his clothing. Where was Cynthia? Fear chilled Lady Ballymere’s heart. She did not know what, or how, but something had gone terribly wrong.

  All this she perceived in a flash. Mr. Ellsworth halted just inside the door, bowing in a perfunctory, distracted way to the assembled company. “Your Grace,” he intoned. “My lord duke. Mother. Father. Lady Ballymere. You—you sent for me, Your Grace?” He looked apprehensive. “Is something amiss?”

  “Come in, John,” said the duke politely. “It seems that Lady Ballymere has a question or two to put to you.”

  “Lady Ballymere?” Mr. Ellsworth turned to her, astonishment writ large across his face. “I beg your pardon,” he stammered, and bowed again. “I’ll answer anything you like, of course, my lady. Anything in my power.”

  He was plainly at a loss. Lady Ballymere, for her part, had been shocked into silence. She sat, stunned, and tried to think, while Sir Peter gave his son a terse outline of what had happened this morning. At the end of his brief recital, Mr. Ellsworth turned back to Lady Ballymere, horror and concern in every line of his honest, simple face.

  “Missing, by Jove! Bless my soul, madam, you must be quite distraught. What can I do for you, if you please? Pray tell me at once. I daresay there’s no time to be lost. We must find Lady Cynthia.”

  Lady Ballymere stared at him, amazed. What an actor! What a consummate actor! Who would have thought that John Ellsworth, of all men, would be able to pull off such a deception? Anyone would believe, looking at him, that his astonishment and concern were absolutely genuine! That he had no idea where Cynthia was, or what had happened to her! The villain.

  “Thank you, Mr. Ellsworth,” she said coldly. “Perhaps you would be good enough to tell me where you were, just now.”

  “I was visiting Lady Hannah,” he replied promptly. “She is in the morning room.” He turned to the duchess. “You’ll be glad to hear, Your Grace, that she is much improved this morning. I urged her most strenuously to rest for a day or two, you know, and told her she should not come down to breakfast. She can easily have something sent up on a tray. In fact, I told her I would bring it to her with my own hands, just to ensure that all was done right. I think she will take my advice. She—”

  “Mr. Ellsworth,” snapped Lady Ballymere. “If you please! When did you last see my daughter?” She narrowed her eyes, looking very hard at him. “And where?” she added, daring him to lie.

  “Well, let me see.” He puffed his cheeks as if thinking hard. “Was it at dinner last night? Yes, I believe it was. I saw her at dinner.”

  Lady Ballymere almost gasped aloud at this piece of effrontery. Lies! Bald-faced lies! But Mr. Ellsworth was continuing, seeming oblivious to her gathering fury.

  “And after dinner, you know, the ladies retired to the drawing room. I drank a glass of port and then, after a bit, I believe I went back to the library, to see Lady Hannah. And then I escorted Hannah up to—”

  He broke off, a peculiar expression on his face. “By Jove. There she is,” he said, pointing past Lady Ballymere’s head.

  What game was this? Lady Ballymere’s back was to the French windows that opened onto the lawn. She turned, as did everyone in the room, and stared in disbelief through the glass-paned doors. She immediately saw what Mr. Ellsworth saw, but her mind rejected it as impossible. Shock immobilized her, while ice water seemed to rush in her veins. She could not make sense of the picture before her. She wondered, detachedly, whether she was about to faint.

  Two figures were unhurriedly crossing the lawn, coming up from the gardens toward the breakfast room. One was Cynthia, clad in last night’s dinner dress and looking decidedly disheveled. Her hair had lost most of its pins and tumbled untidily down her back in a shining river of gold. She was leaning, in a highly suggestive way, upon the arm of her companion.

  Mr. Whittaker looked nearly as disheveled as she. His cravat was missing, which left his shirt—sadly crushed—open at the neck. As they ambled in a leisurely way across the lawn, Mr. Whittaker steadied Cynthia’s steps with his right arm. He had a greatcoat, a muffler, a strip of creased linen that appeared to be his missing cravat, and Cynthia’s cloak thrown over his left arm. Cynthia was speaking, smiling up at Mr. Whittaker in an adoring sort of way, and Mr. Whittaker, looking as besotted as she, was bending his head to catch her words.

  The picture they presented was... loverlike. There was really no room for interpretation; no other gloss she could put on what she saw. This inescapable, unwelcome truth stared Lady Ballymere in the face.

  Her hopes and dreams were crashing down before her eyes. Cynthia’s marriage to John Ellsworth, an outcome that had seemed all but certain just minutes ago, was suddenly slipping into improbability. How had it happened? Bewilderment rose in her, together with panic.

  She discovered that, without realizing it, she had risen to her feet. With her napkin still clutched in her suddenly bloodless fingers, she watched as the young couple approached. Her mind was in chaos, frantic with disbelief. There must be some way to salvage the situation. There must be.

  When Cynthia and Mr. Whittaker stepped through the French windows and into the breakfast room, and Cynthia saw her mother’s face, at least she had the grace to blush. Still, she continued to cling to Mr. Whittaker in a manner that struck Lady Ballymere as nothing short of shameless.

  “Good morning,” said Mr. Whittaker, with a breezy cheerfulness that grated on Lady Ballymere’s ear. He bowed to the room. “Lovely weather this morning,” he added.

  The imp! He was enjoying the astonished stares, the surprise and disapproval, the rampant curiosity on every face! This, to Lady Ballymere’s mind, was taking a sense of humor much, much too far.

  She was too infuriated to speak. Luckily, the duke seemed to share her distaste for Mr. Whittaker’s impudence. He had risen to his feet at the head of the table, and when he spoke, his voice dripped acid. “Do come in, Mr. Whittaker. Lady Cynthia, we have suffered a great deal of anxiety on your behalf this morning.”

  Cynthia’s blush intensified. To her mother’s annoyance, however, she clung even closer to Mr. Whittaker, as if seeking his protection. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace,” she said humbly. “I did not intend to alarm anyone.”

  “Where have you been, child?” asked the duchess.

  Cynthia lifted her chin. “I have been in the orangery,” she replied composedly.

  “The orangery? The deuce you say!” exclaimed Mr. Ellsworth. “Why, that’s—” He seemed to catch the gimlet glare leveled at him by Mr. Whittaker, and broke off in confusion, clearing his throat.

  Mr. Ellsworth was turning very red. The dastard! Why would he look so embarrassed, were he not guilty? He was guilty. She knew he was! Yet somehow, some way, he had managed to wriggle free of the trap she had so carefully set. Lady Ba
llymere felt her nails dig painfully into her palms as hot rage swept through her, sickening her. She rounded on him, livid.

  “Pray finish your sentence,” she hissed. “You were about to say, were you not, that the orangery is where you went to meet Lady Cynthia last night. Well?” Her voice rose to a challenging pitch. “Well, sir? What have you to say for yourself?”

  Mr. Ellsworth’s eyes looked ready to pop from his head. “I?” he gasped. “Meet Lady Cynthia? Good heavens, madam. No!” He shook his head so earnestly that his hair came dislodged and flopped across his brow. “Why, it never entered my head—bless me! Meet Lady Cynthia? Good God!”

  “How dare you deny it?” she cried, nearly hysterical. “I saw you!”

  The instant the words were out of her mouth, she realized she had given herself away. She had revealed, without thinking, that she had known all along where Cynthia was—and had believed Mr. Ellsworth to be with her.

  An electric silence fell. All eyes were on her—accusing, condemning, horrified. Lady Ballymere sank abruptly back into her chair, pressing her napkin tightly to her mouth. For a moment, she was sure she was about to faint dead away. Then she wished she would faint. It would be a huge relief to faint. But apparently a swoon could not be had for the asking. She did not faint.

  Derek Whittaker stepped forward, his arm around Cynthia. “It was I whom you saw, Lady Ballymere,” he said quietly. “It was I who met your daughter in the orangery.”

  Confusion swirled in her brain, but she said nothing. She was afraid to speak, for fear she would say something dreadful again. What could she say? She could not ask how, or why, Mr. Whittaker had known Cynthia would be there. Had Mr. Ellsworth told him? It was impossible to understand, but she could not ask questions without exposing herself further. But Mr. Whittaker was speaking again.

  “Lady Cynthia and I might have met for a few minutes only. It’s hard to know, now, what would have happened. But when we tried the door, we discovered it was locked.” He looked solemnly around the room. “Someone locked us in.”