Chapter Two

 

Daphne walked into the office of Miss Oakswine’s solicitor, Mr. Yarlett, with her lady’s maid, Biggs. Daphne assumed she had been asked to call on him in order to pay Miss Oakswine’s wages, current to the date of her death.

She managed a smile at the clerk behind the counter. “I am Miss Kendall, and I have an appointment to see Mr. Yarlett.”

“Yes, miss. I’ll let him know you’re here,” the young man said, and scrambled away.

Daphne seated herself on a bench and smoothed the folds of her black gown. She had decided two weeks of wearing mourning clothes out of respect for Miss Oakswine would be proper. A nagging guilt that she should have been kinder to the old lady had disturbed her since that fateful night at Astley’s.

She was brought out of these reflections when an elderly man of rotund proportions appeared before her and extended his hand. “Miss Kendall, I am Phineas Yarlett. Thank you for coming.”

“You are most welcome, Mr. Yarlett. I am happy to perform any final duties necessary as Miss Oakswine’s last employer,” Daphne assured him.

Mr. Yarlett was past the age of retirement, and wore the air of one who could no longer be surprised by the actions of his fellow humans. He led her courteously into his office and motioned to a comfortable-looking chair across from his desk.

Daphne declined his offer of tea and noticed a strongbox sat on the desk between them. After Miss Oakswine’s demise, Daphne had been loath to go through her companion’s belongings, a task she had found terribly painful after her parents’ deaths, and so instead had instructed one of the maids to perform the chore. She hoped all of Miss Oakswine’s things were in order.

Mr. Yarlett sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of him. He eyed her over his spectacles. “Miss Kendall, the matter of Miss Oakswine’s wages is not my uppermost concern. I have, however, prepared an accounting of the wages due,” he said, and passed her some papers.

Daphne folded them and tucked them into her reticule. Her brows came together. “I am afraid I do not understand. If the matter of the wages is not why I have been summoned, then what can I do?”

Mr. Yarlett leaned forward and opened the strongbox. He began lifting items out and spreading them across the desk. Daphne’s eyes widened in shock as she gazed upon the objects.

There was a small miniature of her papa she believed she had carelessly misplaced months ago. Then, a tiny, jewel-encrusted vinaigrette—her mama’s favorite—followed. A silver thimble Mama had given her when, as a child, she had first learned to sew added to the collection. While the items might not hold a large monetary value, they were priceless in Daphne’s heart.

“But, how ... why ... did she take these things from me?” Daphne stammered, unable to comprehend.

Mr. Yarlett heaved a weary sigh. “They were among her possessions. I was correct, then, when I judged these things belonged to you?”

Daphne nodded, totally baffled.

“Miss Kendall, you are young,” Mr. Yarlett said kindly. “When you get to be my age, you will realize there are people in this world who do hurtful things out of petty spite. It appears Miss Oakswine was one of them.”

“I cannot understand, Mr. Yarlett. I thought Miss Oakswine quite comfortable in her circumstances. I cannot imagine what I might have done to so deeply offend her that she would stoop to st-stealing from me ... oh, it is incomprehensible.”

Mr. Yarlett adjusted his spectacles. “People of Miss Oakswine’s ilk need no reason for the things they do other man ones they have contrived in their own heads. However, I fear there is worse.” From the strongbox, he removed a stack of money. “Five thousand pounds. It was found along with this diary.”

Daphne could not suppress a gasp. “That is not my money, I am certain. Although where Miss Oakswine could possibly have obtained such a sum, I cannot imagine.” She raised a hand to her throat as Mr. Yarlett reached into the strongbox once again and pulled out a thick, yellowed journal.

“Well, it seems Miss Oakswine took her sister’s dowry, which was twenty-five hundred pounds, and added it to her own. She apparently had a vehement hatred of men, had no intention of ever marrying, and did not want her sister to marry, either. Not that Miss Oakswine was overly fond of her sister. It seems to have been more a matter of principle. It is all spelled out in her own handwriting in this diary.”

Daphne’s mind struggled to assimilate this startling information. She remembered that Miss Oakswine did indeed find all men dreadful. Many was the time her companion had preached the evils of men to her, and she had often discouraged her from marrying. But for Miss Oakswine to force her views on another by making it difficult, if not impossible, for her very own sister to marry was shocking.

Mr. Yarlett’s face held an expression of concern. “Are you sure you do not want a cup of tea?”

“No, I thank you.” Daphne felt ill from the morning’s revelations and only wanted to return home to try to sort out her feelings. “Whatever happened to Miss Oakswine’s sister? She never mentioned her to me.”

Mr. Yarlett shook his head. “You do not want to know, Miss Kendall.”

“On the contrary, sir, I need to know in order to make sense of all this.” Daphne gazed at him steadily.

Mr. Yarlett seemed to take her measure and gave a brief nod. “According to an entry in the diary about five years ago, the lady took her own life after living as a poor relation in her brother’s house.”

Daphne felt numb. She stared at her lap in silence.

“I shall not keep you, Miss Kendall,” Mr. Yarlett said at length. He wrapped the miniature, the vinaigrette, and the thimble in a cloth, and handed them to her. “I am happy to return your things to you. I have contacted a Mr. Jonas Oakswine, who is Miss Oakswine’s deceased brother’s son and would be her next of kin. Ironic, is it not, that the money will go to a man? I feel sure Miss Oakswine would not approve, but as she died without a will, there is no choice.”

Daphne rose. “Thank you, Mr. Yarlett. I shall settle the matter of the wages tomorrow. Please let me know if there is anything else.”

She walked out of the office in a daze. She managed a weak smile for the benefit of her waiting lady’s maid.

“Is everything all right. Miss Kendall? You look as if you have seen a ghost,” Biggs inquired.

“Well, I have not done anything so nonsensical, Biggs,” Daphne said lightly. “Only let us go home. I confess I am out of frame.”

“Yes, miss.”

They walked out to the street, where Daphne’s carriage awaited. “And, Biggs, I shall lie down for a while, and when I get up, I shall wear the apple-green muslin. You may put away my black dresses.”

Biggs nodded her approval. “Very good, miss.”

* * * *

With Miss Oakswine safely dead, Miss Daphne Kendall was on her own.

It was a circumstance that could not last long if she wanted to be received anywhere in Society. Unmarried females simply did not live alone.

A week after her upsetting visit with Mr. Yarlett, the task of finding a new companion loomed large in Daphne’s mind. She went for a walk in Hyde Park near the Serpentine River to consider her situation. It was early morning, so none of the fashionables were out of their beds yet, much less in the Park.

There was a chill in the air, but the sun shone down on the water. One of her footmen, James, limped along a little behind Daphne. His leg had been injured while he was fighting the French the previous year. He was devoted to his mistress, as she had been the only one to hire a footman with a deformed leg.

The sounds of excited barking broke the quiet of the morning. The three dogs Daphne had acquired since Miss Oak-swine’s death cavorted at her side. Their happiness at being loved and well fed for the first time in their young lives knew no bounds.

“Folly! Come away from the water!” Daphne cried, exasperated. The shaggy brown dog obeyed, but not before scampering through the edge of the river, slipping on a stick, and falling face first into the mud.

James covered a guffaw with a cough.

Daphne sighed. Folly was a bit clumsy, but he would outgrow it. Hopefully.

On the way home from Miss Oakswine’s funeral, which no one other than Daphne had attended, she had rescued Folly from a club-wielding merchant. The man had been angered when the dog had crashed into the merchant’s display of oranges, overturning the fruit into the street, much to the delight of the eager street urchins, who made off with it.

Just now Folly shook himself violently, spraying mud and water.

Far enough away to escape damage to her blue-and-white-striped morning gown, Daphne chuckled at Folly and then gazed down at the sweet-natured black dog that walked serenely at her side. No ill-considered romps for Holly! Her size—she came up to Daphne’s waist when sitting—belied her calm, gentle character.

Up ahead, the third dog, Jolly, raced through the Park. Jolly was white with a few black patches, one at a crazy tilt over his right eye. He was much smaller and chubbier than the other two canines, a fact that did not dim his happy outlook on life. His long pink tongue hung out as he ran to greet an older lady who sat alone on a bench.

Daphne quickened her pace to catch up with the scamp before he frightened the woman. Her concern proved to be unwarranted.

“God-a-mercy! What a delightful doggie! Only mark the imp of mischief behind those eyes. A court jester in a former life, no doubt,” the lady pronounced cheerfully. She leaned forward and stroked Jolly’s head, much to his gratification.

Relieved at not receiving a scold for Jolly’s lack of manners, Daphne overlooked the woman’s odd remark about the dog having a former life. “Oh, Ma’am, I am glad you are not disturbed by him. Jolly can be too lively at times, I fear.” Daphne noticed the way the lady’s gloved fingers rubbed behind Jolly’s ears just the way he liked.

“Too lively? Fudge! Why, he is full of life, as he ought to be,” the lady declared.

Daphne smiled. How pleasant it was to be in the company of someone who appreciated animals as she did. She stared at the woman curiously. Her light brown hair was streaked with gray, and Daphne placed her age past fifty. Wrinkles creased the skin around her eyes, but her complexion was clear and her cheeks a delicate shade of peach. Dressed in a plain gown of a dark blue color, with a shawl that had seen better days, the lady might have been a governess or a genteel lady fallen on hard times.

The woman dropped her hand from Jolly’s head, reached over and gave Holly a thorough pat, and then glanced around the Park a bit nervously.

Discerning her unease, James moved away to stand under a nearby tree.

The woman lowered her voice and confided, “I am Miss Leonie Shelby, lately governess to the Duchess of Welbourne’s two brats.”

Daphne was startled by the lady’s sudden air of subterfuge and at hearing the answers to the very questions which were running around in her mind. “I beg your pardon?”

The woman’s blue eyes twinkled, and Daphne was struck by the kindness they held, a kindness she had not seen in what suddenly seemed like years.

“I suppose I should not have called the children that. But, my dear, the pair of them were horridly dull. I know it is hard to believe that of any child, but they both suffered from an acute lack of imagination. Deplorable!”

Daphne blinked, then nodded her head in what she hoped was an understanding gesture.

Miss Shelby continued, “But I shall have to deal with them no more. The duchess’s scapegrace nephew, Lord Guy, took it upon himself to steal a carved ivory figure of a cat from Her Grace’s extensive ivory collection and foist the blame onto me. Why, I was dismissed without a character—”

Here Miss Shelby interrupted herself anxiously. “Heavens, I am rambling on, and you must only be wishing for a rest. Please sit down, dear child, and bear me company. What is your big black dog’s name?”

Daphne’s head was reeling with the intelligence imparted by Miss Shelby. How dare a peer of the realm blame this sweet lady for his transgressions, knowing she would be cast out on the street? To be turned off without a reference! How dreadful.

Daphne’s tone was tender. She would go slowly and see if she might be of assistance to the lady. “Forgive me for not introducing myself and Holly, Miss Shelby,” she said seating herself on the bench. “I am Miss Daphne Kendall of Clarges Street. In addition to Jolly and Holly, I have a dog named Folly, who is running about somewhere.” Daphne bit her lip and hoped Folly was not getting into any more scrapes.

Miss Shelby clapped her hands with glee. “How charming! We always kept pet dogs at the vicarage when I was growing up. Animals can be such a comfort when one is alone.”

“You had no brothers or sisters, then?”

Miss Shelby laughed softly. “Oh, my, yes. But you see, I was always deemed different from them, and it is human nature to distrust what is unlike one’s self.”

“Indeed,” Daphne replied distractedly as she noticed a portmanteau was tucked under the bench at Miss Shelby’s feet.

Holly and Jolly lay down nearby, tired from the morning’s exertions. Folly was still not in sight.

Daphne sat back on the bench, her mind adding up the facts and coming to the conclusion that Miss Shelby was in dire need of help.

She studied Miss Shelby closely. She dismissed as ridiculous any notion that the woman was capable of stealing. There was perhaps something singular about the lady, but to her immense credit in Daphne’s copybook, she appeared to love animals.

Might Miss Shelby accept a position as companion to her? What a difference she would be from Miss Oakswine, Daphne thought, and immediately chided herself for thinking ill of the dead.

On the chance she might be mistaken as to Miss Shelby’s bleak prospects. Daphne posed an innocent question. “Miss Shelby, would you give me your direction? I could send word the next time the dogs and I will be in the Park, and mayhaps we might meet you here.”

All Miss Shelby’s composure fled, and she burst into tears. “I have nowhere to go,” she sobbed. “I am fleeing the Bow Street Runners!”

Daphne felt a frisson of alarm, but calmly fished in her reticule for a handkerchief. “I am sure it cannot be as bad as that. Are you saying the Duchess reported you as a thief to the authorities?” She handed the lacy scrap to Miss Shelby and watched as the lady gently dried her tears.

Miss Shelby nodded her head emphatically. “Her Grace was very angry. She summoned a man to the house—I did not hear his name, hiding as I was behind the drawing room door—but he was an official of some sort. I assure you, Miss Kendall, I am bound to hang at Newgate. Oh, the jeering crowds, the jailer marching me to the hanging post, the feel of the rough rope going around my neck—”

“Miss Shelby!” Daphne exclaimed, her heart twisting in pain at the woman’s plight.

At that moment the long-absent Folly raced into view, a gentleman’s beaver hat clamped in his jaws. Both dog and hat were wet and mud-stained. Behind him, two men followed on horseback.

Daphne shot to her feet. “Folly! What have you done?”

“I believe I can answer that question, Miss Kendall.”

Daphne looked up to face a hatless Lord Ravenswood. He was seated on a fine chestnut horse, and his manservant, Eugene, rode beside him.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Daphne dropped a curtsy and murmured a fruitless prayer that she had entered a dream. For some puzzling reason, she wished the Earl of Ravenswood to look upon her with favor, and this was not the situation in which she might achieve that aim. “Good morning, my lord. May I present Miss Shelby?”

The earl gave a brief nod of his head. Eugene smiled. Miss Shelby rose from the bench, returned Eugene’s smile, and dropped into a deep curtsy for Lord Ravenswood.

His lordship was not appeased. “Is that your canine, Miss Kendall?”

Daphne glanced at Folly. The dog had the grace to duck his head and assume a shameful look. As shameful as he could manage with a mouthful of beaver hat.

“Yes, my lord,” Daphne answered in a voice filled with suppressed laughter.

Lord Ravenswood eyed her sternly. “I was enjoying a refreshing ride when that animal ran across my path, startling my horse, which reared in fright. My hat fell to the ground. Before I could dismount and retrieve it, that cursed mongrel snatched it up and ran off”

“I am sorry,” Daphne managed, all her efforts concentrated on maintaining a somber expression despite the picture Lord Ravenswood had painted of the morning’s mishap. His lordship would not be amused if she started to laugh.

Instead she approached Folly and attempted to remove the hat from his mouth. A low growl emitted from the dog’s throat. “Oh, dear.”

“Here, allow me to help,” Miss Shelby said, reaching a hand down to pat Folly on the head. “Young man, you have done wrong. This is no May game. This is a gentleman’s hat. We must return it to him at once.”

To Daphne’s relief, Folly obediently dropped the hat into Miss Shelby’s waiting hand. He then trotted off to join Holly and Jolly, who had been watching the proceedings with interest.

Eugene favored Miss Shelby with another smile. “Only one with a kind soul has the power to command animals with merely the tone of their voice.”

The peach color in Miss Shelby’s cheeks intensified.

Lord Ravenswood looked askance at his servant.

Daphne took the hat from Miss Shelby’s hands and stepped toward his lordship. She ineffectively brushed it off, for it was quite ruined, and offered it to him.

His fingers touched hers as he accepted it, and Daphne felt heat rush up her arm at the contact.

Lord Ravenswood did not appear to be affected. His dark eyes fixed on hers, and he said, “I hope. Miss Kendall, that we are not destined to be embroiled in contretemps involving animals at our every meeting.”

Daphne pursed her lips at this reproof, then drew a deep breath. She found she did not like having to look up at him as he sat on his horse. “How is Mihos, my lord?”

“He enjoys renewed health,” the earl answered tersely.

Eugene nodded his turbaned head. “Mihos has taken a liking to my master and has refused to be confined to the kitchen. He follows him everywhere in the house—like a shadow—and cries when Lord Ravenswood goes out. Always, he is at the door waiting when we return.”

Now Daphne could not stop a grin from spreading across her face. It grew even wider when the earl twisted in his saddle to bestow a glare on his servant.

Returning his gaze to Daphne, the earl said coolly, “I shall call on you, as I promised, and bring the cat. By the way, my condolences on the loss of Miss Oakswine.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Daphne murmured.

Eugene’s fingers tightened on the reins of his horse. “A terrible accident. I have said many prayers for her soul.”

Daphne noted his distress and wondered at it. “You are considerate to do so, Eugene. And, my lord, I shall look forward to seeing Mihos again. Please come one day soon.”

The earl stared down at her for a moment and then nodded. He and Eugene moved away to resume their ride.

Miss Shelby eyed her new young friend with interest. “What a handsome man Lord Ravenswood is. Miss Kendall.”

To her dismay, Daphne found she had been staring off into the distance where the earl and Eugene had ridden. “Yes, he helped me rescue a cat at Astley’s Royal Amphitheatre earlier this week. But, come, you must call me Daphne, and with your permission, I shall call you Leonie.”

At Miss Shelby’s nod of agreement, Daphne continued. “You might have heard the earl’s comment on the loss of Miss Oakswine. She was my companion, and I have not yet replaced her. I wonder, Miss Shel—Leonie, if you would consider coming to me.”

Miss Shelby’s eyes grew suspiciously moist. She looked into Daphne’s light green eyes and said firmly, “I knew I was called to the Park this morning for a reason.”

Before Daphne could question this odd response, Miss Shelby said, “I want you to know I have never stolen anything in my life.”

“Silly. Of course I know that.” Daphne reached out and touched Miss Shelby’s arm. “Tell me, how can I alone possibly be expected to look after these three dogs, one of whom is quite a disgrace,” she said glancing briefly at Folly, who hung his head, “without your expert help?”

Miss Shelby’s expression lightened. “Thank you, my dear, I would be grateful for the position.” She tugged her shawl tighter about her shoulders and reached down to pick up her portmanteau, but James was there before her.

Miss Shelby smiled her thanks at the footman and returned her attention to Daphne. “I believe Holly might have been a lady-in-waiting to a French queen in a former life, but Folly ... hmmm, I shall have to give his other incarnations some thought.”

Daphne chuckled, but was not really paying attention to Miss Shelby’s nonsense about former lives. Her thoughts had strayed back to the moment when Lord Ravenswood’s fingers had touched hers, and the warm feeling that touch had evoked.

And he would be calling on her. Daphne wished the time would hurry past until she saw him again.

* * * *

She did not have long to wait.

Daphne and Miss Shelby spent the rest of the day getting to know one another better, while they settled Miss Shelby into a sunny room down the hall from Daphne’s bedchamber.

Daphne knew her decision to bring Miss Shelby home as her companion had been impulsive but, in her opinion, justified. A more amiable female she had yet to find since Mama’s death. And Miss Shelby’s loving nature acted like a balm on Daphne’s self-esteem, which had been wounded over the past three years by Miss Oakswine’s constant criticism.

If Miss Shelby had some odd views on past lives and what she called the Spirit World, well, Daphne was willing to tolerate it. After all, some people would call her own desire to help stray animals peculiar.

In Miss Shelby’s opinion, Daphne was nothing short of an angel of mercy. The girl had earned her unerring loyalty, Miss Shelby going so far as to say dramatically, “I would lay down my life for you, my dear, and be glad of it.”

The next afternoon the ladies were seated comfortably in front of a fire in the drawing room when Daphne’s butler, Cramble, announced the Earl of Ravenswood.

Daphne put away the piece of stitchery she had been toiling over. Miss Shelby, who judged all needlework except dressmaking a waste of time, placed the book she had been reading, The Planets and You, on a small satinwood table next to where she was seated on the sofa. She turned about and gazed eagerly toward the door.

The tall, elegant figure of the earl entered the room, and Daphne could only admire his masculine appearance. His indigo blue coat sat on his shoulders without a wrinkle. Buff-colored pantaloons molded his legs and disappeared into Hessian boots that were shined to look like black glass. His cravat rose in stiff folds above his white waistcoat.

He handed his hat—a new one, no doubt—and stick to Cramble, but as the elderly butler had been nearly blind when Daphne hired him, he saw only the hat, which he accepted. To Lord Ravenswood’s credit, he said nothing, retaining the stick and merely advancing with Eugene behind him.

Unfortunately, as Cramble was exiting the room, he jostled the wicker basket that Eugene carried, resulting in the company being treated to an angry, high-pitched “Grraow!”

“My deepest apologies, my lord, did I step on your toe?” the butler asked his lordship.

Daphne’s hand flew to her mouth to stop a giggle from escaping. Miss Shelby and Eugene shared a smile.

“‘Twas nothing,” Lord Ravenswood said, dismissing the servant’s concern. He bowed low to the ladies.

“Cramble, please have one of the maids bring fresh tea,” Daphne said to the servant. Then she turned to the earl. “Do be seated, my lord.”

Anthony studied the inviting room. It was done in rich, dark green with cream-colored wallpaper. Pretty pieces of furniture were placed more for comfort than style, and the room was strewn with books, magazines, and bowls of flowers.

Making sure to wait until the butler had closed the double doors, Anthony sat on a green satin chair next to a matching one where Miss Kendall was seated, and motioned for Eugene to open the lid of the basket. “Here is your cat, Miss Kendall.”

Mihos slowly raised his striped head from the basket and gazed at his surroundings. Upon seeing the earl, he promptly jumped out of the wicker container to the floor, and then, with a great leap, flew into Lord Ravenswood’s lap.

Anthony was seized with a desire to order the cat back into the basket until he heard Miss Kendall’s musical laugh ring out.

“Did you see that? He flew across to you! Oh, my lord, I would not say he was my cat. Indeed, he seems much attached to you.”

“Grraow,” agreed Mihos. He raised a paw to the earl’s chin.

“I suppose you are correct, Miss Kendall,” Anthony agreed grudgingly. He patted the cat’s head awkwardly. Every time Mihos stretched a paw toward his face, Anthony was convinced it was to claw his nose off. As yet, though, the cat had only been affectionate. “And he is quite the acrobat. I am persuaded that Mr. Cuddlipp did not understand the cat’s true value by keeping him locked in a cage.”

“He appears the picture of health, my lord, and does seem rather agile,” Daphne said, watching with approval as Lord Ravenswood handled the cat.

“Yes, you could say that.” The cursed animal had hardly awarded him a moment’s peace since taking over the household. Always “flying” from place to place and wanting to be in his lap, atop his desk, or worst of all, draped about his shoulders. And while Anthony assured himself he would never change his mind regarding felines, he supposed Mihos must be tolerated.

Feeling seven kinds of a fool, he stroked the cat’s striped fur, aware of Miss Kendall’s scrutiny. “He would not get along well with your dogs, so I am forced to house him.”

Miss Shelby said, “You should feel honored, Lord Ravenswood, that the cat has chosen you as his person. Daphne told me the story of how you rescued him at Astley’s.”

Anthony eyed the woman curiously. It seemed she was Miss Oakswine’s replacement as Miss Kendall’s companion. She appeared foolish, but harmless, which was more than could be said for her predecessor. “What can you mean, the cat chose me? I assure you, he was in no position to choose anything, being at death’s door.”

Eugene spoke up from his position behind the earl’s chair. “Master, a cat belongs only to himself. He chooses to share his life with a human so that he may have his basic needs insured.”

Miss Shelby nodded her head adamantly. “How true, Eugene. I can see what would have happened had Lord Ravenswood not saved Mihos.”

At this point her eyes grew dreamy, and her voice became impassioned. “That nasty-sounding Mr. Cuddlipp would not have taken proper care of him. Mihos would have grown thinner, feebler, and less likely to hold the attentions of the patrons of Astley’s. One day, in a fit of temper, Mr. Cuddlipp would have grabbed him from his cage—”

“And thrown him out into the snow,” Eugene finished for her.

“Yes! Yes!” Miss Shelby cried. “The poor little dear would trudge on—”

“His paws barely able to cut through the snow, as weak as he was.” Eugene moved to sit next to Miss Shelby on the sofa. The two became quietly engrossed in their predictions of what might have been.

Anthony shook his head at the two older people and then glanced down at the purring cat in his lap. “You have no idea of the adventures you have missed,” he informed him.

Daphne’s eyes twinkled. “My lord, if I may be so bold, why have I not seen you about in Society, coming to the aid of other felines?”

Anthony turned to answer Miss Kendall’s question. She was a vision today in a simply cut yellow silk gown with tiny puffed sleeves. A strand of pearls was about her neck, and pearl earbobs contrasted with the red of her hair.

He found himself admiring the creaminess of the white skin exposed by the gown’s bodice, which was cut low. Only when a pink tint appeared on her skin did he realize he had been staring rudely at her.

“I have just returned to England after living for the past seven years in Egypt,” he answered.

Her finely arched brows came together. “You do not have the complexion of one who has spent much time in the hot sun.”

No one would ever accuse Miss Kendall of being a slowtop, Anthony mused. “How astute of you. I fear the last eleven months of my stay in Egypt were spent indoors, largely confined to my bed.”

“How dreadful, especially for an active gentleman.”

Anthony drew in a deep breath. “Yes, it was difficult. I contracted a fever that I could not seem to shake, despite every cure Eugene pressed on me. Each time I thought I had regained my health, the sickness would return and drain my strength again. One of the consequences was that I lost all the tan color I had acquired in my skin.”

A maid entered with a tea tray, and Miss Kendall poured a cup and passed it to him. Anthony noted her long, slender fingers and suddenly remembered brushing them with his the day before in the Park.

She was kind enough to prepare tea for Miss Shelby and Eugene as well, he noted. Turning her attention back to him, she asked, “What did you do in Egypt before you became ill?”

“I dealt in Egyptian antiquities.”

Her green eyes widened with interest. “How fascinating. I read in the Times about a very important Egyptian statue having been stolen recently. The Egyptian authorities believe someone in England may have it.”

“Yes, my friend, Mr. Bullock, told me of the theft,” Lord Ravenswood said, thinking what a pity it was Miss Kendall possessed a keen intelligence, was well-informed on current events, and therefore an unsuitable female. She really was remarkably pretty and well mannered.

Seated next to Miss Shelby, Eugene stiffened as he heard his master discuss the theft of Bastet. Anxious to turn the subject, he said, “Some of Lord Ravenswood’s artifacts are being shown at Mr. Bullock’s new Egyptian Hall.”

Miss Shelby gasped with pleasure. “Oh, I have always wanted to travel, but it has not been meant to be, as yet, in this lifetime. How I would enjoy seeing wonderful treasures from another country.”

A delicate flush rose in Miss Kendall’s cheeks at Miss Shelby’s none too gentle hint to be taken to the exhibit at the Egyptian Hall.

Lord Ravenswood was not a man usually given to impulse, but he found himself saying, “I should be delighted to have you and Miss Kendall join me next Thursday evening, if you would care for it.”

“My lord, you are kind but—” Miss Kendall began, until her companion interrupted her.

“Yes, too kind,” Miss Shelby beamed, “And we are happy to accept your invitation. Why, I predict it will be a most enjoyable evening, would not you say so, Daphne?”

“Of course,” Miss Kendall murmured, shooting the earl a rueful smile.

The fact that he was an English gentleman forced Lord Ravenswood to reach for Miss Kendall’s hand and give it a quick, reassuring squeeze to lessen her embarrassment.

At least that is what he told himself caused the action.

He noticed when he released her fingers, she clasped them tightly with her other hand, but he had no time to wonder at the movement as a loud crash came from behind the closed drawing room doors.

Daphne rose to her feet just as Cramble threw open the door, and Holly, Folly, and Jolly rushed in. “They want their bed, miss,” the elderly butler explained, indicating a large sheet of flannel in the corner of the room.

Three sets of paws skidded across the floor. Three dogs halted at precisely the same time, and three noses sniffed the air and immediately detected the presence of a feline.

“Oh, dear,” Miss Shelby groaned.

“I shall take care of this,” Lord Ravenswood assured them.

“Come, Mihos, back in your basket,” Eugene instructed.

The striped cat slipped from the earl’s grasp and jumped to the back of his chair. Balanced on all four paws, Mihos glared down his whiskers at the dogs, who seemed paralyzed with shock. Looking every bit as fierce as a great tiger cat of India, Mihos hissed at them.

As one, Holly, Folly, and Jolly turned tail and ran for the flannel, where they cowered in one big, moist-eyed heap.

Mihos sailed gracefully through the air above the tea things and into the basket Eugene held, indicating the visit was over.

* * * *

Very late that night, Eugene opened the door to his room and entered, followed by Mihos. Bolting the door shut behind them, Eugene placed his candle down on the bedside table and crossed the room to light a stick of incense.

Mihos sneezed delicately.

“Little tiger, do you not like the scent of jasmine?”

Mihos sneezed again in answer, then jumped on the bed and waited expectantly.

Eugene walked to the armoire and bent to retrieve the statue of Bastet. Reverently he unwrapped the figure of a cat’s head with a woman’s body from the velvet and placed it on the table.

He then knelt in front of it, bowed his head, and began murmuring prayers.

From his position on the bed, Mihos studied the man and reached out a tentative paw to touch his turban.

Eugene completed his prayers, opened his eyes, and addressed the statue. “We make progress, Bastet. Lord Ravenswood held Miss Kendall’s hand today. It was only briefly, but I am satisfied.”

Mihos roared enthusiastically.

In his mind Eugene went back in time to once before when he thought he might obtain his freedom. He had still been a young man then. But, instead, he had been given to Lord Montcross and served him for thirty years.

Now he had another chance at the freedom he craved.

Mihos leaned closer to the statue and sniffed it curiously.

“If I am not mistaken, I have an ally in Miss Shelby,” Eugene said thoughtfully. “She is a knowing one. Did you send her to me as well, Bastet?”

Mihos rubbed his whisker pad against one of the ears of the cat-woman statue, and it wobbled alarmingly.

Eugene grabbed it before it could topple over. The goodwill of the goddess was crucial to his plans. Respectfully he encased her in velvet, and secreted her in the armoire.