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In the hours ahead, it was her duty to help Allegra make a triumphant return to society. Allegra, much recovered from her injury, still whimpered at bearing any weight on her head and grew easily fatigued. Instead of feathers and yards of ribbon, she had accepted Jane’s idea of threading a single strand of pearls among her curls. The arrangement made her look less like her mother and more like Annabel. Allegra had been all smiles at the effect until a comment from Philip as they left the house that she looked like a pirate’s treasure chest had knocked the confidence out of her.

Now, the slow mounting of the Langford’s stairs on Clive’s arm left her fretful and shaken on the ballroom threshold as their party was announced. For a terrible moment after they entered the room, it seemed that no notice would be taken of Allegra’s return. No heads turned their way. No smiles greeted them. Clive turned a worried face to Jane as he led Allegra to a seat at the edge of the room, usually reserved for chaperones.

“You’ll keep a close eye on her, won’t you, Jane?” he asked. His care for his sister since her injury had won Jane’s approval.

“Of course.”

“If she becomes faint or fatigued, send for me. We can leave any time.”

Allegra clutched her fan, her hands in her lap, her head down.

Phoebe snapped her fan open and said, “This night will be a disaster if she can’t even stand up.”

“Mother,” said Clive, “come with me to the card room, and let Jane help Allegra.” Clive gave Jane one last pleading glance as he led his mother away.

Jane sat beside Allegra, talking softly, until one of Allegra’s beaux glanced their way. He saw Jane first and looked as if he couldn’t quite recognize her, but the next instant he spotted Allegra and crossed the room to ask whether she had recovered sufficiently to grant him the favor of a dance. A smile of genuine pleasure lit Allegra’s face and the young man blinked as if he’d stepped into bright sunlight. He pulled up a chair and began speaking in a low earnest voice, making every effort to coax another smile out of her. In minutes Allegra’s old court of admirers had gathered around them. As the first set of the evening began to form, Allegra turned to Jane and gave her hand a squeeze.

“We are grateful to you, you know, for coming to us. You’ve been kind to me when I did not deserve it. I’m sure Clive is most grateful because his situation was so hopeless before…” She shrugged. “He had to work for that tedious Lord Chartwell, and he hated it so. But everything is better now. So thank you. I have told all my beaux they must dance with you tonight, so you will never be without a partner.”

Jane did not immediately recover from Allegra’s disclosure. Clive had worked for Lord Chartwell, in the very office through which information about her father’s journeys passed. Clive had been in a position to know in advance where her father traveled. And Clive had benefitted from her father’s disappearance. She was rethinking Clive’s actions when Eversley appeared and abruptly solicited her hand.

She hardly knew what she did as they went down the set. She quickly lost sight of Allegra, but could see no sign of Hazelwood or his footman accomplice. She wanted to know whether Hazelwood saw Clive as a danger. Clive with his sister had called on her, introduced her to his friends, and taken her driving and shopping. There was nothing in these acts to rouse her suspicion, yet Allegra’s remark made her doubt her cousin.

There appeared to be a conspiracy to keep her dancing, but she could detect no danger in Eversley’s telling her of his puppies’ progress, or Allegra’s suitor, Ainsworth, who was of a mathematical turn of mind, showing her a trick for remembering the pattern of a dance. Once or twice she caught sight of Allegra, her cheeks flushed with excitement and as yet no signs of fatigue. An hour or more passed quickly with no sign of Hazelwood. It occurred to her that perhaps he would send for her at the interval when the guests would be moving from the ballroom to the rooms where supper would be provided. She resolved to be alert for any messenger he might choose to send.

At the end of the fourth set, the movement of the dance carried her to the far end of the room, and her partner, momentarily distracted by other acquaintance, left her. As she looked about for Allegra, she saw Count Malikov approach, his face grave and his manner earnest.

“Miss Fawkener, I don’t mean to alarm you, but I’ve been sent to bring you to Allegra. She feels rather faint and is calling for you.”

Jane felt at once that she’d been remiss. “And her mother?”

“Clive is looking for her in the card room. They’ve taken Allegra out of the noise and confusion. I’ll lead you to her, if I may.”

“Of course.”

The count offered his arm, and Jane gathered up her skirts in a motion that had become familiar. She chided herself for losing sight of Allegra and hoped her cousin had not wholly undone her recovery with the exertions of the dance. The count deftly threaded a way around the crowd at the entrance to the supper room. At the great stairway, he led her down. In the entry, a footman stepped forward with her cloak and gloves as if her coming had been expected.

“Oh,” said the count, “I see they’ve moved Allegra to the carriage already.”

Outside in the dark, he took her arm and led the way to a waiting coach. When it opened, he motioned Jane to step inside.

Jane halted. It was not the Walhouse coach. She realized she’d been duped.

She backed away and collided with the count. Instantly, a cloth came down in front of her face and was pulled tight across her mouth. She tried to twist free, but was lifted and shoved stumbling into the coach. Her hands and knees hit the floor. Inside a rough man reeking of spirits and onions hauled her up and bound her wrists. He tossed her onto the backward facing seat, pulled a pistol from his belt, and aimed it at her with a steady hand.

Jane froze.

The count poked his head inside the coach. “I will see you shortly, Miss Fawkener.”

* * * *

Hazelwood waited in the shadows of the balcony of Langford House. Listening to the fiddlers, looking out over the dark gardens at the rear of the house, he let himself imagine for a moment dancing a waltz with Jane in full view of London. It was an idle fancy. Perhaps she loved him. He thought she did, but he could not, in good conscience, marry her. Marrying him would be social ruin. He had to keep that thought fixed firmly in mind.

The musicians left off. Footmen threw open the balcony doors to cool the ballroom. Hazelwood pushed away from the balustrade, watching for his moment to slip in amongst the guests passing freely in and out. He saw his opportunity and stepped inside. Most of the crowd moved toward the great doors of the ballroom headed for the supper room.

Once Jane was safe, he could report on what they had learned from her copy of The Husband Hunter’s Guide to London. Her father had mapped not only England’s friends, but also Russia’s, those caliphs and satraps who would support the Czar. The proposed Russian rail lines would pass through friendly territories along a river he suspected was the Oxus. But Jane could confirm that. He had asked her in his note to bring the map hidden in the Nelson painting. If she could not, they would piece together from her memory, each place her father had visited a friend and where he had identified an enemy. Jane’s memory was as valuable as any piece of paper the government possessed. No more than two minutes had passed when he slipped into the appointed room.

* * * *