“Just now.”

“I hear you’ve married.”

“Aye. My lady’s resting at our lodgings. But I hope to introduce her to you and Her Grace while we’re in London. She and Amelia will get on well, I think.”

“We’d be delighted. Where are you staying in Town?”

“At the Pulteney.”

“You’re at a hotel?” The duke’s brow wrinkled with disdain. Odd, how Morland’s superior expressions used to enrage Julian. Now he just found them mildly irritating. Not nearly worthy of a punch to the jaw, at any rate.

“Don’t stay at a hotel,” the duke continued. “You’re more than welcome at Morland House. We’ve plenty of rooms, and Amelia loves nothing more than guests.”

“That’s generous of you, but Merry had her heart set on the Pulteney.”

“Trade research,” Julian explained to the duke. “The new Lady Ashworth is the proprietor of Devonshire’s finest coaching inn. Only natural she’d want to investigate the London hotels. Anyway, Morland, you’ll be needing your guest rooms for someone else.”

“Who?”

Ashworth took his cue and went over to his waiting coach, opening the door and reaching inside to help Peter Faraday down. Yet another man Julian had once been desperate to pummel. Christ, had he truly walked around irate for so much of his adult life? It all felt so foreign and far away now.

Faraday slowly advanced, unaided by Ashworth but relying heavily on the assistance of a walking stick. The man looked to be in better health than he had in Cornwall, but that wasn’t saying much. He was still pale, still obviously in a great deal of pain. If he hadn’t healed after six months’ time, it was unlikely he’d ever walk unaided again.

“Mr. Bellamy. Your Grace.” Faraday inclined his head. “Forgive me if I don’t bow.”

“Peter Faraday,” Morland said, returning the man’s nod of greeting. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

“Last time we met, your attention was on the cards.”

“What are you doing here now?”

“Let me explain,” Julian said. He summarized the progress—or lack thereof—of his investigation into Leo’s death. Then explained how last month, the idea had finally occurred to him to check the prison and court records. “My investigator explored that angle in the first weeks after Leo’s death, but at that time we had no real description. A few weeks ago I received these names. Angus Macleod and Horace Stone. They match Cora Dunn’s physical description of the men. They were jailed the morning after Leo’s death, apprehended not a mile away from the scene of his beating. Sentenced to six months’ hard labor for breaking and entering.”

Ashworth whistled low. “Has to be them. Too many coincidences not to be.”

Julian nodded. “They’re serving on a prison hulk, due to be released in just over a week. We’ll ride out that morning and meet them on the docks. As lords, either one of you”—he indicated Morland and Ashworth—“can easily have them rearrested. With Faraday’s testimony, they’ll swing by the turn of the New Year.”

Faraday gave a heavy sigh. “I told you in Cornwall, I don’t recall a thing about the attack itself. I don’t know that I’ll be able to identify them.”

Julian said tightly, “Well, I’m positive that seeing them will jog your memory. If not, we’ll send for Cora.”

“Sorry I couldn’t bring her along,” Ashworth said. “But someone has to mind the inn. Besides, it felt cruel to pull the girl away from her honeymoon.”

“The comely Miss Dunn’s married, too?” Faraday gripped his walking stick. “What a shame. It’s a veritable plague of matrimony. Stay far clear of me, all three of you.”

With that, he hobbled to the side and lowered his weight onto a bench. Julian sensed the man’s loud decrial of marriage was merely an excuse to take a much-needed rest. After the exertion of standing upright all of five minutes, the poor soul needed a rest. Julian almost felt bad for him.

Or he would have, if he felt certain he could trust the man.

“Morland,” he said low, “I need you to keep a watchful eye on Faraday.”

“You want me to take the man under my protection?”

“I want you to take the man under your roof.”

“Now hold just a minute—” the duke began to object.

“You just said you have plenty of rooms. Your wife loves hosting guests.” When Morland’s face didn’t soften, Julian lowered his voice to a whisper and added, “Not to mention, you’re already hiding one invalid.”

Morland’s eyes flared. “How did you learn that? Did Amelia tell—”

“No, no. Your wife is the soul of discretion. It’s your ward who can’t keep herself concealed.” He clapped a hand on Morland’s shoulder. “Listen. Do me—do Leo—this last favor, and you can have the horse. I’ll relinquish all interest in him. You and Ashworth can work it out from there.”

Morland stepped back. “Really. You’d surrender your share in Osiris?” Julian nodded.

“In exchange for me housing Faraday for the next week?”

“Yes. Just until this is all settled. But you’ll be guarding him, not just giving him a bed.” He cut a glance over his shoulder to make sure the man himself wasn’t listening. “I can’t shake the feeling there’s still something he’s not telling us. Maybe he’s afraid, and that’s why he’s resistant. We can’t risk him running off again, to Cornwall or God-knows-where. Ashworth can’t host him, and I certainly can’t bring him home to Lily. She knows nothing about this.”

“How long do you think that will last?” Ashworth asked. “I mean, here we are making plans for our wives to get acquainted. Do you honestly think they won’t talk amongst themselves?”

“So don’t tell your wives, either.”

Morland gave a bark of laughter. “If Faraday’s staying in my house, Amelia’s going to know.”

“And my own wife just traveled all the way from Devonshire with the man,” Ashworth put in. “She knows all about the attack and Faraday’s role in it.”

“Besides,” the duke said, “I don’t lie to Amelia. We tell each other everything.”

“As husbands and wives should,” Ashworth concurred. “Merry and I, we’re the same.”

Julian cursed under his breath. This was becoming far too complicated.

“Here, then. You each tell your wives the truth.” To Morland, he said, “You tell Amelia that Faraday is a former Stud Club member, stricken by illness and fallen on hard times. You’re hosting him as a favor, but she’s to keep it very discreet because Mr. Faraday wouldn’t want his difficulties widely known. There, all of that’s true. Isn’t it?”

The duke shrugged. “I suppose.”

Julian turned to Ashworth. “And you ask Meredith to keep what she knows to herself, for Lily’s sake. We don’t want to raise Lily’s hopes or anxieties. For all we know, this will come to nothing.”

“Fair enough,” Ashworth said. “So what are you planning to tell Lily?”

“Nothing,” Julian answered. A marriage without secrets sounded lovely for others, but it wasn’t in the cards for a man like him. “Nothing just yet.”

“Oh, how lovely!”

At Lily’s exclamation, Amelia and Meredith perked up. The two ladies wandered over from across the gallery, eager to investigate the object that had inspired such delight.

“It’s just a desk.” Lily opened the top of the vast mahogany piece. The hardwood panel swung easily on its hinges, flattening to a sturdy writing surface. Inside, she found neat drawers for paper, ink, and quills, two locked compartments, and an entire regiment of pigeonholes for the sorting and filing of bills and receipts. The sight filled her with an absurd sort of joy.

The gallery owner, a meticulous man in a pale pink waistcoat, appeared beside them. “An antique,” he said. “Belonged to …”

Lily missed the name completely. No matter. Whichever magistrate or dignitary had owned the thing in the first place, it didn’t belong to him anymore.

“Are you thinking of this for Mr. Bellamy?” Meredith asked, running her fingers over the smooth veneer.

Lily had to confess no, shaking her head. “For myself. We’re making adjoining studies in the new house. One for him, and one for me.”

It was high time she had her own space for recordkeeping, rather than always using Leo’s study. She’d already agreed with Julian that she would take responsibility for the household accounts, as well as the investment of whatever funds she brought to the marriage. For all her teasing, it seemed she was the stuffy, boring clerk in their relationship.

“I’ll take it,” she told the gallery owner.

He bowed with obsequious gratitude. “Very good, my lady. An excellent choice.”

Yes, she rather thought it was. With a grand new house to furnish, Lily was discovering a new appreciation for shopping. The company of friends increased her enjoyment. Over the past week, the three of them had spent part of every afternoon wandering the shops. Obviously Lily had known Amelia all her life, and even though they’d only been introduced to the new Lady Ashworth a week ago now, the three of them got on well indeed. Meredith was a sensible, plainspoken woman, with a heart for hospitality and head for business, which gave her something in common with Amelia and Lily both.

“Adjoining studies,” Meredith said, examining the hinges of the desk as Lily closed the top. “I like that idea. I’ll talk to Rhys about such an arrangement for the new Nethermoor Hall. He plans to meet with some architects while we’re in Town.”

When Meredith walked away, Amelia caught Lily’s attention. “I’ve been meaning to ask, are you and Mr. Bellamy attending the Carstairs’ party Wednesday next? Spencer is reluctant, as ever. But if the two of you attend, I might be able to convince him. Or at least I’d be assured of having someone to talk to after he disappears to the card room.”

Lily hesitated. “The Carstairs’ party?”

Amelia nodded.

“I … I’m not certain. We hadn’t yet sent our reply.”

In actuality, they had not received an invitation. Lily told herself she shouldn’t be surprised. She’d expected this might happen when her hasty wedding to Julian became known. Obviously Mrs. Carstairs wished to communicate her disapproval of Lily’s marriage, or perhaps her envy of it. Lily was almost ashamed to realize how it annoyed her, being cut by a woman who last year would have counted it a coup to host any Chatwick in her home. Even Tartuffe.

She shook off the irritation. No matter. Slights like these would serve to teach her who their true friends were. And Lily had two very good ones right here in this gallery.

She followed the gallery owner to the back counter, to sign off on the expense and arrange for delivery of her new desk. While he prepared the bill, her eye wandered to the soaring expanse of paintings behind him. They were mostly the standard decorative scenes: pastoral landscapes of ruined castles, still-lifes with vases of flowers and bowls of fruit. Nothing particularly caught her interest. Disappointing. She and Julian needed something to hang on the walls, after all. She noted a curtained doorway leading to another room.

Once the bill of sale had been signed and settled, and the address of the new house given, Lily asked, “Have you another gallery?”

“There is another room, my lady.”

“May we see it?”

The man’s cheeks flushed pink to match his waistcoat. “My lady … I’m afraid that gallery is for gentlemen only.”