"A loutish woman," the older woman agreed.

"Exactly, Lady Nesbitt, and she deserved her comeuppance. The fish idea was mine." Lady Fanchere's smug smile both challenged Lady Nesbitt and put Emma in awe of her falsehood, and of the panache with which she delivered it.

Lady Nesbitt first looked shocked and offended, then reluctantly laughed. "I fear our Moricadian society will never be held in respect by other nations while we allow-nay, encourage-vulgarians like Lady Lettice to join our inner circle."

"So true. English noblemen come to Moricadia to gamble and indulge in other, insalubrious activities, yet their noblewomen stay well away. It is only English women of Lady Lettice's inferior quality who visit for a chance to do those activities they would not dare while in England."

As the women in the room nodded and murmured their agreement, Emma took up her position at Lady Fanchere's right shoulder.

Lady Fanchere continued. "Since Lord Fanchere was most desirous that I have a companion to tend to my needs, and I discovered Emma had been recommended to Lady Lettice by the Distinguished Academy of Governesses . . . You do know of the Distinguished Academy of Governesses, do you not, Lady Nesbitt?"

"I don't know that I do, Lady Fanchere." Lady Nesbitt looked annoyed as only a woman who liked to be on the cutting edge could be.

Lady Fanchere smiled and toyed with the fringe of her shawl. "In 1839, the Distinguished Academy of Governesses was founded by three gentlewomen with the intent to educate and place other impoverished young gentlewomen in positions as governesses to respectable families. When those three women married well-married very well-they sold the academy to Adorna, Lady Bucknell, who as you know is above reproach in every way."

The ladies nodded, mesmerized by Lady Fanchere's recitation.

"Lady Bucknell . . . works?" Lady Nesbitt pursed her lips in disapproval.

"Lady Bucknell holds such an exalted position in English society she does as she wishes, and that includes the expansion of the Distinguished Academy of Governesses into other careers suitable for young women of exceptional birth." Lady Fanchere placed her hand on Emma's arm. "Women like my dear companion."

Emma was equally mesmerized by the realization that Lady Fanchere not only knew about the Distinguished Academy of Governesses and its fabled patroness, but that in this group of women, Lady Fanchere held such a position of respect that no one questioned her absurd tale of how she acquired Emma's services.

"Are there other companions from the Distinguished Academy of Governesses in Moricadia?" one of the younger women asked.

"No, Alceste, but they're getting an international reputation for quality help, and I'm sure you could send to England. . . ."

Alceste was shaking her head even before Lady Fanchere finished her sentence. "Yves would be most displeased at the extravagance. He is a good man, but he squeezes the gold eagle tightly enough to make it squeal."

The conversation shifted to the subject of husbands and their stinginess.

Really, Emma thought, it was better to leap at once into her duties. She wouldn't have time to brood about the loss of her belongings left in Lady Lettice's hotel room. She knew full well Lady Lettice would never consent to give them up, and it wasn't as if any of them had any value other than sentiment. The miniature of her father. The worn copy of Pride and Prejudice owned by the mother she didn't remember. The small glass figurine of a spaniel she had bought in Venice, broken in one of Lady Lettice's rages and now minus a leg. The wool shawl woven by the ladies in Freyaburn and given to her as a going-away present. Her bag of tools and medicines . . .

She realized she was blinking away tears, and wondered when she had become such a cowed creature as to cry at the loss of a few meager possessions. Had Lady Lettice and her cruelties really made her so feeble?

"Michael!" Lady Fanchere's voice sounded with quiet delight. "I'm so glad you chose to join us."

Emma looked up to see a tousled, genial Michael Durant posed in the doorway with all the careless grace of Adonis before his worshippers.

"My dear Lady Fanchere." He strode forward to kiss the extended hand. "And my dear Lady Nesbitt." Another hand. "Lady Alceste." Another. And so on through the room, showing clearly that he had spent the time of his house arrest ingratiating himself to the females in Moricadian society.

Emma watched as each lady smiled and fluttered under his admiring gaze, and again Emma fiercely and silently condemned an Englishman too lazy to escape this luxurious prison, a man who renounced his own family to lounge about in a foreign society.

Briefly his gaze brushed Emma, and it was as if the night before had never been. He bowed briefly, then took the chair at Lady Fanchere's side.

Henrique brought a fresh tray of pastries.

Emma began to disperse delicate china plates, and offered linen napkins embroidered with a white "F."

"Have you eaten?" Lady Fanchere poured Michael a cup of tea. All too obviously, she doted on him like a hen with a favorite chick.

"I had a small repast when I woke." His voice was lower and raspier than it had been the evening before.

"Did you enjoy your first ball after so many days and nights of"-Alceste glanced from side to side-"imprisonment?"

Lady Nesbitt sniffed warningly. "Listening ears, my dear Alceste. Spies are everywhere." Taking the laden tray from Henrique, she held it under Durant's nose and gestured to Emma. "Here, dear boy, you're too thin."

Emma presented him with a plate.

Durant accepted it. He held the tea in one hand, balanced the plate on his knee and filled it from Lady Nesbitt's tray. He looked pleased and abashed . . . and tired. Dark circles ringed his eyes, his cravat was loosely tied, and his hair was attractively disheveled. "Last night's ball was glorious."

"It was kind of the prince to allow you attend, was it not?" Lady Nesbitt prompted.

"Prince Sandre defines kindness in a way no other man could." Michael's mouth curled sardonically.

Alceste laughed, an abrupt snort of appreciation.

But when Emma glanced at her, her face was smooth, expressionless.

Michael's cheek quirked. "House arrest under Lord and Lady Fanchere's care could not be kinder. I have bars on the window of my room"-he challenged them with his gaze-"but I come to tea. I am under suspicion of traitorous activity, but I am allowed the services of my valet. I cannot leave Moricadia, but I attend its finest balls."

"Sandre instructed me to allow you as much freedom as I thought reasonable," Lady Fanchere said. "And he kindly suggested you would be entertained by our social gatherings."

"I am wounded, my lady." Michael placed his palm on his chest, fingers splayed. "You obviously don't consider me a rascal or a villain, capable of stealing the Fanchere silver or, even better, absconding with a Moricadian maiden."

The women began to giggle.

"You are absurd." Lady Nesbitt tried to sound stern, but a smile tugged at her mouth.

"Am I so tame a creature that ladies yawn behind their fans at my appearance? Could I not conceive and execute an evil plan to change the palace guard's uniform from blue and red to stylish mauve, or . . . or . . ." He sputtered to a stop.

The women were laughing.

"Or ride about the night-clad countryside dressed like a ghost?" Alceste joked. Then with abrupt embarrassment she slapped her hand over her mouth and gazed, eyes wide with horror, at Lady Fanchere.

Lady Fanchere gestured her forgiveness.

Michael at once stepped into the breach. "Yes! I could be the Reaper. Only a few obstacles stand in my way. My regrettable tendency toward cowardice." He smiled at Alceste.

She dropped her hand away from her face and smiled gratefully.

He continued. "My lack of a worthy horse-my own steed is aged and plodding. The key with which I am locked into my bedroom at night. Accomplices . . ."

Everyone was smiling once more.

For reasons Emma didn't understand, Durant and his smooth charm made her want to roll her eyes and snort. He'd been pleasant the night before. He'd tried to save her, although her own recklessness had put her on the road and her lack of direction had sent her into the forest to face a wolf and . . . a ghostly face with no eyes. She froze. The sounds in the room faded. The plates tumbled from her nerveless fingers. They fell slowly toward the floor, hit the hardwood, and shattered.

Abruptly, she could hear again, move again. One glance around the room proved that everyone was staring at her, some with disdain, some with impatience. "I'm sorry. So sorry." She knelt and tried to pick up the biggest pieces.

Lady Fanchere said, "Emma, leave that. I'm warm."

Taking a fortifying breath, Emma rose and removed the shawl from Lady Fanchere's shoulders.

"Are you sure she's from the Distinguished Academy of Governesses? She certainly doesn't seem to have the necessary graces to be a paid companion," Lady Nesbitt said.

Emma hunched her shoulders.

"She is exactly what I wanted," Lady Fanchere said firmly.

"Are you well, dear Lady Fanchere?" Alceste leaned forward in concern. "First you're chilled; then you're warm."

In the exact opposite reaction, Lady Nesbitt leaned back as if avoiding contamination. "You're not coming down with anything, are you?"

Lady Fanchere placed her hand to her forehead. "I don't know. . . ."

"You are looking a little flushed," Durant said. "I heard the plague had broken out in the low town."

His pronouncement had the effect of getting the ladies on their feet, expressing concern as they rushed to the door, leaving Lady Fanchere, Emma, and Durant alone in the study while two footmen cleared away the plates and cleaned the room.

Lady Fanchere chuckled and waved Emma to a seat. "Thank you, Michael. That was very crafty. I was growing weary. Now-I have a job for you. Would you go with Emma to gather her belongings from Lady Lettice?"

"Oh. No." At the thought of facing Lady Lettice again, Emma wrung her hands. "There's no need-"

"There is every need. I want you to be comfortable and have your belongings. Your clothes. Your mementos." Lady Fanchere looked directly into Emma's eyes. "Your medical supplies."

Chapter Ten.

"I apologize for the effort you've been forced to make on my behalf." Emma sat in the small cart, gloved hands in her lap, and watched as Durant picked up the reins and urged the pony forward on the road that wound away from the Fanchere estate and toward the glittering resort city of Tonagra.

"I'm under house arrest. I have few pleasures and fewer duties, so accompanying you on this jaunt is a pleasure." He tossed his tall hat into the corner by his feet.

She faced straight ahead with the brim of her bonnet protecting her from his gaze, but she thought she heard the echo of amusement in his voice. "I would not call it a jaunt; nor will it be a pleasure."

"This is a lovely summer day. The setting is gorgeous." He swept an arm around at the mountains towering above the winding road. "The company is charming. If the errand turns arduous, then we'll have paid for our joys." In a voice quite different from his usual laughing amusement, he said, "When a man spends a lifetime in the dark, he learns what's important in life, and he seizes it in both hands."

Turning her head, she observed him in surprise. Did he mean that?

It seemed he did. Before they started, he had removed his jacket and placed it in the hamper hooked on the back of the cart, and now, without his hat, with the breeze ruffling his hair, he looked not at all like a proper English nobleman. Not that Durant was improper. He held the reins with one hand, controlling the pony without effort, yet he took his ease against the seat, lounging carelessly with legs outstretched and one arm draped over the edge of the cart.

She sat with stiff attention, making sure the movement of the cart didn't accidentally make her sway in his direction, taking care that her shoulder didn't bump his. "What is it you would seize?"

"A sunny day. A good glass of wine. A child's smile." He turned to her, his green eyes serious. "My one chance at love."

Was he flirting with her? Surely not.

Then she remembered his captivating performance during Lady Fanchere's tea, and realized he probably was. For this English lord, flirting was apparently as necessary as breathing. So in repressive tones, she said, "Admirable sentiments. Would you not seize your chance at freedom?"

"I take what blessings I can, thank God for them, and while I enjoy my current seeming liberty, I'm intelligent enough to know that escape from even so small a country as Moricadia is impossible in a pony cart with a beast such as this pulling it." He pointed with the whip.

Emma was forced to admit he had a point. The pony was round as a barrel, with a lethargic disposition and a pink bow in her mane. If she could gallop, and Emma saw no reason to suppose she could, her legs were so short a greyhound would pass her in the first hundred yards.

"If I were to try to escape, it would be faster on foot, and my boots are too worn for that." With a laugh, he showed her his sole.

She was shocked to realize she could see his sock through the hole in the leather. "What? Why?"

"I was wearing them when the prince in his infinite wisdom commanded I be sent to prison, and since then, they became . . . shabby."

She considered what inquiry to pose next. Don't you have another pair of boots? Can't you have them resoled? Have you considered cutting several sheets of paper to a size larger than the hole and placing them inside?

Instead she blurted, "What did you do wrong?"

"To be arrested, you mean? Nothing. However, I was accused of assisting the enemies of the de Guignard regime, and I was told I would be held until I gave up the names of the conspirators."

She remembered Brimley's admonition about staying away from intrigue, remembered too that he had said the de Guignards never hesitated to arrest anyone they suspected of plotting treason. It was Durant of whom he was speaking. "Why didn't you?"

"Do I look like the kind of man who knows any conspirators?"

She had to admit he didn't. Any man too lazy to fix his boots or buy new ones was too lazy to bother with the messy business of insurrection. "Why did they let you out?"

"They hope I'll lead them to the conspirators."

"While you're under house arrest?"

"They watch my movements, study anyone with whom I dare speak or spend time." He smiled at her. "You should be frightened to be seen with me. Perhaps they'll believe you're a revolutionary." "A revolutionary?" She gave a choked laugh. "No one would ever believe that of me."

"Because you're female?"

"No, because I'm a coward."

"At the Thibaults' party you were not at all a coward."

"I swear to you, sir, I didn't put that fish down Lady Lettice's bosom on purpose."

"I realize that. I was referring to your flight into the forest."

Her heart leaped in alarm, and she turned on him. "What do you know about that?"

He leaned away from her, looking surprised. "I know that you have a propensity for getting lost, and that you were put out on the road and weren't seen again by any of the guests leaving the party, so I assume you turned the wrong way and got lost."

"Oh." For the first time on this drive, she relaxed against the seat. "I'm sorry; I don't quite remember what happened." Pressing her hand to the bump on her head, she closed her eyes and tried to conjure up the scene in the woods. There was a wolf and something that frightened her even worse than the wolf. . . . a face . . .

"You don't remember?" He sounded astonished, even avid. "You don't remember how you got from the wilderness to the Fancheres' doorstep?"