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was, a growing boy with a boy’s hopes and dreams and curiosity.
    It had been George, not his grandfather, whom Arthur had come to love in the way that he had once loved his father.
    Now George Lancaster was gone, murdered less than two months before.
    “I will avenge you,” Arthur vowed quietly. “On my oath, the murderer will pay.”
    6
    The maid, Sally, had just finished unpacking Elenora’s trunk when there was a soft knock on the door of the bedchamber.
    Sally opened the door to reveal an anxious-looking Margaret standing in the hail.
    “I wonder if I might speak to you, Elenora?” Margaret glanced to either side, evidently assuring herself that the corridor was empty. “It is somewhat urgent.”
    “Yes, of course. Come in.” Elenora smiled at Sally. “That will be all for now. Thank you.”
    “Yes, ma’am.” Sally hurried out of the room, closing the door behind her.
    Elenora looked at Margaret. “What is the problem? I could see that something made you quite anxious downstairs in the library.”
    “Anxious is a mild word.” Margaret flung herself into a chair. “Stricken with panic would be a more accurate way to put it.”
    “And why is that?”
    Margaret rolled her eyes. “Because I am here under false pretenses, of course.”
    Elenora was amused. “So am I, when you consider the matter.”
    “Yes, well, in your case that is not a problem. Arthur hired you from that agency.” Margaret waved a hand. “He interviewed you. He knows precisely what he has got in you, and he has written your part with that in mind. But my situation is quite different, and when he discovers that I am not at all what he believes me to be, he will be furious.”
    Curious now, Elenora sank down slowly on the side of the bed and studied Margaret. “Would you care to explain?”
    “I suppose I should begin at the beginning. A fortnight ago Arthur came to see me. He explained his plan to present a false fiancée to Society and asked if I would agree to act as a chaperone. I told him that I would be happy to assist him in his scheme.”
    “That was very kind of you.”
    “Kind? Bah. I leaped at the chance. This is the first opportunity that I have had to come to London since my Season fourteen years ago.”
    “I see.”
    Margaret grimaced. “My husband was a middle-aged man when I married him. He suffered from gout and he detested travel of any sort. During our time together I was unable to do anything more than make occasional visits to my mother and my aunt. Do you have any idea of what it is like to be trapped in a tiny village for fourteen years?”
    “Well, yes, as a matter of fact I do.”
    “Oh.” Margaret winced. “Sorry. I did not mean to carry on that way. The thing is, I am a writer.”
    “Really? How exciting.” Elenora was entranced. “Have you been published?”
    Margaret smiled. “Yes, as a matter of fact. I write for the Minerva Press. I use the name Margaret Mallory because I am quite certain that my prickly Lancaster relatives would not approve of having a writer of novels in the family.”
    “This is wonderful. I have read two of your books,
The Secret
    Wedding
and
The Proposal. I
adored both of them.“
    “Thank you.” Margaret blushed. “Very kind of you to say so.”
    “It is the truth. I am a great fan of your work, Miss Mallory. I mean, Mrs. Lancaster.”
    “Please, you must call me Margaret.”
    Elenora hesitated. “You say your identity is a secret from everyone in the family? Including his lordship?”
    “Arthur is the very
last
person I would wish to have discover the truth.” Margaret made a face. “He is a man of many exceptional qualities when it comes to investments and such, but I fear that he takes his role as head of the family far too seriously. His grandfather’s influence, no doubt.”
    Elenora thought about the fierce self-control she had perceived in the earl’s enigmatic eyes. “Yes, I can see that there is a certain sternness in his nature.”
    “Not to