"Where is it?"

The voice seemed to come from far off... She'd been playing with her sister and, after the fashion of impetuous youth, had accepted a wager that she could not stay on a young (and mostly unbroken) horse for more than ten seconds. It had been a most valiant effort, but she and the filly had parted ways within only a few seconds of her scrambling and extreme ungraceful mount. Her father had not been amused and after ascertaining that his wayward daughter was largely unhurt, had demanded to know where his prize horse had disappeared to after having dislodged its young rider... "Where is it?" he'd demanded of her, in just such an impatient tone... memory abruptly returned.

With a gasp, Anne opened her eyes and began to examine her much-abused head for signs of further injury. She rather thought she'd knocked skulls with the fair-haired young Adonis whom she'd encountered so abruptly in the woods.

"Where is what?" she replied rather shortly, casting good grammar (and good manners) to the winds. "And for that matter, where am I?" This last question was of some concern to her as she did not recognize either the coach in which she and her rescuer were riding or the pretty but unfamiliar countryside which rushed by outside. Obviously she'd been knocked out of time. A small hard lump in the bodice of her dress reassured her that she still had the beautiful sapphire bestowed upon her so unexpectedly by Flora.

"Just outside of London, Ma'am," replied the young man, a touch of impatience in his manner. "We're on our way back to Town. Now, if you would be so kind as to tell me where the Star of the Sea is, I'll be more than happy to restore you to your home."

She regarded him blankly for a moment. "Star of the..."

"Sea, Ma'am," he finished, "It's a rather unusual gem that has... um, been in my family for generations. According to family legend, it was... bestowed on us by a grateful Richard the Lionheart for... er, our part in the Crusades. Now, if we're finished with the history lessons..."

He took out his pocket-watch and examined its face as though it held the a clue to the location of the stone. "Hell and the devil confound it," he muttered, not quite sotto voce.

These were sentiments with which Anne found herself in complete agreement, although she could not acknowledge this publicly. She herself had been obliged to aid a young lady in a public park, had been punched on the jaw by a masked ruffian (and thereby rendered horridly unconscious for who knows how long), and, adding to her sense of injury, borne off in a fainting condition from Lord and Lady Brookfield's town house! She had further been forced to endure the company of what her cousin would have described as "a set of curst rum touches," then been obliged to flee their carriage and run into the woods before being rescued by the young man sitting opposite her. By rights she should be having hysterics now. How she was to explain this all to Lady Brookfield (last seen having a Spasm over her vase) Anne had no idea. She'd deal with that later.

She studied Adonis from under her lashes.

He was quite good-looking, she decided, beginning to feel a little more in charity with him despite his questioning and his ill-concealed impatience. He possessed a fine pair of broad shoulders onto which a coat of blue superfine had apparently been sewed directly, so tightly and so well did it fit. His Hessians (now sadly marred due to the dust of the road and, giving him his due, her rescue) nonetheless looked to be of high quality. His cravat, though somewhat crumpled, showed signs of past elegance, and his features were regular, his eyes in particular a beautiful deep blue. Just now, they held a spark of anger which was no doubt understandable under the circumstances.

Attack, she'd always heard, was the best form of defense. "Perhaps, sir, you might tell me if you make it a habit to lurk in parks, ogling young ladies while refusing to come to their aid when they faint?" She raised her eyebrows in the haughty manner she'd come to perfect (what Master Ronnie was wont to call "The Look") and was pleased to see that it worked as well on young men as it did on her irrepressible charge.

The young man abruptly looked rather disconcerted. "No, really, ma'am... I never... well, that is, I did, but... oh, confound it! You don't understand. I must have that jewel back! 'Tis a matter of life and death!" He really looked quite earnest and young at this point but his persistence in addressing her as "ma'am" was beginning to make her feel rather elderly. Anne decided that he must be several years younger than herself.

However, Anne's kind heart and disastrous imagination were touched. "No, I'm afraid I very much don't understand. Perhaps you might begin by introducing yourself," she remarked, a gleam of excitement coming into her eyes. "I hardly think our previous, er, encounter was quite convenable. And you might also tell me your connection with Miss Havershaw." She felt reasonably sure that there was a connection based on his strong resemblance to Flora, but waited for his confirmation of her surmise.

"Gladly ma'am," he replied. "I am Theo Havershaw, and Miss Flora Havershaw is my sister." He examined his watch again.

Anne gave up her attempt to assimilate the events of the previous several hours, and replied, "I believe I owe you my sincerest thanks for your timely rescue of myself from those, er, ruffians. It was most stupid of me to faint like that! I never faint. I am Miss Anne Tillbury, governess to Ronnie Brookfield and currently employed by Lord and Lady Brookfield."

Diverted from a scowling examination of his timepiece, Mr. Havershaw looked up. "The Brookfield dragon? Egad ma'am, you have my sympathies."

Despite holding similar sentiments herself, Anne still felt obliged by common courtesy to defend her employers. "Is no way to speak of an older lady," she said, reprovingly. "Both Lord and Lady Brookfield have been more than kind to me. We will leave them out of this for the moment." She regarded him gravely. "Now that the proprieties have been more or less observed, perhaps you would be so good as to explain just how the Star of the, Sea, is it? enters into this. I assume it is of great value which is why you wish to regain it. I would further assume that since your sister was attempting to escape her guardian and said guardian had come looking for her (mentioning something about "trouble,") that Flora is the one who has taken the stone. Am I correct?"

Havershaw looked impressed. "I am all admiration for your sound reasoning. Ain't like most females to be able to figure all that out." He beamed upon her for a moment before remembering that he was supposed to be retrieving his missing property. "Yes, she took it hoping to sell or pawn it in order to gain funds so that she and her betrothed (or soon to be betrothed) can marry. I am sure that she gave it to you. She's a good little chit, but she can have had little idea of what she'd set in motion by stealing that stone... so I must ask you again, where is it?" He was beginning to look desperate again.

"If it is truly 'a matter of life and death,'" evaded Anne (prey to a strong desire to rap her shoe over his head for that condescending remark about "most females"), "I believe I have every right to know just what it is I am now involved in." Goodness, she thought, but exciting situations would appear to have rather an unfortunate effect on one's grammar. "And further, why you would think Miss Flora should have given me your gem. Surely that was counter to the success of her plan." Apparently it had not occurred to Havershaw to search her whilst she was unconscious, or if he had, he had conducted a most discreet search since the stone in question was still tucked securely in the bodice of her dress.

Havershaw looked serious. "As to your first question, that I am not at liberty to tell you, Miss Tillbury. Suffice it to say that it involves matters of national security and it is best you know as little as possible. And I must get that emerald back as soon as may be," he muttered.

Anne stared at him. Emerald? Heavens! She had seen enough of Lady Brookfield's jewelry to be able to recognize a sapphire when she saw it. But her rescuer had distinctly said "emerald." It was possible that he did not know an emerald from a sapphire, but most people knew emeralds didn't have stars in them. Didn't they? She gave herself a mental shake. It was becoming ever more apparent that she had stumbled into something deeper and potentially much more dangerous than a rather clichéed tale of Love's Young Dream Thwarted By Financial Obstacles. And now that elements of Mr. Havershaw's (if that was his real name) story did not ring true to her, she resolved to keep the gem until she had succeeded in obtaining the truth (or at least another version of it) from Flora. Who might or might not be Miss Flora Havershaw. Oh, dear.

"As to why I should think you might have the stone, that is because I know m'sister quite well and I am perfectly convinced that she bestowed that confounded thing upon you at some point during today's uproar in the park. Or at Lady Brookfield's house. She cannot have wanted either myself or Seaforth (curse him!) to obtain it. Blast it, I must have the thing back by Sunday night or there'll be the devil to pay and no mistake!" Havershaw was looking quite grim and rather alarming by this point.

They had entered London during the course of their rather bizarre conversation and Anne was quite relieved to see Grosvenor Square approaching. She wished nothing more than to gain the privacy of her room and think through the extraordinary events that had occurred today. She was also beginning to be uncomfortably aware of the many bruises and bumps that were the unfortunate result of the day's events.

"I am extremely grateful to you, Mr. Havershaw, for rescuing me from my abductors. I only wish I could help you effect the return of your misplaced property," she added mendaciously. "If you would set me down outside Number 3 Grosvenor Square I would count it a great favor."

Short of physically detaining her, there was little Havershaw could do but accede to her request. With a glare, he directed the driver to set Anne down outside the doors of the Brookfield's town house. As he handed her down from the coach, she prepared to thank him again, but he took the opportunity to grasp her hand tightly for a moment and grit out, "An you come across that stone, please be sure to apprise me immediately of its whereabouts. You may find me at Number 8 Berkeley Square. Your servant, ma'am." He spun around and climbed swiftly back into the coach, which then rattled off. Anne stared after it for a moment, then turned to enter the town house.

Surprisingly, she encountered only a vastly superior footman in the entry hall, who informed the ceiling above her head that Lord Brookfield was gone to his club, Her Ladyship was laid down on her bed, prostrate from both the excitement of the morning and from having to answer the questions of the Runner sent by Bow Street, and Miss Havershaw had departed shortly after the Runner had taken his leave. To her inquiry whether Miss Havershaw had left a forwarding address, the footman could give no answer. At this point Phipps hove into view, a worried frown on his face which immediately transformed into a huge grin when he saw her.

"Miss Tilbury! You've returned. But how? and are you quite well?"

Anne, shocked by his welcoming smile, replied rather inanely, "Yes, I have returned. And I have taken little harm, Phipps, I do assure you. Miss Flora's brother rescued me from my abductors and brought me back here." Phipps then ushered her upstairs, promising every comfort and pressing her to accept a visit from a doctor. Reluctantly, Anne agreed to this. The doctor gave it as his opinion that she was perfectly fit except for a small bump on her head and a slight case of exhaustion, and advised her to remain in her bed for another day before resuming her duties, did she wish to effect a full recovery. Not averse to this idea, Anne gratefully agreed and determined to track down the elusive Flora at the earliest opportunity. If necessary, she'd walk in the park each day! With the jewel still in her possession, she was sure someone (hopefully the rightful owner) would come seeking her before long. Her last act that night was to secure the jewel in the pocket of her favorite green dress, as she thought that an unlikely place for anyone to search.

The next morning Anne sat down at her desk and took the jewel out of her pocket to examine it more closely. The cabochon cut of the stone served, quite cleverly in her estimation, to show off its extraordinary clarity and brilliance where a more traditional faceting would not. Surely it was of great value, and just as surely its owner must be desiring its return. But just who was the owner of the Star of the Sea, and (perhaps more importantly) had he any idea to whom it had been given? And at what might he not stoop to effect its return? Havershaw had stated that this was a matter of life and death. Whose? Anne's imagination eagerly seized upon this lurid train of thought and embroidered it to such an extent that she began to become quite alarmed. She rose from her chair to pace the room. It was a measure of her agitation that when a large thump heralded Bastet's arrival she gave a small scream and essayed a sprightly leap into the air. Whirling around, she confronted a large black cat regarding her calmly from the top of her desk.

"Bastet! Naughty girl! What a start you gave me!" This scold was robbed of much of its force by the gentle caresses administered to the imperious head that pushed against Anne's hand. The cat, judging the attentions sufficient indication of forgiveness for her precipitate arrival, wound her sinuous way through the papers on Anne's desk (managing thereby to knock a goodly number of them to the floor) and causing Anne to utter a vexed, and most unladylike, snort. As Anne knelt to pick up the scattered pieces of paper, a second cat flowed in through the window with the innate grace peculiar to such beings, noisily demanding her share of petting while sending the remainder of the papers fluttering gently to the floor.

"Boadicea, how nice of Your Majesty to honor me with her presence," remarked Anne with faint irony as she finished gathering her papers. "I don't suppose you'd care to help..? No, I imagine not. 'Such affairs are best left to les domestiques,'" she quoted, in unconscious and slightly bitter imitation of Her Ladyship, whose grasp of the French language had never solidified past a fashionable level. Boadicea appeared to give this remark due consideration and, after a level yellow-eyed stare, commenced to wash her shoulder.

"And that properly rolls me up for being such a grimsby, and rightly so," declared Anne with a grin as she restored her letter to her sister and the beginnings of her novel to the top of the desk. "I begin to believe that you have much better sense - if not better manners - than most of the Upper Ten Thousand. What with masked kidnappers, Stars of the Sea, wicked Marquises, and desperate brothers, I vow society is become quite exciting these days. And I read entirely too many bad novels." The cats watched calmly as she crossed the room to wash her hands and tidy her hair (slightly disarranged due to an involuntary contact with the corner of her desk).

A knock at the door caused her to exchange a brows-raised look with Bastet and Boadicea. Upon opening the door Anne beheld a small and very upset parlour maid who imparted that "H'a genel'mun" was below in the Yellow Saloon and desirous "of h'an h'interview with Miss Tilbury." With a scared look at the two cats, the little maid departed. Anne, experiencing a sense of déjà vu, went downstairs for the second time in as many days to speak with a strange gentleman. She wondered whether this time she would be abducted again (hopefully not!) or whether a Bow Street Runner might be waiting to interview her (oh dear, how to explain this to Lady Brookfield), or perhaps yet another strange man would ask her to give up the Star of the Sea. Her life had taken a decidedly odd turn of late... In her distraction she left the door of her room ajar, thereby allowing the cats to follow her unnoticed downstairs.

Anne had dressed today in her green gown, which had the dubious distinction of being slightly less dowdy than the rest of her eminently serviceable but entirely uninteresting wardrobe. The green, despite being of a most sturdy fabric, emphasized the small amber flecks in her eyes, accounted by her loving parents to be her best feature.

The thought of her parents brought a pang... poor dear mama and papa, stricken so untimely by the fever in India before they'd had a chance to return to the daughters so eagerly awaiting them in England... Alarmed and no little distressed at the trend her thoughts had taken, Anne was further shocked to find herself standing outside the Yellow Saloon, staring at the door. The servents would think she was properly wits-to-let! And with good reason, did they see her standing here like any looby, staring at a closed door!

With a perfunctory knock, she opened the door and walked in, to behold the Wicked Marquis himself calmly leafing through a treatise on Moral Values and the Beneficial Effect Said to Be Held By Them Over the Health of the Human Body. He did not immediately look up, seemingly engrossed in the words of the Good Reverend Doolittle, and thus Anne was at liberty to devote some observation to the study of his person.

Flora had not erred, she decided, in describing His Lordship as a most handsome individual. Of slightly above average height, his broad shoulders and muscled calves owed nothing to the tailor's art but had instead been gifted him by a generous Nature. That same entity had also seen fit to endow him with a slim waist, dark curly hair which apparently resisted every effort to tame it to a more civilized look, and (she noticed as he finally looked up from the book directly at her) a pair of long grey eyes in which at the present moment there appeared to be a great deal of steel.

The pleasant and no-nonsense greeting with which she had intended to begin this interview went directly out of her head upon meeting his Lordship's eyes. Indeed, it was some moments before her annoyance at her rather missish behavior succeeded in rousing her to a belated comprehension of the inadvisibility of staring at a guest in a most ill-bred way. A spark of anger at herself awoke in her own eyes, setting the amber flecks aglow and causing the Marquis - well accustomed to his effect on the fairer sex - to revise his initial (and rather unflattering) estimate of her slightly upward.

His Lordship, for his part, had been prepared to be every inch the arrogant aristocrat in demanding the return of his ward (and the missing stone). He had expected a meek and dowdy governess, cowed by her lot in life as most such creatures were and most likely grateful for any consideration he might show her. He was considerably taken aback to instead confront a lady who, though undeniably dowdy, was yet taller than average and from whose eyes shone the twin lights of intelligence and good humor, although he thought to detect a trace of temper in her present expression. Just behind and to either side of her sat two large black cats, still as statues, regarding him unblinkingly from glowing yellow eyes. "Good God," he murmured. Anne's eyebrows rose.

"Hardly," she replied. "You do me entirely too much honor."

Somewhat disconcerted, the Marquis flushed bright red and asked after Flora's health, and upon receiving assurances that she was feeling much better and had in fact already departed, fell silent for a moment. Anne, correctly assuming that he had been considerably surprised by her appearance (most men were, when confronted with a lady who could look them directly in the eyes), began to see a certain humor in the situation. With a twinkle, she remarked in her fine contralto voice, "Having begun with the subject of religion, perhaps by and by we might manage a remark or two upon the weather. I might say, 'Lud, but it has been so uncommon hot these last few days, has it not?' To which you might reply...?"

"Ah, indeed," quoth His Lordship, desperate but striving. A belated comprehension of the complete inanity of their conversation thus far awoke an answering gleam of humor in his own eyes (which wrought with unexpectedly devastating effect upon Anne's sensibilities)...