After our waltz, Blackford deserted me for the very eligible Miss Amanda Weycross, daughter of a lord and guest of the Teweses’ daughter, followed by the equally eligible Lady Anne Stewart, daughter of the Scottish earl and his wife. I was asked once to dance by our host and then once by Mr. Nobles. Otherwise, I was on my own.

I walked over to join Lady Peters and Baron von Steubfeld in conversation. “The duke has chosen another partner?” the baron asked as I neared them.

“He can’t dance every dance with me. It’s not done,” I told him. “And why aren’t you dancing with Lady Bennett?”

“She was claimed by the Viscount Gathwite, and Sir Henry decided to take a solo journey around the gardens, abandoning Lady Peters.”

Sir Henry, who’d worried Ken Gattenger into taking the drawings home that fateful evening to restudy his calculations, therefore making them available to Mick Snelling. I had the sudden terrible feeling I’d misjudged Stanford and his connection to the thief.

The only thing I could think to say was, “Oh, dear. There were ruffians out there earlier. I hope they haven’t returned. It might not be safe to be out there alone.”

As an excuse, it was pretty weak, but I hurried toward the French doors leading to the terrace, aware of Lady Peters following me. Once outside, I looked around, hoping my eyes would quickly adjust to the torchlight and moonlight. I noticed the baron didn’t join us.

Lady Peters stood next to me. “Do you really think he might be in danger? I’d hate for anything to happen to him, even as angry as I am at him at this moment.”

Sir William and Emma walked up to us. “It’s lovely outside,” Emma said.

“Yes, it is. You haven’t seen Sir Henry Stanford, have you?” I asked.

“We’re afraid he might have run into difficulties,” Lady Peters added.

“How terrible. We’ve not seen him, but we’ll help you look. Shall we go this way?” Sir William said.

“Thank you. That would be helpful,” I said and nodded to him.

He escorted Emma away, and I headed in the opposite direction, afraid of what I’d find. I suspected Sir Henry, but I didn’t want to. If I caught him with Snelling, I’d raise an unholy ruckus out of disappointment and anger.

I rushed down one path and then another, Lady Peters trailing me. Reaching a dark bend in the path behind large shrubbery, I nearly tripped over a figure lying facedown. I turned him over, hearing Rosamond Peters gasp as we saw Sir Henry’s face by moonlight.

“Is he—still alive?”

I felt for a pulse. “Yes. Run back to the house and tell our host to send some footmen to carry him inside.”

“Do you think it’s his heart?”

“No. I think it’s the nasty blow to the back of his head that’s felled him. Rosamond, please hurry.”

She dashed away. I wished I had a lantern to show me the area around us. I’d like a clue to tell me who had attacked Sir Henry. Footprints, a shirt stud, anything to point to his attacker.

Thank goodness the first footmen Rosamond Peters brought carried a lantern. In the flickering light, his bloody head wound was visible. So were the scuffed footprints around him. Despite the dampness retained in the soil, the only firm marks matched the worn heels of Sir Henry’s shoes. A rock tossed into a nearby flower bed had what appeared to be blood on one side.

Clues, yes, but leading where? His attacker could have come from the ballroom or from outside of the estate. I rose from where I’d bent over Sir Henry, checking on his condition and searching for clues, and let the footmen carry the wounded man indoors.

“Oh, Mrs. Monthalf, your dress is ruined.”

At Lady Peters’s words I looked down and discovered my dress had dirt spread a few inches up from the hem. Then I glanced at hers. “Yours is, too.”

“I’ll gladly lose a ball gown if Sir Henry recovers.”

I nodded in agreement, then jumped as Lord Porthollow stepped into my path. “How is Sir Henry?”

“Unconscious. Did you see what happened?”

“No. I came outside to see what all the excitement was about. I was hoping you could tell me.” He smiled, making deep creases in his leathery skin.

“I’m afraid I don’t have anything to tell.” I followed Lady Peters into the house by the side door where they’d taken Sir Henry. Muddy footprints lined one side of the carpet, as if a man carrying Sir Henry on that side had stepped in wet dirt. Then Lady Peters walked along the middle and left equally muddy marks. I checked, and my own slippers were not nearly as soiled as hers. What had she stepped in?

I put out a hand and stopped Rosamond. “When did Sir Henry go out into the garden alone?”

“It was such a nice night that we decided to talk outside. I told him I was angry with him for stealing that letter, and he blamed everything on you. We headed back toward the terrace, no longer friends. Suddenly, Sir Henry stopped and told me to go in. He’d follow me in a few minutes. When I suggested I could stay outside if I wanted, he shooed me indoors. I don’t know if he saw something odd or planned to meet someone.” She gave an indifferent shrug.

“Fortunately, you went in. Otherwise you both might have been attacked.”

“Or unfortunately. I might have screamed and frightened off the attacker.” She looked up the stairs where they had carried Sir Henry to his bedroom. “I suppose they’ve called a doctor, and we would just be in the way.”

She turned and walked into the ballroom. I followed, hoping the duke had finished dancing with the lovely young aristocrats.

He had. “They’re about to play the last waltz before we go into the supper room. Dance with me.”

He escorted me onto the dance floor, and once again his masterful hold on me negated my waltzing inadequacies. “What happened?” he whispered in my ear.

This was to be a working dance.

“Sir Henry was attacked. He’s still alive.”

“Why Stanford?”

“If I knew who, I could tell you why. The plans were not in evidence.” How I wished they had been.

“You think Stanford, and not the baron, was to retrieve the drawings from Snelling?”

“Possibly. He did convince Gattenger to take a set home to work on them the night Snelling broke in.” And everything he told me could have been a lie.

“The attack on Stanford could be a screen for handing off the plans to someone else,” Blackford said.

“Or Sir Henry saw something and had to be stopped from raising the alarm. I met Sir Jonah Denby here. He says he’s really Lord Porthollow, interested in whether Sir Henry stole the blueprints, because if so, Sir Henry would be eliminated from the bidding and then he, Lord Porthollow, would win. He was outside when Sir Henry was carried in.”

“Blast. There are too many possibilities. Too many suspects. I’ve been watching von Steubfeld all night and he hasn’t gone far.” The duke swung me around with a flourish and we waltzed in the opposite direction.

I managed to keep my feet under me as I considered our next move. “Maybe he knows Snelling won’t be back until the supper is served. With everyone eating and drinking, he might think it’ll be easier for him to slip away. Particularly since he must know he’s under surveillance.”

The duke raised his eyebrows before pulling me closer and speaking directly into my ear. “We’ll just have to keep an eye on von Steubfeld during supper. Afterward, the guests from the other house parties will be leaving. Lots of activity by the front entrance, and no one near the terrace.”

I struggled to keep waltzing and think about the handoff of the ship blueprints, but the way Blackford’s breath brushed my skin was claiming all my attention. “Except us.”

“And Sir William, Mr. Nobles, Emma, the Archivists—”

Now I felt as useful as a horse pushing a cart from behind. “All right. Where should we be?”

His dark eyes were the color of a gloomy sky. “I don’t know.”

“Surely you must have some idea.” I thought the duke always had an idea. Whether it was a good one was another matter.