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to complement the rose gown.
She opened the small gilt box on her dressing table. Inside were her two most valuable
possessions, a carefully folded sheet of paper and a necklace. The folded paper, marked
with ominous brown stains, contained a rather unpleasant little poem Augusta's brother
had penned shortly before his death.
The necklace had been the property of the Northumberland Ballinger women for three
generations. Most recently it had belonged to Augusta's mother. It was composed of a
strand of blood-red rubies interspersed with tiny diamonds. In the center hung a single
large ruby.
Augusta clasped the necklace carefully around her throat. She wore the piece often. It
was all she had left of her mother's. Everything else had been sold to buy Richard his
precious commission.
When the necklace was in place, the large ruby nestled just above the valley between
her breasts, Augusta turned back to the window and feverishly began making her plans.
Harry arrived home from his club shortly after midnight, sent his staff to bed, and
headed for the sanctuary of his library. His daughter's latest letter detailing the progress of
her studies and the weather in Dorset lay on the desk.
Harry poured himself a glass of brandy and sat down to reread the painstakingly
penned letter. He smiled to himself. Meredith was nine years old and he was extremely
proud of her. She was proving to be a serious and diligent student, anxious to please her
father and to perform well.
Harry had personally designed Meredith's curriculum and supervised each stage
carefully. Frivolous elements such as watercolor painting and the reading of novels had
been ruthlessly expunged from the program. As far as Harry was concerned such things
were much to blame for the general flightiness and romantical inclinations that
characterized so much of the female population. He did not want Meredith exposed to
them.
The day-to-day instruction was carried out by Meredith's governess, Clarissa Fleming.
Clarissa was an impoverished Fleming relation whom Harry felt extremely fortunate to
have available in his household. A serious bluestocking in her own right, Aunt Clarissa
shared his views on education. She was fully qualified to teach the subjects Harry wanted
Meredith to learn.
Harry put down the letter, took another sip of his brandy, and contemplated what
would happen to his strictly regulated household once he put Augusta in charge of it.
Perhaps he truly had lost his wits.
Something shifted in the shadows outside the window. Frowning, Harry glanced up
and saw nothing but darkness. Then he heard a faint scratching noise.
Harry sighed and reached out for the handsome black ebony walking stick that was
never far from his side. London was not the continent and the war was over, but the world
was never a completely peaceful place. His experience of human nature told him it
probably never would be.
He got up, cane in hand, and put out the lamp. Then he went to stand to one side of the
window.
As soon as the room went dark, the scratching noise increased. It had a frantic quality
now, Harry decided. Someone was hurrying through the bushes alongside the house.
A moment later there was an urgent tapping on the window. Harry looked down and
saw a figure in a hooded cloak peering through the glass. Moonlight revealed the small
hand raised to rap again.
There was something familiar about that hand.
"Bloody hell." Harry stepped away from the wall and put the ebony stick on the desk.
He opened the window with a brusque, angry motion, planted both hands on the sill, and
leaned out.
"Thank goodness you are still here, my lord." Augusta threw back the hood of her
cloak. The pale moon revealed the relief in her face. "I saw that the light was on and I
knew you were in there and then quite suddenly the lamp went out and I was afraid you
had left the room. What a disaster if I had missed you tonight. I have been waiting for
over an hour at Lady Arbuthnott's for your return."
"If I had realized there was a lady waiting for me, I would have made it a point to
return much sooner."
Augusta wrinkled her nose. "Oh, dear. You are angry, aren't you?"
"Whatever gave you that notion?" Harry reached down, grasped her arms through the
fabric of the cloak, and hauled her bodily in through the window. It was then he saw the
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