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she’ll have to swallow them.”
    Blackstone flicked open the box. A great square diamond winked up at him. Fate once again assigned him the role of faithless fiancé. He could see himself bending to kiss Violet Hammersley’s cold hand while looking over it to catch another woman’s glance.
    “It’s paste,” said his tormentor. “Remember, a year and a day clears you and Blackstone Court.”

Chapter Three
    “There’s a gentleman . . . who can it be? It looks just like that man that used to be with him before. Mr. what’s-his-name. That tall, proud man.”
    —Jane Austen,
Pride and Prejudice
    “Your tie’s askew, Papa. You don’t want to lessen the triumph of Frank’s homecoming.”
    George Hammersley turned to his daughter at the top of the grand stairs of Hammersley House. “Don’t tease, Violet. You know Preston’s handiwork is perfection.”
    Violet reached up to tug the neck cloth in question. “Precisely the problem. It’s too perfect. We’ve got to be ourselves even if a prince is our guest. Show no awe.”
    George squared his shoulders and gave his daughter a wink. “I know you’ll be yourself, at any rate, my girl. You can’t help it, can you?”
    Violet laughed. “I’m afraid not.”
    From below came the rap of hurried footsteps on the parquet. Granthem, the Hammersley butler, looked up from the foot of the grand stairway. “A Lord Chartwell to speak with you, sir, about the prince. There’s been a delay.”
    Papa frowned and turned to Violet.
    She shrugged. “It’s to be expected with this rain.”
    “Will it ruin the royal supper?”
    Violet shook her head. “Never fear, Papa. We’ll manage. Let’s meet the visitor.” She took her father’s arm.
    In the smaller drawing room, the one with the straw silk walls and Aubusson sofas, Violet rang for refreshments. The man who entered with Granthem was round-faced with a bald, freckle-dusted dome, an air of consequence, and gold-rimmed eyeglasses as round as his head. He came forward as Granthem announced him.
    “I have unfortunate news for you, Mr. Hammersley. Your son Frank did not arrive with the prince’s party.”
    Violet clutched her father’s arm. She felt an odd sensation as if a cold rushing wind filled her ears.
    “I don’t understand.” Papa’s voice sounded like it came from a well. “Frank did not reach London?”
    “That’s what I’m saying, Hammersley. We don’t know where your son is.”
    “Why is it your concern, Lord Chartwell?” Violet did not imagine the foreign office usually sent lords to find delayed travelers.
    Papa turned to hush her, but she kept her gaze on their visitor.
    Lord Chartwell frowned. “Perhaps you would care to sit, Miss Hammersley. Naturally, the government is concerned when one of his majesty’s subjects is missing.”
    “Missing?” Papa croaked the word.
    “Yes, missing.”
    “Do you mean dead, Lord Chartwell?” Violet had to ask.
    “Not dead, Miss Hammersley. A dead man generally shows up somewhere, and your brother has not appeared in Spain or in England and certainly not aboard the ship on which he booked his passage.” Lord Chartwell seemed to take it as a personal affront that Frank was not where the government expected him to be.
    They settled uneasily, Lord Chartwell opposite Violet and Papa. Violet felt the hard edge of the gilt wood against the backs of her legs. Granthem appeared with a tray of tea and refreshments.
    Chartwell turned to Papa. “Your son, Hammersley, went to Moldova to make a report on the prince’s use of funds borrowed from England to improve Moldova’s defenses. We know he arrived there, and we know he left again. He met the prince’s party in Gibraltar to begin the final leg of his journey. No doubt you had messages from him along the way.”
    “We did.” Violet felt an odd unease. The way Lord Chartwell described it, the government had been following her brother.
    “Somewhere in Gibraltar between his hotel and the prince’s ship,