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another.
    “It’s nothing,” Eliza said with a shrug, because she didn’t know if in fact it was something or nothing. At the moment she was more interested in what existed between Wycliff and Lady Shackley. “I confess I am curious about her. And him. It might be useful information for my column. And I can’t possibly ask the duke.”
    “Well, I presume the slap was a long time coming, and in response to the manner in which Wycliff left Lady Shackley years ago.”
    “They had been sweethearts?” Eliza inquired.
    “Lovers,” Julianna said, and Eliza felt it like a fist to her belly. “Wycliff was caught in bed with Lady Althea Shackley, by her husband. I have it on very good authority that Lord Shackley heard them all the way in the foyer—from behind closed bedchamber doors. On the third floor.”
    “How shameless,” Eliza said. But she felt a shiver of . . . danger? Excitement? Craving?
    “Lady Shackley was promptly sent off to the Outer Hebrides. She returned when her husband died, a few years ago, and has since refused numerous proposals. Everyone is of the opinion that she was saving herself for Wycliff’s return,” Julianna informed her as they continued their stroll. It was tremendously useful having a gossip columnist as a friend.
    “A slap across the face is a curious way to greet one’s long-lost lover,” Eliza remarked.
    “I can understand it perfectly,” Julianna said. But then again, she had shot her husband, before they married. “Because here is the other part of the story: the late Lord Shackley, upon discovering them, paid Wycliff one thousand pounds to leave the country. His friend, Burke, offered him a place on his ship. And the rest, they say, is history.”
    “I’m not sure that I would forgive him if I were Lady Shackley,” Annabelle said thoughtfully. “But if he was forced by circumstances beyond their control . . .”
    “If Roxbury accepted money to leave me, I would hunt him down and really make him pay for it,” Julianna said passionately.
    “Ah, young love,” Lady Charlotte said with a sigh. They all laughed.
    “I actually made the acquaintance of Lady Shackley yesterday,” Sophie said. “We met during Lady Walmsly’s calling hours. She was very well versed with your column, Eliza.”
    “Her long-lost lover returns,” Annabelle said, “and she is now unattached. She must be tremendously excited.”
    “And she is fueled by Eliza’s stories,” Julianna said. “It’s a wonder she stopped with the slap.”
    “Oh, Eliza, your column was just delicious,” Sophie said with a smile. “I cannot believe the ruse you are up to.”
    “I am enjoying the experience, other than the chores,” Eliza said. “I feel that I learned things about other cultures.”
    “Yes, that’s why we enjoyed your column. For the educational benefits,” Lady Charlotte said primly—but with a wicked gleam in her eye.
    “Not at all because of her lengthy descriptions of his lengthy—”
    “Julianna, you are a lady,” Annabelle hissed.
    “Oh Annabelle, you know how she is,” Sophie said, laughing.
    “Scandal monger,” Eliza said, grinning.
    “Yes, but now you are as well!” Julianna added, linking their arms together. “What shall be the subject of your next column?”
    “The duke!” Eliza exclaimed in a strangled whisper.
    “Of course it will be the duke,” Sophie said, looking puzzled.
    “He’s here ,” Eliza hissed before frantically dodging behind the nearest statue, ever mindful of her disguise. Housemaids were generally not in the habit of museum strolls with duchesses and countesses.
    “What are you doing?” Sophie asked.
    “I can’t let him see me here,” Eliza whispered. “That would ruin everything.”
    From her hiding place, she watched as Wycliff conversed with an older, gray-haired bespectacled man. He fit in perfectly with the museum, and Eliza wondered if he worked there. He and the duke shook hands firmly before the duke took his