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Stuart’s handwriting was more elegant than Fielding’s.

One parcel opened accidentally after cord failed. Carrier remembers small silver case inside and folded paper beneath wrapping. Saw only a few words before replacing it.

Below that Stuart had copied what the man had remembered.

…principal men gathered… arrests… single night…

Judith stopped breathing.

“The dinner conversation about the arrests.”

“Yes.”

Judith read them again. The wording was identical. “This confirms the passage, but not the person who placed the note inside the parcel.”

“No.”

“We are so close, but missing the final connexion.”

“We need to change tactics now. We need all hands on deck—inside the house. How quickly can you arrange a dinner party, my love?”

CHAPTER 17

As it turned out, very quickly indeed.

Blackthorn Hall had seldom looked more imposing. Candles burned in the tall silver branches along the dining table, their flames reflected in polished mahogany and crystal, while crimson damask curtains framed the dark windows and the silver epergne overflowed with hothouse grapes, early flowers and greenery brought from the conservatory. The servants had polished every surface within reach, and the faint scents of beeswax, roasted meat and wood-smoke mingled with the perfume of the ladies gathering in the drawing room.

Judith had arranged everything with a strategy of which Wellington would have approved. She had also been treating Baines with the exquisite courtesy ordinarily reserved for visiting clergymen. He disliked it exceedingly.

He stood beside the drawing-room fireplace, watching her move among the guests with the composed efficiency that had first attracted his attention and subsequently made his life intolerably complicated. She wore a gown of deep blue silk, simple in its cut but becoming enough to make him resent the number of gentlemen present to admire it. A narrow band of pearls circled her throat, while her hair had been arranged in soft curls beneath a modest ornament of silver leaves. There was no cap.

Baines regarded this as encouraging, although almost everything else about her behaviour suggested that she had decided to return him to the category of respectable acquaintance.

“Your expression is alarming,” Manners observed, having arrived and sneaked up beside him.

Baines glanced towards his friend, who stood beside him in immaculate evening clothes, his dark hair brushed neatly back and his eyes bright with the prospect of drawing the net around their prey.

“I was admiring the decorations.”

“You were glaring at Miss Finch.”

“I have never glared at Miss Finch.”

“Then you have developed an unfortunate expression of admiration.”

Baines accepted a glass of wine from a passing footman. “I thought marriage might have improved your disposition. Francesca deserves a medal.”

“Ah, but she has me.”

“As I said.”

Manners smiled with the irritating confidence of a man who knew himself beloved and therefore considered the entire world a source of amusement.

“Have you told her?”

“Francesca? That you are an insufferable nuisance? I assumed she knew.”

“Miss Finch.”