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“You have my humble apologies, Your Grace.” Lord Langton placed his hand upon his heart and inclined his head toward his sister. “The duke is absolutely correct.”

“Yes, he is,” the duchess said. “And you’d best not forget it.”

Humor sparkled in the viscount’s eyes. “Ah, that beloved officiousness.”

Caught by her own words, the duchess shook her head and laughed. “Come,” she said. “The servants are ready to show you to your rooms.”

The duke offered his arm to the duchess, while Lord Langton offered his arm to his mother, and the small procession started for the house. Elizabeth walked behind with Clara, her gaze traveling over the vast building, from the rows of multipaned windows to the stone statues adorning the top of every column. Everything about Finley Park was magnificent, and yet, after listening to the duchess and the viscount banter with each other, Elizabeth was convinced that all their worldly possessions paled in comparison to the value of the relationship they shared. She’d never known a sibling, and for the first time in a long time, she felt that lack.

They entered a vast hall. Portraits hung on the walls, and a huge chandelier hung suspended from the decorative ceiling. Urns of freshly cut flowers adorned pedestals in every corner, and an imposing staircase swooped into the lobby from the floor above. A small battalion of servants met them. Some took charge of the luggage coming in from the carriage; others hovered nearby, waiting to guide the guests to their respective bedchambers.

Elizabeth regarded the organized chaos with bemusement. As though sensing her uncertainty, the Viscount Langton relinquished his mother’s arm, leaving her in the care of one of the duchess’s servants and Clara, and moved to stand beside Elizabeth.

“Can you imagine how many of the duke’s young relatives have slid down that banister?” he whispered, pointing to the grand staircase. “Perhaps even the current duke has indulged once or twice.”

His comment was so wholly unexpected and irreverent that Elizabeth raised her hand to her mouth to smother a giggle.

The viscount smiled. “I hope you will remember that this afternoon,” he said. “I realize that you may feel somewhat out of place at the garden party, and there may be some amongst the guests who will encourage you to feel that way simply because there is no title before your name. Please pay them no mind. You’ve already proven yourself capable of gracefully moving in a variety of circles. We are grateful to have you here.”

To her horror, tears pricked her eyes. She blinked rapidly, hoping to banish them before they fell. “Thank you, my lord.”

He smiled again, but this time, it held a tinge of sadness. “Your character and beauty are second to none, Miss Doyle. Reynard was most fortunate for the time he was given to spend with you.” With a well-mannered inclination of his head, he moved away, and a maid took his place.

“Miss Doyle?” she said.

“Yes.” Her thoughts and emotions whirling, Elizabeth tried to focus on the young woman before her.

“May I show you to your room?”

“Of course.” Elizabeth opened the reticule Lady Langton had given her and withdrew the Viscount Langton’s handkerchief. She’d intended to return it today, but it seemed that she would need it a little longer. Surreptitiously dabbing her eyes, she wadded the white fabric in her hand and followed the maid up the stairs.

***

Jonas stood on the stone balcony and looked out over Finley Park’s immaculate lawn. The shrubs and hedges were perfectly symmetrical, the roses were in bloom, and out on the pond, creamy-white lilies floated amongst the dark-green lily pads. To his right, a large canopy had been erected, and servants were busily setting up tables and chairs beneath the billowing white sheets. Musicians were arranging their music stands and instruments within the small pavilion near the pond.

Beyond the water feature, a young woman sat on a bench beneath a willow tree. She wore a slate-blue gown. A straw bonnet covered her head, but the sun glinted off the chestnut curls showing beneath. Jonas leaned against the balustrade, his fingers digging into the stone. He longed to join Miss Doyle on her bench, but quite apart from the impropriety of them being there with only her bird friends to keep them company, he guessed that she needed a little time alone before the other guests began arriving.

He hoped she’d taken to heart what he’d told her in the hall. It was true. Every word of it. In every conceivable way, she outclassed most members of the nobility, yet her lower social standing held her captive. In contrast, his rank should allow him complete freedom, but if he were to pursue a relationship with someone with as lowly a pedigree as the innkeeper’s daughter, the tongues of all Society matrons would wag. Despite the significant influence of the Duchess of Kelbrook, any hope of Miss Doyle’s emerging from such a union with her character unscathed was virtually nonexistent. He could not do that to her.

He slipped his hand into his coat pocket and withdrew a pendant. He turned the gold disk over in his hand, studying it with a frown. The necklace was a mystery. He’d held on to it after Miss Doyle had given it to him, not knowing quite what to do with it. Now that she was planning on entering Alexander’s household, however, it was time to return it. She may have need of it in the future.

Footsteps sounded behind him. He slid the pendant back into his pocket, turning just as Rosalind walked through the french doors and onto the balcony.

“The other guests will be arriving soon,” she said. “I will be required to greet them in the hall. Would you like me to send the Earl of Bloxley to you when he comes?”

“That would be helpful,” Jonas said. “I should have him meet Miss Doyle before the garden party begins so she knows who to watch for.”

Rosalind nodded. “I really believe this will work, Jonas. We outnumber the Midnight Master and he is coming here unaware of the trap we have set.”

“I hope you are right,” Jonas said. “The man—whomever he is—has not remained anonymous this long without incredible skills in evasion.”

“True. But we have Miss Doyle on our side. I believe she will make all the difference.”

Jonas turned to look back at the solitary young woman in the distance.

Rosalind followed his gaze and moved to stand beside him. “She is lovely, isn’t she?” Rosalind said at last.

There was that insipid word again. When had he come to despise it so much?