he next afternoon, Meriel was listening to Stephen's Sunday catechism when she received word from Clover that Miss Renee Barome had come to see her. Nurse Weston took over with Stephen, and Meriel went downstairs to the drawing room. She came up short in the doorway and kept her pleasant smile, even though her visitor was not alone. Sir Charles Irving stood talking to Richard and Miss Barome.

Richard gave her a nod as one would to a governess, and went back to his conversation. Miss Barome stepped away from the gentlemen to meet Meriel.

They curtsied to each other, then Miss Barome took her arm and led her to a window seat.

"I just happened to be traveling here at the same time as Sir Charles," Miss Barome said, spreading her skirts as she sat down. "It was enjoyable to have companionship on the road. Although I must say, Cecil's new gatekeepers were almost rude. They had to consult with Cecil before even allowing us in!"

"He has increased his security after the most recent London kidnapping," Meriel said sympathetically. She glanced at Richard and wondered how he'd felt admitting Sir Charles. At least he'd gotten a few minutes' warning! She looked back at Miss Barome. "Did you come to visit His Grace?"

"No, I came to see you, since you did not send word that you were visiting me. I hope you do not mind."

"No, of course not," Meriel said, not looking at Richard and Sir Charles, though it proved very difficult. "Forgive me for not writing— this has been a very busy week."

Miss Barome studied her for a moment, betraying a seriousness that made Meriel uneasy.

"Of course I understand," the woman said. "You'll have to tell me all about it."

Meriel hoped she wasn't blushing, and was relieved when Beatrice pushed a cart with refreshments into the room. They joined the gentlemen, and Meriel poured everyone tea and passed out cakes.

When the topics of the weather and horse breeding had been exhausted, Miss Barome said brightly, "Cecil, do tell us when you plan to host the Thanet masquerade."

"Ah yes," Sir Charles said. "The locals are all atwitter over it." He turned and gazed directly at Richard. "It will be hard to top last year, don't you agree?"

Meriel sipped her tea and was glad she was not in Richard's place. Since he had not been home in many years, he would know nothing about the masquerade.

"I top myself every year," Richard said, sharing a grin with Miss Barome.

Meriel tried to let her breath out slowly, before her lungs could burst.

Sir Charles smiled. "Ah, but that fountain full of performers— surely that will remain the most memorable. Don't you agree?"

There was a pause as Richard finished chewing a bite of cake. The cake might as well have been ash in Meriel's mouth as she waited.

"Charles, it must not be too memorable to you," Miss Barome said, laughing. "Surely you remember that the fountain was the year before."

Sir Charles shook his head, all self-deprecation. "Of course, how foolish of me."

Richard lounged back in his chair, eyes half hooded with amusement. "Charles, last year was the performance of lit fairies in the park at midnight. I was chasing a fairy until dawn."

The men laughed, and Miss Barome smiled indulgently at Richard, as if whatever the duke did, no matter how crass, couldn't be bad.

"Cecil," Sir Charles said, setting down his teacup, "I'd like to see that new horse you bought this year. Care to give me a tour of the stables?"

When the men had gone, Miss Barome rose from her chair and came to sit beside Meriel on the sofa.

"How is young Lord Ramsgate?" Miss Barome asked.

"He is doing well, but then he's an intelligent boy, just like his father."

"Yes, just like his father." Miss Barome frowned down into her teacup. With a sigh, she looked up and said, "Speaking of Cecil, well…I hadn't meant to bring this up but…I don't mean to presume upon our acquaintance, yet— "

"Miss Barome, I've never heard you speak with such hesitancy. Please feel free to tell me anything."

To Meriel's surprise, the woman's face reddened.

"Then I shall be frank and hope for the best," Miss Barome said. "Rumors have reached my servants, and consequently me."

It was Meriel's turn to experience a hot blush, but she remained silent.

"I understand that Cecil has chosen you as his next mistress." Miss Barome covered her face. "Oh dear, that sounds awful. I wouldn't blame you if you simply wished me a good day and sent me home. I was just so worried that he'd somehow…forced you— "

Meriel reached for her hand and clasped it tightly. "Miss Barome, please do not upset yourself. The fact that you cared enough to bring me your concerns moves me deeply. I feel that I have found a friend."

"You have, my dear, you have. But Cecil— in the way of many a peer, he believes that what he wants…he can have. I sometimes wish I could hate him. It would make things so much easier."

There was a wistfulness in Miss Barome's eyes and voice that startled Meriel. Had the woman harbored feelings for the duke for all these years? Even a smart woman like Miss Barome— like Meriel— could lose herself because of the charm of the men in this family.

How must Miss Barome feel about this succession of mistresses?

"You don't need to hate him," Meriel said quietly. "He is not a man to use force with a woman, but his charm is more than adequate." She leaned toward Miss Barome. "I will be honest with you. My family's financial position is poor at best. The money the duke is offering me cannot be underestimated. And all I have to endure is his kindness and generosity."

"Oh, I knew it— he is using force, in his own way!"

"No, that is not how I see it, Miss Barome," Meriel said firmly. "I had a choice, and I made it. I would understand if you think less of me."

To her surprise, Miss Barome hugged her and practically upset both of their teacups.

"Oh good gracious, look what I almost did," the woman said, pulling away and offering an embarrassed smile. "Please, don't ever think I would presume to judge you. A woman alone is very vulnerable."

Meriel felt a threat of tears. "Thank you, Miss Barome."

"Please, will you not call me Renee? And I shall call you Meriel, and I promise I'll be a good friend to you. Now tell me, do you paint?"

Meriel laughed and nodded. "I attempt watercolors, but I fear a horse would be better at it than I am. But a certain six-year-old seems impressed."

Richard walked silently beside Charles and decided to let him begin the conversation. They passed through the gardens and down to the stables. Richard gave the order to have Cecil's new gelding put through its paces, and he led Charles over to a fence to watch. They both leaned their elbows on it and waited.

Richard was waiting for more than the horse. What could Charles want? Surely he knew that Richard suspected him, after being knocked unconscious in the woods the other day— or maybe not. Maybe it would not occur to him that there was anything to suspect him of.

The gelding was led out, and Charles nodded his appreciation. "Are you going to train him for the hunt?"

"Perhaps. I would naturally consult you for your opinion, as I know you are an expert at hunting."

"How good of you."

Charles turned to look at him, and there was an anticipation in his eyes that Richard knew had nothing to do with hunting.

"Although I'm not sure you'll want much to do with me," Charles said gravely, "after I give you some sad news."

Though tense, Richard kept his smile pleasant. "Ah, Charles, you know I never let sad news worry me for long."

"But this is not the same, I fear." Charles shook his head. "I regret to inform you that Cecil has passed on to a better place."

Richard stared at him, the smile wiped from his face. "You're not making sense, Charles."

"But of course I am…Richard. Please don't think me a fool and deny your identity. I've known from the beginning."

Richard knew he should be plotting, strategizing his next move— but the pang of loss he felt at the thought of Cecil's death was almost overwhelming.

Yet Charles exuded a secret delight behind his solemn expression, and suddenly Richard wanted to put his hands around his throat and strangle him.

"I assure you that I'm not lying about your brother," Charles continued amiably.

He reached into his coat pocket, and Richard tensed, but all he pulled out was a ring. The ducal ring.

"Ah, I see you recognize it," Charles said. "The poor man— he was very ill."

"You could have had that ring stolen from him," Richard said, abandoning any attempt to deny his identity. "He seldom wore it, and didn't even think I needed it. But you covet it."

"The ring? Heavens, no. I want the power it stands for. Right now it's merely a piece of jewelry. But if you'd like more proof than my word about your poor brother, I've brought along his valet, who of course would never be parted from his master— unless there was no more work to be done. See, I've even instructed my carriage to be brought around."

Both men turned to look back at the house, where a carriage was just passing. It pulled up within yards of Richard. At a signal from Charles, the coachman got down and opened the door, and Cecil's valet stepped out. The valet held the door for support, but otherwise looked unhurt.

"Evans," Richard said, "is it true about your master?"

Evans pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. "Yes, sir. His Grace is dead."

"That's enough, Evans," Charles said. "When we're done here, my coachman will take you back to your master's body."

The valet disappeared into the carriage, and the coachman climbed up into his box to wait.

"You're not going to harm Evans," Richard said.

"Of course not, my good fellow. Besides, he only knows that the duke is dead, not the manner in which he died. And speaking of the duke, I'll hold on to the body for you until you have a chance for a proper burial."

Richard's heart gave another stabbing ache. If Charles had killed Cecil, Charles would pay a terrible price for that betrayal.

"Do not forget that I stand between you and Stephen," Richard warned him in a soft voice.

"Oh I'm counting on that," Charles said with obvious delight. "What amusement would there be going up against a child? And by the way, you're welcome to go to the police with this little tale. But whom will they believe: a concerned cousin? Or the bastard who's masquerading as the duke, and who might have killed the poor man? Because believe me, I can make it look like you did."

"Why the open threats, Charles? If you're so powerful, why not spring your plan on us unaware?"

"But what challenge would that be, Cousin Richard? First you need to deduce what I'm after, don't you?"

"You've already told me it's the power."

"But there are so many ways to acquire that. Enjoy the little puzzle I've presented." Charles stepped up into his carriage, and the coachman drove away.

After the carriage had disappeared around the eastern wing of Thanet Court, Richard turned back to watch the groom riding the gelding, but didn't really see any of it. He could only think about his brother, dead.

Stephen was the new Duke of Thanet.