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Reginald turned into the chamber at his left and went directly to the spindly-legged secretary near the fireplace. Setting the lamp down on the open surface of the desk, he felt around at the back of one of the drawers until he sprung the catch, and withdrew a plain box.

Marian watched with bated breath as he snapped open the box. The box of white satin was empty.

With a soft cry, she swung away and stared out the rain-spattered window. Reginald followed her with grim sympathy, touching a hand to her shoulder, not knowing how else to comfort her.

"I will find it, Marian. I have a suspect, and I shall have it out of him if I must beat him to a pulp to do so. I am only sorry that I have given you cause to worry."

She didn't even notice that he had addressed her familiarly. She only knew she wanted to lean back into the comfort of his arms and weep. She was tired of being the strong one. She wanted someone else to help share her burdens, someone to make things just a little easier for a change. For some odd reason, she had relied on Mr. Montague to be that someone. She should have known it was a mistake.

She stiffened and pulled away. "I wish to be there when you question him. Who is it? That insolent valet of yours?"

Reginald retreated a few feet. "I can understand your concern, but a woman's presence would give the cad hope of some sympathy. He knows he will receive none from me. Go back to your mother while I track the wretch down."

She would go back to her mother all right, but it wouldn't be to quietly sit before the fire. Straightening her back, she marched out of the room without looking back.

Throwing open the door to the antechamber his valet had taken for his own, Reginald yelled, "O'Toole, get yourself in here now or I'm coming after you with a whip!"

The room was terrifyingly empty.

Chapter 13

The search for the missing valet and jewel in the dark in a strange house on a rainy night had little chance of success. The small party eventually returned to the dying fire of the drawing room with nothing to show for their efforts.

Marian felt guilty for telling her mother anything at all. She could simply have produced the fake and allowed her to think all was well. But her first thought had been to find the thief before he could escape, and that had necessitated explaining the necklace's disappearance. Now, they had nothing, neither thief nor necklace, and her mother appeared thoroughly shaken by the experience.

Marian could still miraculously "discover" the copy, she supposed. That would relieve her mother's mind if not her own. But she could not do it tonight. Everyone was weary to the bone, and no one would believe the discovery directly after such an extensive search. It would have to wait until morning.

Lord Darley hovered sympathetically, as if he would speak to her alone, but Marian didn't have the heart for his words right now. She had been disappointed too thoroughly this day to give anyone the opportunity to hurt her more.

She couldn't bear to be proposed to out of sympathy, if that was his intention, and she didn't wish to have him offer her a replacement for her jewel. She might feel differently in the morning, but right now she was too lost to the dismals.

She didn't even have it in her to blame Mr. Montague. He appeared to be as miserable as she over the loss. Unless he was a great actor, he had suffered a terrible blow to his integrity and was not likely to recover until he had redeemed himself. She had seen him furiously striking the walls as if they would speak. No one else knew that he had been the one carrying the necklace, but the knowledge lay between them like a guilty secret.

Jessica was extremely quiet as they readied themselves for bed. Lily always tended to their mother, so the sisters aided each other now in the unbuttoning and unfastening of their gowns. The room was chilly and damp but not cold, and they made no effort to start a fire. Marian slipped between the covers without questioning her sister, but Jessica wasn't ready to sleep yet.

"Was the necklace worth a very great deal, Marian? Will that poor man be transported when Mr. Montague finds him? Mr. Montague seemed to be in a terrible temper. I would not want to be that poor valet."

"His pride has been hurt, that is all. I daresay I should like to whip the odious valet if he is found, but I shan't imagine he will be. Go to sleep; there is nothing more we can do about it."

Jessica snuggled deeper into the pillows, but she continued to toss restlessly. "Mr. Montague is a trifle frightening, is he not? I'm rather afraid of him. Could we go home in the morning?"

"The only one who need be afraid of Mr. Montague is Mr. O'Toole. We'll talk about going home in the morning."

"Lord Darley is such a nice man. I don't understand why he has a friend like Mr. Montague."

Marian didn't bother to answer this nonsense. She was out of charity with the entire male gender right now. She didn't wish to speak about them.

As the company drifted off to sleep or continued to stare miserably at the ceiling depending on their state of mind, the drunken ghost below settled on the library couch and began to snore.

* * *

"I tell you, the wretch was here last night. He wouldn't soil his precious coat by going out in the pouring rain." Dawn was just breaking over the muddy horizon as Reginald swung his leg over his mount and settled into his saddle.

Darley stood in the stable yard, shaking his head. "You cannot know which way he went. None of the horses are missing. He seems to have vanished into thin air. At least break your fast and let us discuss a sensible course."

"There is no sensible course but murdering the thief. I mean to find the magistrate and set a hue and cry if nothing else. He'll not get off easily."

Darley watched his friend ride off before returning to the house through a side entrance. He didn't think the ladies were up and about yet. A little exploration might be called for, under the circumstances. If the valet was still here, he might find some clue that would track him. Darley would like to be the hero for a change.

He scanned the gentlemen's smoking and billiards room and saw nothing out of place. The lord's study was a dark little room toward the back of the house, and he pulled back the draperies to allow in the morning sun. An antechamber was stacked with generations of estate records, the dust virtually undisturbed for decades, if not more.

In the study he found a table much like the one in his father's study. A silver tray held a collection of crystal glasses and a stopper that still smelled vaguely of brandy. Darley's eyebrows rose as he sniffed the glass and looked around for container. His father's tray always held an ornate decanter. This one also had, sometime in the very near past.

He couldn't find the decanter that the stopper belonged in, but he could see where the dust on the desk had recently been disturbed. A trail of what could only be a woman's footsteps marred the dust near the bookcase. One of the ladies must have been in here when they searched last night.

He could not remember any of the ladies coming downstairs to search, but Darley pushed that thought aside as he continued his examination. The tapestry hanging from one paneled wall seemed to drift outwards. He glanced to the broken window beneath the drapery he had pushed back, but the dawn breeze was too slight to disturb a distant tapestry.

Darley had never prided himself on his intelligence. He had always been a mediocre student with more interest in horses than books. But he did possess a modicum of common sense, and common sense told him that heavy tapestries did not normally move without some very good reason. Dragging a chair over to the wall, he stood on it and reached for the wooden rod holding the tapestry up.

"Lord Darley! Whatever are you doing?"

The soft voice nearly startled him into falling from his perch. He glanced down to see young Miss Oglethorp's surprised expression. It occurred to him that if it had been her sister standing there, the expression would have been much more suspicious. He didn't know what made him think that. He let the rod and tapestry fall to the floor with a dust-exuding thump.

Jessica stepped hastily backward, waving her hand before her face to rid her nose of the particles.

"'Pologize for that. Miss Oglethorp, but the thing weighs a bloody ton. Excuse me. Didn't mean to say that. Slip of the tongue. Hadn't you ought to be with your mother?" Darley climbed down from his chair and nervously dusted his hands on his trousers.

Jessica sent him an innocently questioning glance. "I thought to look for the necklace before anyone got up. Marian scarcely slept all night, and I thought I heard her crying. Do you think the thief hid behind there?" She nodded to the newly uncovered paneling.

"I thought there might be something behind the wall, leastways. There's a bl—a bad draft coming through. Look, I think there is a crack along here." He ran his hand down the wall, searching it with his fingers. "One of our houses has a place like this where the ancestors kept their valuables. There's usually a little dent..." He grunted in satisfaction as the wall swung outward.

Jessica squealed with excitement. "Oh, my, you are so clever! Is he in there?"

Feeling just a little proud of himself, Darley explored the recess behind the wall. It wasn't particularly deep, large enough for a man perhaps. And as he suspected, there was a vault in the wall. But the vault was open and empty. He stepped back in disappointment.

"He could have hidden here, I suppose, but there is nothing here now. I wonder how many other hiding places there might be?"

Jessica didn't appear in the least down-heartened by his failure. Looking at him with gleaming eyes that made him feel ten feet tall, she responded eagerly, "Mother will know! Let us go see if she is up yet."

"I'm afraid he might escape while we are gone. Let me stand at the bottom of the staircase while you run up, just to make certain you are safe. Then I will stand guard in the hall and listen for any suspicious noises."

Neither of them seemed aware that their shyness had dissipated in the excitement of the chase. Jessica ran up the stairs while Darley looked on. When he was certain that she was well on her way to her mother's room, he wandered around the octagon of the entrance foyer, admiring the glimmer of color from the skylight while listening for any oddities in sounds.

* * *

On the couch in the library, the eighth marquess squeezed his aching eyes closed and pinched his nose to halt the throbbing. If he were not mistaken, his unwanted guests were about to descend upon him en masse unless he acted soon.

He had no grand desire to explain himself, particularly when his head felt like an overripe melon. He wasn't certain he could explain himself even if his head was in working order, which it was not. And he had no desire to be transported or hung from a gibbet for stealing what rightfully belonged to him.

Stifling a moan as he eased upright, the marquess sought a position of safety. If he did not miss his guess, the clank of boots on the marble entrance floor indicated one of the gentlemen patrolled there. He cast a reluctant gaze around the solid library. If there was an escape route here, he had not yet found it.

With a sigh—he was beginning to think he knew why ghosts sighed and moaned—the marquess eased from the couch and crossed to the tall window. At least he'd had the sense to pass out on the ground floor. Figuring the dogs would be on his heels in minutes, he shoved upward on the casement and felt it give, but not without a great deal of noise.

By the time Darley raced down the hall and discovered which room had the open window, the phantom intruder was gone.

Cursing vehemently, the viscount threw his boots over the low sill and followed the path of footsteps in the muddy turf. Behind him, he heard Jessica's shouts, followed unmistakably by those of the Lady Marian. His heart quailed at failing that redoubtable lady, and he added speed to his flight.

Inside, Marian quickly located Darley's route. She stuck her head out the window just in time to see him disappear around the house in the direction of the kitchen garden. Not seeing any reason why she should wet her good shoes, she picked up her skirt and raced down the hall in the direction of the kitchen.

She popped out the back door in time to realize there indeed had been hounds in the stables. Darley had evidently released them and they were howling across the distant hillside in search of their prey. The viscount himself was saddling his horse with every intention of following.