hair in its tidy chignon, the edge of her cheekbone, the sweep of her neck and shoulder. She reached for the curtains and drew them closed. It might as well have been the sun going out.
With a sigh Max leaned down and stroked Jollyboy’s head.
‘I supposed we must be on our way, old chap,’ he said to the dog. ‘It will not do to haunt the lady’s residence like a lovelorn ghost.’
Pushing himself to leave, Max allowed himself only one glance at the window again, but it was dark.
‘I must put Miss Whitmore out of my mind, Jollyboy,’ Max muttered as they walked. ‘My hands are tied. If she never forgives me, there is nothing I can do. If she does forgive me, I am still restrained by the demands of our respective positions.’
But the more I consider those restraints, the less I care for them.
‘Tis useless to continue allowing her to fill all of my thoughts,’ Max continued speaking to the dog. ‘I have more pressing matters to consider.’
Indeed, he did. In particular, how he might acquire the letter now that Miss Whitmore wanted nothing more to do with him.
‘What I need, Jollyboy,’ he mused, ‘is another agent.’
Miss Whitmore’s infiltration of Ceastre House had been inspired. Max wished to remain unknown to most of society, even if some might be aware of his return, such as Charlotte and quite possibly his uncle Edward. To have others react as Miss Whitmore had to the lies the blackmailer had fabricated was an unbearable outcome.
He must have the letter and the proof of the blackmailer’s identity before moving forward. What he would do once these items were in hand, he was uncertain. But he felt it imperative that he might show the letter, which was unsigned, and the identifying handwriting, to convince anyone concerned that he was the victim of a merciless attempt to sully his name—not the perpetrator of the crime of which he was accused.
More than this, Max felt driven to know the identity or identities of all of those involved. He could not make himself known in society without first learning the names of all of his enemies, who had conspired to ruin his life.
He had never considered that his own uncle might have a hand in the whole sordid business, until very recently. That his uncle might have written the letter himself, in order to force Max to marry Charlotte, was a shocking idea Max hoped fervently would prove to be untrue.
An agent. He needed someone who could visit Ceastre with impunity. Someone his uncle and aunt would welcome. Charlotte, too, ideally.
Max’s steps faltered and he came to a halt. Jollyboy gazed up at him, giving him a happy canine smile, his tongue lolling.
‘That’s it, Jollyboy,’ Max said, looking into the dog’s eyes. ‘It has to be the heir.’
Jollyboy wagged his tail encouragingly.
Max began to walk again, his heart racing as he formed his plan.
Perhaps, he thought. Perhaps there was hope after all.
Chapter 17
‘I shall accompany you this time,’ Alice said in a firm tone.
Emilia stopped buttoning her plain grey pelisse to face her friend. ‘My dear Alice, you know you simply cannot. Mr. Dassel would have an apoplexy.’
‘Piffle,’ Alice declared. ‘It has always been an unreasonable demand that he requires you to visit him alone.’
‘Perhaps, but should I lose his good will, it will mean disaster for all of us, Alice.’
Her companion sighed and shook her head, wringing her gloves in her hands. ‘After everything you’ve endured recently...’
Emilia smiled, reaching for Alice’s hands. The latter allowed Emilia to take them in her own, gloves and all. ‘Dearest Alice. You are the very best friend ever a lady might ask for.’
Alice’s blue eyes softened as she gazed at Emilia. ‘I only wish to see you relieved of the many burdens you carry.’
‘And you have my gratitude for your kindness and loyalty,’ Emilia said. ‘But I have faced Dassel many times and today shall be no different.’
Putting on the gloves, Alice sighed. ‘Very well. I shall wear a path into the grass of the south-eastern corner of the Park.’
Emilia let out a short laugh as she tied on her large-ruffled bonnet. ‘I do not doubt it.’
A short time later, Emilia left Alice in Hyde Park and made her way, as she had so many times before, to Saint James Palace. It was well before midday and she had little fear of being seen by anyone of note. The musicians were only just beginning their rehearsal when she arrived, many