"Good morning. Rickshaw, isn't it? I'm Emma Fleming. I've come to return a book to His Grace."

Although he had only set eyes on her once before, Rickshaw remembered his master's youngest ward perfectly. As she stepped daintily over the threshold of Delmere House, a picture in a confection of lilac muslin, he gathered his wits to murmur, "His Grace is not presently at home, miss. Perhaps his secretary, Mr. Cunnings, could assist you." Rickshaw rolled one majestic eye toward a hovering footman who immediately, if reluctantly, disappeared in the direction of the back office frequented by the Duke's secretary.

Emma, allowing Rickshaw to relieve her half-cape, looked doubtful. But all she said was, "Wait here for me, Henrietta. I shan't be long." Her maid, who had dutifully followed her in, sat primly on the edge of a chair by the wall and, under the unnerving stare of Rickshaw, lowered her round-eyed gaze to her hands.

Immediately, Mr. John Cunnings came hurrying forward from the dimness at the rear of the hall. "Miss Emma? I'm afraid His Grace has already left the house, but perhaps I may be of assistance?" Mr. Cunnings was not what one might expect of a nobleman's secretary. He was of middle age and small and round and pale, and, as Emma later informed her sisters, looked as if he spent his days locked away perusing dusty papers. In a sense, he did. He was a single man and, until taking his present post, had lived with his mother on the Cambridge estate in Surrey. His family had long been associated with the Cambridges and he was sincerely devoted to that family's interests. Catching sight of the book in Emma's small hand, he smiled. "Ah, I see you have brought back Lord Byron's verses. Perhaps you'd like to read his next book? Or maybe one of Mrs. Lindield's works would be more to your taste?"

Emma smiled back. On taking up residence at Twyford House, the sisters had been disappointed to find that, although extensive, the library there did not hold any more recent fictional works so much discussed among the ton. Hearing of their complaint, Felix had revealed that his own library did not suffer from this deficiency and had promised to lend them any books they desired. But, rather than permit the sisters free rein in a library that also contained a number of works less suitable for their eyes, he had delegated the task of looking out the books they wanted to his secretary. Consequently, Mr. Cunnings felt quite competent to deal with the matter at hand.

"If you'd care to wait in the drawing room, miss?" Rickshaw moved past her to open the door. With another dazzling smile, Emma handed the volume she carried to Mr. Cunnings, informing him in slow voice that one of Mrs. Linfield's novels would be quite acceptable, then turned to follow Rickshaw. As she did so, her gaze travelled past the stately butler to rest in the figure emerging from the shadow of the library door. She remained where she was, her grey-brown eyes growing rounder and rounder, as Francis Cambridge strolled elegantly forward.

After the best night's sleep he had had in months, Francis had felt ready to resume normal activities but, on descending to the breakfast parlour, had discovered his brother had already left the house to call in at Parnell's. Suppressing the desire to pull on his coat and follow, Francis had resigned himself to awaiting Felix's return, deeming it wise to inform his brother in person that he was setting out to pick up the reins of his civilian existence before he actually did so. Knowing his friends, and their likely reaction to his reappearance among them, he was reasonably certain he would not be returning to Delmere House until the following morning. And he knew Felix would worry unless he saw for himself that his was up to it. So, with a grin for his older brother's affection, he had settled in the library to read the morning's news sheets. But, after months of semi-invalidism, his returning health naturally gave rise to returning spirits. Waiting patiently was not easy. He had been irritably pacing the library when his sharp ears had caught the sound of a distinctly feminine voice in the hall. Intrigued, he had gone to investigate.

Setting eyes on the vision gracing his brother's hall, Francis's immediate thought was that Felix had taken to allowing his ladybirds to call at his house. But the attitudes of Rickshaw and Cunnings put paid to that idea. The sight of a maid sitting by the door confirmed his startled perception that the vision was indeed a young lady. His boredom vanishing like a cloud in a spring day, he advanced.