Then someone else came into view, pacing about the table. Edmond. He looked back up the table and spoke to someone out of her sight.

Patience waited. Eventually, Henry came into view. Patience sighed. Then she turned and left the conservatory.

The afternoon continued damp and dreary. Grey clouds lowered, shutting them in the house. After luncheon, Patience, with Minnie and Timms, retired to the back parlor to set stitches by candlelight. Gerrard had decided to sketch settings for Edmond's drama; together with Edmond, he climbed to the old nurseries for an unrestricted view of the ruins.

Vane had disappeared, only God knew where.

Satisfied Gerrard was safe, Patience embroidered meadow grasses on a new set of cloths for the drawing room. Minnie sat dozing in an armchair by the fire; Timms, ensconced in its mate, busily plied her, needle. The mantelpiece clock ticked on, marking the slow passage of the afternoon.

"Ah, me," Minnie eventually sighed. She stretched her legs, then fluffed up her shawls and glanced at the darkening sky. "I must say, it's a huge relief that Vane agreed to stay."

Patience's hand stopped in midair. After a moment, she lowered the needle to the linen. "Agreed?" Head down, she carefully set her stitch.

"Hmm-he was on his way to Wrexford's, that's why he was passing so close when the storm struck." Minnie snorted. "I can just imagine what devilry that crew had planned, but, of course, once I asked, Vane immediately agreed to stay." She sighed fondly. "No matter what else one might say of the Cynsters, they're always reliable."

Patience frowned at her stitches. "Reliable?"

Timms exchanged a grin with Minnie. "In some ways, they're remarkably predictable-you can always rely on help if needed. Sometimes, even if you don't ask for it."

"Indeed." Minnie chuckled. "They can be quite terri-fyingly protective. Naturally, as soon as I mentioned the Spectre and the thief, Vane wasn't going anywhere."

"He'll clear up this nonsense." Timms's confidence was transparent.

Patience stared at her creation-and saw a hard-edged face with grey, accusing eyes. The lump of cold iron that had settled in her stomach the previous night grew colder. Weightier.

Her head throbbed. She closed her eyes, then snapped them open as a truly sickening thought occurred. It couldn't be, wouldn't be, true-but the dreadful premonition wouldn't go away. "Ah…" She tugged her last stitch tight. "Who are the Cynsters, exactly?"

"The family holds the dukedom of St. Ives." Minnie settled herself comfortably. "The principal seat is Somersham Place, in Cambridgeshire. That's where Vane was coming from. Devil's the sixth duke; Vane's his first cousin. They've been close from the cradle, born a mere four months apart. But the family's quite large."

"Mrs. Chadwick mentioned six cousins," Patience prompted.

"Oh, there's more than that, but she would have been referring to the Bar Cynster."

"The Bar Cynster?" Patience looked up.

Timms grinned. "That's the nickname the ton's gentlemen use to refer to the six eldest cousins. They're all male." Her grin widened. "In every way."

"Indeed." Minnie's eyes twinkled. "The six of them all together are a veritable sight to behold. Known to make weak females swoon."

Looking down at her stitching, Patience swallowed an acid retort. Elegant gentlemen, all, it seemed. The lead weight in her stomach lightened; she felt better. "Mrs. Chadwick said that… Devil had recently married."

"Last year," Minnie corroborated. "His heir was christened about three weeks ago."

Frowning, Patience looked at Minnie. "Is that his real name-Devil?"

Minnie grinned. "Sylvester Sebastian-but better, and, to my mind, more accurately known as Devil."

Patience's frown grew. "Is 'Vane' Vane's real name?"

Minnie chuckled evilly. "Spencer Archibald-and if you dare call him that to his face, you'll be braver than any other in the ton. Only his mother can still do so with impunity. He's been known as Vane since before he went to Eton. Devil named him-said he always knew which way the wind was blowing and what was in the breeze." Minnie raised her brows. "Oddly far-sighted of Devil, actually, for there's no doubt that's true. Instinctively intuitive, Vane, when all's said and done."

Minnie fell pensive; after two minutes, Patience shook out her cloth. "I suppose the Cynsters-at least, the Bar Cynster-are…" Vaguely, she gestured. "Well, the usual gentlemen about town."

Timms snorted. "It would be more accurate to say that they're the pattern card for 'gentlemen about town'."

"All within the accepted limits, of course." Minnie folded her hands across her ample stomach. "The Cynsters are one of the oldest families in the ton. I doubt any of them could be bad ton, not even if they tried-quite out of character for them. They might be outrageous, they might be the ton's most reckless hedonists, they might sail within a whisker of that invisible line-but you can guarantee they'll never cross it." Again, she chuckled. "And if any of them sailed too close to the wind, they'd hear about it-from their mothers, their aunts-and the new duchess. Honoria's certainly no insipid cypher."

Timms grinned. "It's said the only one capable of taming a Cynster male is a Cynster woman-by which they mean a Cynster wife. Strange to tell, that's proved true, generation after generation. And if Honoria's any guide, then the Bar Cynster are not going to escape that fate."

Patience frowned. Her previously neat, coherent mental image of Vane as a typical, if not the archetype, "elegant gentleman" had started to blur. A reliable protector, amenable if not positively subject to the opinions of the women in his family-none of that sounded the least like her father. Or the others-the officers from the regiments based about Chesterfield who had so tried to impress her, the London friends of neighbors who, hearing of her fortune, had called, thinking to beguile her with their practiced smiles. In many respects, Vane fitted the bill to perfection, yet the Cynster attitudes Minnie had expounded were quite contrary to her expectations.

Grimacing, Patience started on a new sheaf of grasses. "Vane said something about being in Cambridgeshire to attend a church service."

"Yes, indeed."

Detecting amusement in Minnie's tone, Patience looked up, and saw Minnie exchange a laughing glance with Timms. Then Minnie looked at her. "Vane's mother wrote to me about it. Seems the five unmarried members of the Bar Cynster got ideas above their station. They ran a wagers book on the date of conception of Devil's heir. Honoria heard of it at the christening-she promptly confiscated all their winnings for the new church roof and decreed they all attend the dedication service." A smile wreathing her face, Minnie nodded. "They did, too."

Patience blinked and lowered her work to her lap. "You mean," she said, "that just because the duchess said they had to, they did?"

Minnie grinned. "If you'd met Honoria, you wouldn't be so surprised."

"But…" Brow furrowing, Patience tried to imagine it-tried to imagine a woman ordering Vane to do something he didn't wish to do. "The duke can't be very assertive."

Timms snorted, choked, then succumbed to gales of laughter; Minnie was similarly stricken. Patience watched them double up with mirth-adopting a long-suffering expression, she waited with feigned patience.

Eventually, Minnie choked her way to a stop and mopped her streaming eyes. "Oh, dear-that's the most ridiculously funny-ridiculously wrong-statement I've ever heard."

"Devil," Timms said, in between hiccups, "is the most outrageously arrogant dictator you're ever likely to meet."

"If you think Vane is bad, just remember it was Devil who was born to be a duke." Minnie shook her head. "Oh, my-just the thought of a nonassertive Devil…" Mirth threatened to overwhelm her again.