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exertions. Folly was still not in sight.
    Daphne sat back on the bench, her mind adding up the facts and coming to the conclusion that Miss Shelby was in dire need of help.
    She studied Miss Shelby closely. She dismissed as ridiculous any notion that the woman was capable of stealing. There was perhaps something singular about the lady, but to her immense credit in Daphne’s copybook, she appeared to love animals.
    Might Miss Shelby accept a position as companion to her? What a difference she would be from Miss Oakswine, Daphne thought, and immediately chided herself for thinking ill of the dead.
    On the chance she might be mistaken as to Miss Shelby’s bleak prospects. Daphne posed an innocent question. “Miss Shelby, would you give me your direction? I could send word the next time the dogs and I will be in the Park, and mayhaps we might meet you here.”
    All Miss Shelby’s composure fled, and she burst into tears. “I have nowhere to go,” she sobbed. “I am fleeing the Bow Street Runners!”
    Daphne felt a frisson of alarm, but calmly fished in her reticule for a handkerchief. “I am sure it cannot be as bad as that. Are you saying the Duchess reported you as a thief to the authorities?” She handed the lacy scrap to Miss Shelby and watched as the lady gently dried her tears.
    Miss Shelby nodded her head emphatically. “Her Grace was very angry. She summoned a man to the house—I did not hear his name, hiding as I was behind the drawing room door—but he was an official of some sort. I assure you, Miss Kendall, I am bound to hang at Newgate. Oh, the jeering crowds, the jailer marching me to the hanging post, the feel of the rough rope going around my neck—”
    “Miss Shelby!” Daphne exclaimed, her heart twisting in pain at the woman’s plight.
    At that moment the long-absent Folly raced into view, a gentleman’s beaver hat clamped in his jaws. Both dog and hat were wet and mud-stained. Behind him, two men followed on horseback.
    Daphne shot to her feet. “Folly! What have you done?”
    “I believe I can answer that question, Miss Kendall.”
    Daphne looked up to face a hatless Lord Ravenswood. He was seated on a fine chestnut horse, and his manservant, Eugene, rode beside him.
    Squeezing her eyes shut, Daphne dropped a curtsy and murmured a fruitless prayer that she had entered a dream. For some puzzling reason, she wished the Earl of Ravenswood to look upon her with favor, and this was not the situation in which she might achieve that aim. “Good morning, my lord. May I present Miss Shelby?”
    The earl gave a brief nod of his head. Eugene smiled. Miss Shelby rose from the bench, returned Eugene’s smile, and dropped into a deep curtsy for Lord Ravenswood.
    His lordship was not appeased. “Is that your canine, Miss Kendall?”
    Daphne glanced at Folly. The dog had the grace to duck his head and assume a shameful look. As shameful as he could manage with a mouthful of beaver hat.
    “Yes, my lord,” Daphne answered in a voice filled with suppressed laughter.
    Lord Ravenswood eyed her sternly. “I was enjoying a refreshing ride when that animal ran across my path, startling my horse, which reared in fright. My hat fell to the ground. Before I could dismount and retrieve it, that cursed mongrel snatched it up and ran off”
    “I am sorry,” Daphne managed, all her efforts concentrated on maintaining a somber expression despite the picture Lord Ravenswood had painted of the morning’s mishap. His lordship would not be amused if she started to laugh.
    Instead she approached Folly and attempted to remove the hat from his mouth. A low growl emitted from the dog’s throat. “Oh, dear.”
    “Here, allow me to help,” Miss Shelby said, reaching a hand down to pat Folly on the head. “Young man, you have done wrong. This is no May game. This is a gentleman’s hat. We must return it to him at once.”
    To Daphne’s relief, Folly obediently dropped the hat into Miss Shelby’s waiting hand. He then