Cinderella in the Regency Ballroom. Deb Marlowe

      The corner of her friend’s mouth twitched. ‘I recognised the symptoms from personal experience.’ She raised a questioning brow. ‘As do you, I assume.’

      Lily nodded.

      ‘Well, then we both know that you cannot force him to stop. He will battle his own demons in his own time—just as everyone else must, sooner or later.’

      Lily met her friend’s gaze squarely. ‘Would you consider me insane if I told you that I have been wondering … if perhaps I am meant to help Mr Alden?’

      ‘No,’ Minerva replied promptly. ‘I would consider you the most generous girl with the grandest heart in all of England. But I would also warn you that Jack Alden is a man grown. He can help himself. You can go on enjoying your all-too-brief stay in London—as you were meant to do.’

      Lily regarded her with affection. ‘You are a very dear friend.’

      ‘I know,’ Minerva responded comfortably, ‘but you deserve me.’

      For several long moments Lily sat, silent. Her thoughts swirled while her conscience struggled to find a balance between her wants and her needs. At last she sighed. She knew what she wanted, but she also knew what she must do.

      ‘Minerva,’ she said slowly, ‘we will likely be seeing much of Mr Alden over the next weeks.’ She grimaced. ‘Tomorrow, for instance, Lady Dayle and I are to accompany him on a day trip to a friend’s country villa.’ She gestured helplessly about them, at his family’s house which sheltered them. ‘But I think it is best that I keep my distance—for all of our sakes.’ Lily reached for her friend’s hand and clasped it tightly when it came. ‘Will you help me?’

      ‘Yes,’ Minerva responded slowly. ‘I rather think I will.’

      Whistling, Jack swept a brush down the muscled flank of one of his sturdy greys. ‘Now this is a job for a one-handed man,’ he said aloud. The doctor had agreed to let him leave off with the splint, but his arm still felt a long way from fully recovered. ‘Let’s finish it up, boys!’ he called to the men polishing his brother’s landau. ‘Our ladies will be ready shortly. Let’s be sure to give them a beautiful ride!’

      He could see the vehicle, shining already in the early morning sun, and the grooms scrambling over the cobbled yard of the mews. His brother’s voice rang out just then and Jack turned as Charles entered the stable.

      Charles called for his mount and joined his brother, running a critical eye over the horse he laboured over. ‘Morning, Jack. Your greys look to be in fine fettle today.’

      ‘Perhaps not so flashy as Pettigrew’s bays,’ Jack answered, grinning, ‘but they suit me well. Thank you again,’ he added, ‘for the loan of your landau. It looks to be a good day for our drive. I’m sure Mother and Miss Beecham will prefer the open air to a carriage and none of us would be comfortable squeezing into my cabriolet.’

      ‘Remind me again where you are all off to?’

      ‘Chester House. Lord Bradington has invited a select group to view his Anglo-Saxon collection and he’s invited some scholars interested in the period to speak. I’m to read my paper on King Alfred’s system of justice.’ He shrugged. ‘I had originally declined, but the day is fine and I thought the ladies might enjoy it. Miss Beecham seems to go in for that sort of thing.’

      Jack grinned as his brother gave him the same sort of once over he’d just given his horse.

      ‘You do seem to be in remarkably good spirits,’ said Charles. ‘I don’t think I’ve seen you looking so relaxed in weeks.’

      ‘Remarkable what a good night’s sleep will do for a man,’ said Jack, continuing on with his brushing. He was in good spirits. In fact, he was vastly relieved and gloriously happy. ‘It’s all due to a grand bit of news, Charles. Do you recall Benjamin Racci, the fellow who had the apartments next to me at All Souls?’

      He watched Charles grimace and search his memory. ‘Vaguely. His area of interest had something to do with Muslims, yes?’

      ‘Oh, you are good,’ Jack said admiringly. ‘No wonder you do so well in the Lords. Yes, in any case, Racci’s obsession is Muslim influence on Western development. He’s currently in Gibraltar, going over Moorish structures and mosques.’ He paused, leaned on the back of his grey and smirked at his brother. ‘And guess what he caught sight of in Catelan Bay?’

      Charles’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Jack a moment, then realisation dawned. ‘Not Batiste?’

      ‘Batiste, big brother!’ Jack crowed. ‘Racci got my letter, asking that he keep an eye and ear out, and then, wham! One morning he spots the Lady Vengeance riding at anchor in the bay. Racci sent a message off to the British Naval Commander, but she was gone before they got there.’

      ‘So he’s not been caught?’ asked Charles.

      ‘No, but neither did he re-supply. He’s on the run, Charles, and for the first time I feel as if we truly might catch up with the bastard.’

      His brother grinned. ‘So that’s why you are in such a good mood. Triumph of logic and reason over tyranny and villainy?’

      ‘Perhaps not triumph, yet, but definitely a step in the right direction. And it was due to sound thinking and determination,’ Jack corrected. ‘As well as good contacts, of course.’

      ‘Nice job, little brother.’ Charles stepped back as his groom led his mount forwards. Another man came to take the grey and Jack savoured the feeling of his brother’s approbation as he handed him over to be harnessed with his mate.

      ‘I’m surprised you are bothering with poor Miss Beecham now that you’ve got Batiste on the run,’ Charles teased as he swung up. ‘Why bother taking her and Mother out if you no longer need to pursue her connection with Matthew Beecham?’

      A small, cowardly piece of his soul had already whispered the same message in Jack’s ear. He rebuffed his brother in the same way he had sternly talked to himself.

      ‘The girl is Mother’s guest, Charles, not a pawn in some game I’m playing,’ Jack said reproachfully. He waved the groom away and checked his brother’s girth strap himself.

      ‘I know, I know, it was just a brotherly jibe.’ Charles did not sound in the least repentant. ‘I can’t help thinking of what happened to me, though, last time Mother adopted a protégée.’

      Jack froze. ‘The situations are not at all similar.’

      Charles laughed. ‘I know. Just watch yourself.’

      ‘Don’t even joke about such things,’ Jack said with shudder. ‘What a wretched husband I should make, holed up in my rooms, losing myself for days on end in my papers and books.’ He eyed Charles soberly. ‘And we both know what a wretched husband does to a family. I have no plans to inflict such a fate on anyone.’

      ‘You never know, Jack. Some day you might just meet a young lady who interests you more than your stale ancients.’

      ‘Miss Beecham does interest me. She’s a lovely girl, but I have no intention of making her miserable for the rest of her life. I give her the respect she is due as a friend of the family, but I’m not about to give up any other possible leads to Batiste.’

      ‘Do you think the girl will co-operate, then?’

      Jack shrugged. ‘I won’t know until I ask.’

      ‘Best of luck to you.’ Charles nudged his mount forwards. ‘The vote on this bill comes soon, and then I’ll be back to Sevenoaks for a few days.’

      ‘I’m sure I’ll see you before then.’ Jack waved his brother off.

      The landau stood ready, polished surfaces gleaming, the horses prancing in anticipation. Dissatisfied, Jack climbed in. He much preferred to do his own driving. But he gave a nod of readiness to the groom and the team went wheeling after