August sat in his library, staring blankly at the window. Katrina and that adage-twisting twitter-poop she had married were off at Jamie's small estate in the country and he missed them. Egads, missing Jamie - unheard of - but August was bored at the moment. His Gwen was over adding to the pandemonium incumbent on nursing four invalids at Seaforth House and he certainly was not about to get involved there.

He paced up and down the sumptuous Chinese silk carpet, staring at some of his treasures, but nothing caught his eye. As he passed his desk, he reached down and caught up one of the crumpets on the tea tray, and continued pacing and eating. He knew that there was something important that he had forgotten in all the attendant brouhaha of the Mount Street rescue and it bothered him that he couldn't seem to think what it was. Up and down he paced, replacing one crumpet with another and scattering crumbs wholesale.

The knocker sounded and his butler opened the library door with the announcement, "Sir Gordon Chandler to see you!" August turned to survey a rather dusty and weary Gordon and he motioned him to a chair.

"Tea, wine, or brandy?" he offered.

Gordon stretched out his legs and said, "Brandy!"

August went to a beautiful silver tantalus and poured out a brandy from a crystal decanter and handed it to his friend, who had laid his head back and closed his eyes, savoring the fact that his body was not being jounced and swayed by rutted roads.

"To your health, August."

As Gordon sipped appreciatively at the fine brandy, August gave him news of the invalids recovering at Seaforth House. He was happy to report that Theo had regained consciousness but was suffering a most ferocious headache. None of the three men were good patients and August shuddered at the thought of being there in any kind of nursing capacity.

Gordon then told August all about his meeting with Brooks and then showed him the key that Brooks had passed on to him at the dock. August examined it thoroughly and said thoughtfully, "I have never seen a key like this and I certainly have never seen such a crest."

Gordon agreed and muttered something about taking it to the Royal College of Arms to trace it. August kept staring at the key and then suddenly said, "I also wonder just how the Marbury tiara with the Ruby Heart of Flame could be used to prove treason."

Gordon's swift rejoinder, "Neither do I. The Guardians had so many plans, so many different gems - I could see the emerald and the sapphire's use, and the diamond that was mentioned, but to use that ruby and the tiara - it simply doesn't make sense to me!"

August nodded and suddenly, with an oath, sprang up and ran out the door. "That's what I had forgotten!" came trailing down from the staircase he mounted three steps at a time.

In a matter of moments, he was back with a notebook in his hand. He handed it to Gordon and said, "This was found on the body that we thought was Warburton. We took the forged letters to the King and they were burned ceremonially, but I put this away since it is in code."

Both men examined the notebook and Gordon shook his head. "I am tired and I don't know anything about codes. We must take this to the Court. Perhaps the Ministers would be able to decipher it."

August snorted in disgust, "They can't find their way out the front door without guides. I think we had better consult Roly, Jacob, James, and Duncan Tiele about this. Between us we could solve this, I am sure."

There was the usual pandemonium in the parlor as Roly and Fiona played with young Clifford, Mary, the pups and the cat watched with a supercilious expression on her face. Roly was lying on the floor with Clifford riding on his stomach and Mary was trying to put one of the pups next to Clifford.

Butler was out in the hallway, preparing for morning callers while he ruminated over the Guide to Proper Butlering that he planned to write when he had time. He knew that this household could be the horrible example in his treatise. As he selected some of the worst scenes for the edification of fledgling butlers everywhere, the knocker sounded and he shuffled off to answer it, again muttering about the improper goings on in some homes.

The Duke of Marbury greeted Butler cordially and was guided to the parlor where the noise level had reached epic proportions. Young Clifford was crying and Fiona was just swooping down on him to take him off for his meal when the Duke walked in. Marbury just smiled and waved as Fiona left the room with Clifford and an extremely reluctant to leave Mary in tow.

"I'll see you later, Mary," the Duke smiled at her woebegone face. "You and I will have a walk together in the garden!"

"I'll be back soon, Dukie!" Mary followed her mother out as both Roly and Marbury burst into hearty laughter at the new name Mary had coined for her great-grandfather.

Marbury watched Roly rise from the floor and was pleased to see that his grandson had regained most of his health and vigor. Roly walked over to the couch and sat down, after pulling the bell rope and ordering tea and wine from a footman.

The Duke smiled and said, "You really missed the sight of the Marbury tiara on Queen Caroline's rather florid brow! I never really saw it on anyone's head before since my mother, your mother and my wife all refused to wear such a horror!" Marbury continued, "It was absolutely vulgarly hideous and she was so proud of it." He almost choked, laughing at the remembrance.

Roly leaned forward and said very seriously, "I wonder just how that piece could have been used to entrap you and name you a traitor. That thought really keeps worrying me. It has been in the family for years, hasn't it? Generally kept in your vault?"

Marbury steepled his fingers in front of his face and remained deep in thought for a few minutes. "Yes, it has been in the family since the first Duke brought it back from some voyage or other to the Holy Land. And again, yes, it stays in the vault except when all the jewels go to be cleaned."

"You send them to be cleaned?"

The Duke frowned at Roly's intensity and said, "Yes. I used to send them to a man down in the City of London, but he retired and I sent them to another man just around the corner from the old place."

"Did anything unusual happen this time, at all?"

Again the Duke frowned, and then said, "It took him far longer. Usually they were only gone two or three days. This time they were gone a week. The jeweller said that his assistant was ill and he had to do all the work himself."

"Was there anything at all different about the tiara when you got it back?"

"No, I never really looked at it. It is such a dreadful piece that I just checked the case it was in to make sure it was there."

Fiona returned at that moment and leaned over the Duke to kiss his cheek. He smiled up at his lovely granddaughter and told her that he had made an appointment to walk with his great-granddaughter in the garden. He then grinned hugely and said, "I promised to show her something, and I will."

Roly groaned and muttered, "We have enough livestock now. Tell me it isn't a cat or dog or bird."

The Duke laughed and said, "No, it is a pony."

Roly fell back on the couch and stared up at the ceiling while Fiona smiled and said, "Oh, how lovely. Mary will love having lessons."

Butler reentered the room, this time with August and Gordon on his heels. He announced them and retreated with another sniff. 'Really,' he thought, 'this is outside the pale. A Duke being forced to meet with the Mandarin!'

The new arrivals were welcomed and after tea and small cakes were passed around, August looked at Roly and said, "Well, mon ami, you are back to your old self, I trust?"

"Yes, no one can really stop a dedicated villain such as I!"

August smiled and took the notebook from his pocket and Gordon offered the key. "We have more parts of the puzzle now and I think it is time we met with Jacob and James, if they are in any state to receive us."

The Duke looked at both items and his eyes narrowed. "That is exactly like the key to the case where the Marbury tiara is kept. We never could find out to whom the crest belonged and this is an exact replica."

The men looked at one another and Roly kissed Fiona leading a virtual stampede of men out of the house

Marguerite was worn out, absolutely worn out. Who knew that injured men could be so demanding? If the room wasn't too hot then it was to cold. An open window created a draft while a closed window left the room unbearably stuffy. Pillows weren't fluffed enough. Card games were boring and the food was bland. 'Never in my life have I heard such a litany of complaint,' thought Marguerite as she flopped down on the chair. 'Those men are impossible! And Flora is no help; all she does is hover over Jacob while he grins at her like a mooncalf. I'm quite sure that several times they haven't even had a chaperone.' Marguerite tried to frown at the impropriety of this situation but found that she didn't have the heart or the clean conscience to sit judgment on her friend's behavior. 'After all,' she thought, 'they should be happy while they can for I am quite sure that there are troubles ahead.'

She shook her head, determined to break out of her dismal reflections on her friend's love life, when far down the hall a bell tinkled. 'I suppose that's Theo or Uncle James wanting a pillow fluffed of a drink brought orÉ' At the thought she groaned and began trudging down the hall to answer the call that had begun to haunt her sleep.

"They're only so demanding because they're bored. If any of the other men could be bothered to stop by maybe it wouldn't be so bad. But no, they've been avoiding the sick rooms like the plague." She muttered to herself, "Even Duncan hasn't come and I thought for sure he would afterÉ" Marguerite trailed off, embarrassed to discover that she was muttering to herself like a looby in front of her brother's door. She gathered her wits and turned toward the door only to be nearly run down by the stampede of men who rushed by her into the sickroom. "Wha..." was all she managed to get out before the door was slammed in her face.

"I tell you man, we have to inform the King," Jacob gasped from the chair where he had been installed after being dragged out of his room over Flora's protests. "If the Guardians were planning to use the tiara to implicate the Duke of Marbury why shouldn't they use it now to implicate the royal family."

"Charging the King with treason against the crown might be rather difficult." pointed out Falcon dryly. "An instinct for self-preservation tends to run deep in royalty."

"Ah yes," inserted Duncan, " It might not, however, be so difficult to charge his son or his wife."

As murmurs of ascension ran through the room and Falcon lifted his glass to acknowledge the hit - a rare occurrence. James, who had also been taken from bed, said, "We must be careful with the King. If we bring this to his attention and nothing comes of it he may be very angry. We don't, after all, have any concrete proof, all we have is a peculiar key and a journal that is yet to be deciphered."

"Well, then," said Duncan, rising to his feet, "We must find proof."

"Well!" a miffed Flora exclaimed indignantly as she strode purposefully into the room with a glass in her hand. "Were you as shabbily treated as I was, Margo?"

"Yes, they slammed the door in my face with no explanation or apology." Noticing the glass, Margo squealed, " Ooooh! Are you going to try and listen in on them?."

"Of course I shall. They have my poor Jacob and he is in no condition for their plans whatever they may be."

As Flora was almost to the door, it was suddenly flung open causing her to jump back. The stampede of men came streaming out once more.

Guiltily whipping the glass behind her skirts, Flora called after them, "Hey, where are you going?"

At the end of the group, August flung over his shoulder, "Sorry ladies, we don't have time for a tete-a-tete."

Totally disgusted, Flora summed the situation up in one word, "Men!"

"Well, we shall just have to make our own plans, Flora."

A little bell tinkled once more as both girls groaned simultaneously.

Flora ducked into an empty bedchamber. Marguerite followed and found Flora peering into a looking glass, tilting her cap at a more becoming angle.

"But what of our plans?" Marguerite asked, watching the other girl pinch some color into her cheeks.

"Our plans?" Flora stepped back from her reflection to better observe the fall of the skirt of her cornflower blue morning gown. "What plans?" She turned to Marguerite with a worried frown on her face. "Do you think this color makes me look bilious?"

Before Marguerite could open her mouth, the bell tinkled again. Flora picked up her skirts and dashed to Holt's room. From the hallway, Marguerite heard Flora eagerly greet Captain Holt, then wish a good morning to her uncle James with disappointment in her voice.

Marguerite descended the wide oak staircase. Flora was head over heels in love. Again. There was no point trying to reason with her. Flora in the grip of an enthusiasm was immovable. Marguerite would have to continue the investigation alone until Flora came to her senses. An she came to her senses.

Perhaps this time Flora really was in love. How could one tell? What if she were not? Surely a man of the world like Captain Holt would not be too cast down should Flora's zeal fade, the way it had every other time she had believed herself in love. Still, it would be sad an the brave captain's heart were wounded. Thinking about it made Marguerite's head feel muzzy by the time she entered the Seaforth drawing room.

She sighed and threw herself down on the sofa. The business of being in love was considerably more complicated than she had believed possible. There was so much uncertainty. One never knew an what one felt was sincere, never mind hazarding a guess about what sensations were in the mind of another.

Take Mr. Tiele, for example. She hoisted her feet onto the leather footstool, and wriggled into the cushions, comfortable despite her billowing hoops. She would have vowed outside the house on Mount Street Mr. Tiele had looked at her warmly. Extremely warmly. Hotly, even. Yet had he not just stampeded through the house without the slightest glance in her direction? It was so perplexing! One moment he gazed at her as though on the verge of making an important announcement, the next he completely ignored her existence.

She closed her eyes and leaned back against the cushions. The worst was that she found herself caring. Watching his deep blue eyes to see if he would glance her way. It was absurd! For when he did look at her, she usually could think of nothing captivating to say. All she did was gawk and blush like a schoolgirl. He probably thought she was an awkward henwit, an he thought about her at all.

On the other hand, she felt as though she had remarked every nuance about his person. His unruly hair, more auburn than red. His sandy eyebrows that were the same color as the freckles sprinkled across his snub nose. The way his eyes had a particular way of brightening when he was amused. She moaned and put her hands over her eyes. It wasn't just how he looked. She could still feel the strength in his muscular arms the night he saved her from the villains. The first time she had seen him. He even had a distinctive smell, partly soap, partly... She sniffed. Her heart began to pound.

She opened her eyes.

Duncan Tiele was sitting in the wing chair next to the fireplace, watching her with a bemused expression on his freckled face.

She scrambled upright, beating down her hoops with unsteady hands.

"You were spying on me!" Her words came out in a squeak which added to her mortification.

He leaped out of his chair to come before her.

"I would never do such a thing, Miss Templeby. I came into the room to wait for you and I must have fallen asleep. When you uttered a sound, I awoke to find you right before me. Directly after which, you opened your own eyes." He smiled. "Almost as though you were looking for me."

Her cheeks grew even hotter. She would die before she would tell him she smelled him.

"You were waiting for me?" She took a deep breath to try to calm her racing pulse.

Duncan thrust his hands behind him and spun away. He applied himself to examining the carving on the oak mantelpiece. He studied the ormolu clock on the mantle, then the portrait of the worthy Seaforth ancestor that hung above it. Anything except Miss Marguerite's rosy cheeks, Miss Marguerite's heaving bosom, Miss Marguerite's dewy eyes.

"I thought all the gentlemen had left," she said.

He straightened his shoulders. He set his face in what he hoped was a pleasant but not too fervent expression and turned around. He did not take her hand. He did not throw himself at her feet. He carefully seated himself in the chair opposite the sofa.

"All of the gentleman cannot have left, for I am most certainly still here. Or do you not consider me a gentleman?" He smiled.

"I no longer consider any of you gentlemen." She shook her finger at him disapprovingly, although her mouth could not hide her gentle smile. "All of you, stampeding through the house like a herd of cameleopards without telling Flora or me a thing."

"I apologize, Miss Marguerite. It was most unfair. 'Twas only that we wished to avoid any danger to the ladies."

"But keeping a lady out of danger is not the same as keeping her in ignorance."

He smiled ruefully. "You are right, ma'am. It was most presumptuous of us to ignore you and Miss Flora. He realized as he said it he was not merely being polite. Miss Marguerite had proved herself to be intelligent and capable, even in the thick of battle. She was watching him, her delicate eyebrows raised in inquiry. He felt his face begin to flush. There was no reason to keep her in the dark, not after her daring participation in the Mount Street debacle. In any event, she would not be in any danger as long as he was with her, and he had been delegated to stay by her side.

He cleared his throat. "I shall tell you, but I must confess I am not certain of all the details."

She leaned toward him as he began to speak. He kept his eyes on her face.

"Mr. Falcon and Mr. Fairleigh," he began, "have gone to visit a jeweller who may or may not be a jeweller ."

"Mr. Fairleigh?"

"Mr. Matheison," he corrected. "Or perhaps he goes by Otton, I cannot say. In any event, I have met Mr. Fair... Roly before, and I do not care to travel with him."

"What is the jeweller an he is not a jeweller?" she asked.

"The jeweller may be part of a conspiracy to have some members of the royal family accused of treason by tampering with the Duke of Marbury's tiara."

"The Duke of Marbury wears a tiara?" She opened her eyes wide. He could see the humour sparkling in them.

"The Duke of Marbury has a tiara," he said, settling himself comfortably in his chair, "I do not know if he wears it, although I suppose he must, for he sent it to the jewellers to be cleaned, and I do not see how a tiara that is not worn would become dirty. The jewellers who are perhaps jewellers may have taken a ruby from the tiara."

"Or they may not?" She stood up.

"Precisely." He watched her pace in front of the fireplace, her skirts swirling gracefully around her slender form. "Mr. Falcon and his friend have gone to see. Gordon Chandler and Theo Havershaw have taken a journal to a don at Oxford that Lord Seaforth thinks may be able to help decipher it."

"Which journal?" She stopped and stood before him, a questioning smile on her gentle lips.

"The very important journal which is written in code." He sighed. "We must have someone decipher it so we may find out what it says."

"But how do you know the journal is very important an you cannot read it?" she asked in an innocent tone.

He burst into laughter. "Madam, I warned you before I began the tale I did not claim to understand it. Now I shall not tell you the part about the key."

He ignored the pleas she gasped between giggles.

"'Tis a banbury tale, Mr. Tiele," she said, accepting his handkerchief and dabbing her eyes. She had not been so amused since this adventure had begun. He was looking at her intently. Marguerite felt the blood return to her cheeks. She folded the white linen square and returned it to him.

He did not take if from her but instead held her hand between his own. She felt as though she were drowning in his magnificent blue eyes.

"I wish it were just a fanciful story, my dear." He shook his head. "I'm afraid 'tis true and there is great danger."

His head was inches away from her own, a tender expression in his dear sweet face. She could not breathe. Her knees were weak. The only sounds in the room were the ticking of the clock and the wild beating of her heart.

"What are we to do next?" she whispered.

He smiled softly, "We must return to the centre of the drama." His gentle voice was soothing. "We must return to the house of the woman who took me captive. Cicely Tilbury is at the core of this darkness, I know it in my heart."

Marguerite felt her own heart fall into her slippers. Cicely Tilbury! She held her trembling hands to her cheeks. He was still thinking about Cicely Tilbury! Marguerite whirled out of his arms. The past few minutes disappeared in a puff of powder. Just like the cloud of powder that would waft from Cicely Tilbury's over-decorated head were she to fall on her appalling abominable abhorrent... Marguerite stopped herself. Flora had told her all about the evil woman's ability to twist and turn a man under her spell. Duncan Tiele was a man possessed. And he had the nerve to stand there in the Seaforth drawing room, with his rooster red hair, an addled expression on his horrid freckled face as if he had no idea what a monstrous great looby he was.

She slammed the door on her way out.