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If William had not been obliged to listen to every word, he wouldn’t have believed it possible. But the clock on the mantle did not lie. The gentlemen had joined the ladies in the drawing room over twenty minutes ago, and Mr. Ryland had been talking about the great crested newt the entire time.

“And that is the tragedy of the situation, you see, my lord,” Mr. Ryland said.

“Quite,” William said. It was a safe response when one was still unsure as to which of the supposed calamities occurring in the Norfolk Broads the gentleman had determined was greatest.

“People are unaware that the natural order of things must not be undone. Every frog, toad, and newt is vital to the balance of the marshland.”

“I could not agree more, Mr. Ryland,” Mr. Beeker said.

William smothered a sigh of relief as the minister joined them. If there was one gentleman in the room who may be able to outtalk Mr. Ryland, it was Mr. Beeker.

“Good of you to say so, sir.” Mr. Ryland turned his attention to his new audience, and William allowed his gaze to traverse the room. His mother, Mrs. Densley, and the senior Fitzroys were seated, chatting near the fireplace, while on the other side of the room, Mr. Wellington appeared to be entertaining Miss Densley and Miss Fitzroy with a dramatic story that had the ladies alternately gasping, then smiling.

William watched Miss Densley’s expressive face light up at something the magistrate said. All evening, the lady had exhibited remarkable poise. No one would ever guess that she had been forced to go in to dinner with someone who had treated her in an ungentlemanly and unkind manner. He winced. Her accusation had hit its mark. His negligence in sharing his name and position with her had been beneath him. And, although they had spoken pleasantly at dinner, he had an uncommonly strong desire to prove that he could do better.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” he said, stepping away as Mr. Beeker and Mr. Ryland launched into a discussion about the difference between the doves of the Bible and the turtledoves of the Norfolk Broads.

He crossed the room. Mr. Wellington had his back to William, but Miss Densley saw him coming. She smiled, and his responding smile was instant. She dipped her head, turning her attention back to Mr. Wellington.

Beside her, Miss Fitzroy spotted his approach for the first time. “Lord Cheston,” she said, bobbing a curtsy.

Mr. Wellington swung around. “Ah, Cheston. There you are.” His jovial tone sounded forced.

“Mr. Wellington has just been telling us about the smuggling that occurs along this portion of the coast,” Miss Densley said.

“Such terrible goings on, my lord.” Miss Fitzroy’s face was pale. “I had no idea that being a magistrate was so dangerous. Mr. Wellington does us all a great service by being willing to tackle such lawlessness.”

“And he does it essentially single-handed,” Miss Densley added.

If William had not spent over an hour watching the young lady flawlessly navigate the conversation at the table, he might have been fooled by her serious expression. As it was, he caught the merriment in her eyes. He was impressed. Miss Densley had known Mr. Wellington for only a few hours, but it appeared that she had already taken the man’s measure.

“Mr. Wellington is an extremely brave gentleman,” he said.

“Yes, well …” Mr. Wellington blustered. “I would not go so far as all that.”

“Oh, but you are, sir,” Miss Fitzroy gushed. “The few encounters with evildoers that you’ve shared this evening would be far too perilous for a lesser man.”

Miss Densley coughed, but the muffled sound behind her gloved hand could not fool someone so used to strangling a laugh by the same method.

“Tell me, Wellington,” William said. “How recently have smugglers been spotted off our shores?”

“Not more than a week ago, my lord. It was Mr. Fitzroy who notified me when he saw lights above Brindle Bay.”

All trace of humor left William. Tribbley Hall land ran directly into Brindle Bay, and as far as he was aware, it would be almost impossible to see lights flickering on that remote beach from any other location.

“How was Mr. Fitzroy able to see lights in Brindle Bay?” he asked.

“He was out fishing,” Mr. Wellington said.

“At night?”

“Yes, my lord,” Miss Fitzroy said. “My father has been suffering from terrible sleeplessness. He finds it more restful to be out on a boat than pacing his bedchamber.”

It was a plausible, albeit highly unusual, excuse, but it also placed Mr. Fitzroy near Tribbley Hall land at the time that sheep had been mysteriously disappearing. Could the gentleman who had never had anything good to say about the animals be behind the thefts?

“Are you quite well, Lord Cheston?”

Miss Densley’s question brought William back to his situation with a start. The young lady was too perceptive by half.