Page 62 of The Lady Plays with Fire

After a few more questions, Hamish disappeared into a back room and returned with a delicate ring held up between forefinger and thumb. “This.”

It wasn’t a question. Graham had to clench his jaw to fight its sudden inclination to wobble.

He would have been willing to swear it was his mother’s ring.

“Aye,” he managed at last.

Hamish put it in a little box and gave it to Graham in exchange for far fewer banknotes than the ring was worth—at least, to him.

“My brother, Tavish, owns just such a shop as this,” the jeweler called after him as he stepped to the door with his prize. “In Edinburgh. If you have need of aught when you’re home.”

Home.

He imagined dancing her around his bedchamber at Dunstane, clad in nothing but jewels.

But first, the ring. That, he would present to her on Monday, after rehearsal. And he’d do it properly too. Fully clothed. Down on one knee. Would you do me the honor . . . and all that.

As he trotted up the steps of the house on Half Moon Street, he patted his breast pocket in almost boyish delight. A footman bowed and, at Graham’s nod, opened the door to the study. He had a letter to write, to Julia’s brother.

But he found his secretary at the desk with his usual array of papers before him.

“Good afternoon, Keynes,” he said, tossing aside his hat.

The man looked up and adjusted his glasses, as if afraid Graham’s good mood was a trick of the light. Graham hadn’t told anyone the source of his present happiness, deciding it was better to wait until he’d spoken to her family and a formal announcement had been made.

Keynes moved to stand. Graham tried to wave him back to his chair, but the man insisted. “I have some news, sir. Something I think you’ll be glad to hear.”

“Oh?” Graham couldn’t imagine anything capable of improving his already buoyant mood.

“I’ve completed my mission, sir. I’ve discovered the name of the person who writes as Miss on Scene.”

The whole scandal felt remote, now. The review. Even his response in The Poison Pen. He was ready to wash his hands of all of it and move on to the next part of his life, his new writing project, his . . . wife. The thought, the memory of what had transpired at the cottage, made one corner of his mouth kick up.

He settled into a chair, picked up a stack of letters, and began to leaf through them. “Hmm. And how did you manage that?”

Keynes drew himself up proudly. “As it happens, the Magazine for Misses leases a room from a bookshop for their meetings. The shop’s chief clerk knew something about the arrangement, of course. Then he was caught stealing from the till and had to be let go. And, of course, a disgruntled former employee can no longer be counted on to keep a secret—particularly not when he’s pockets to let and someone offers a reward for information.”

Graham didn’t look up from the post. “No, I suppose not. Well,” he asked absently, all but indifferent to the answer, “who was it, then?”

“You’ll never believe it, sir. Do you remember that woman, the one who’d mistakenly been sold the ticket to your box at Covent Garden?”

Graham’s ears began to buzz, making Keynes’s voice sound as if it came from another room.

“Mrs. Hayes?” The widow was even feistier than he’d imagined, it was true. Last evening’s display of temper had been something of a revelation. But to think of her composing scathing reviews of plays for a scandalous periodical?

“The very one, sir,” Keynes confirmed. “It seems she’s been employing Miss on Scene as her companion, though I doubt the poor widow knew anything of her double life. A young lady by the name of—” He paused and made a show of looking through his notes.

“Julia Addison.”

“Oh.” Keynes looked up, somewhat deflated by having his triumph swept away so unceremoniously. “Do you know her, sir?”

The ring was a leaden weight resting on Graham’s heart. “Apparently not.”

Chapter 19

Aunt Mildred made excuses for Lord Dunstane’s failure to appear in Clapham on Sunday: the weather was poor; gentlemen had many demands on their time.

Julia, however, understood what his absence meant.