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shrugged noncommittally. Mrs. Goodman had been distraught by Sara’s late arrival, her disheveled appearance, and the bloodstains on her clothes. In response to the multitude of questions, Sara had replied mildly that there was nothing to worry about, she had been occupied with research for her novel. Finally Mrs. Goodman had given up. “I see,” she had said darkly, “that what your mother wrote to me is true. Beneath that quiet surface is a stubborn and secretive nature!”
    “My mother wrote that?” Sara asked in surprise.
    “What she said amounts to the same thing! She wrote that you’re in the habit of doing whatever you wish no matter how eccentric, and that you rarely answer any questions starting with the words ‘where’ and ‘why.’ ”
    Sara grinned at that. “A long time ago I learned not to explain things to people. It misleads them into thinking they’re entitled to know everything I do.”
    Bringing her mind back to the present, Sara gathered her reticule and gloves, and began to leave with the footman. Mrs. Goodman stopped her with a touch on her arm. “Sara, I think it would be best if I accompany you, in the interests of your safety.”
    Sternly Sara held back a smile, knowing that the elderly woman’s curiosity was running rampant. “That is very kind of you, but there is no need. I will be quite safe.” She went to the carriage and paused as she glanced at the towering footman. “This was quite unnecessary,” she murmured. “I had intended to walk to Craven’s this morning.”
    “The driver and I are at your service, Miss Fielding.Mr. Worthy is insistent that you should not go about London on foot any longer.”
    “Do we need to take the armed outriders as well?” Sara was embarrassed by all the pomp and show. The carriage would have been far more suitable for a duchess than a novelist from a small country village.
    “ Especially the outriders. Mr. Worthy said that you have a tendency to frequent dangerous places.” Opening the carriage door with a flourish, he assisted her to the set of tiny carpeted steps. Smiling ruefully, Sara settled back among the velvet cushions and arranged her skirts.
    When they arrived at the gambling club, the butler admitted her into the entrance hall with exquisite politeness. Immediately Worthy appeared with a courteous smile. He greeted her as if she were an old friend. “Welcome to Craven’s, Miss Fielding!”
    Sara took his proffered arm as he brought her into the club. “How is Mr. Craven this morning?”
    “He’s off his appetite, and the stitches are unsightly, but otherwise he is quite well.” Worthy watched Sara as she turned a circle in the center of the sumptuous entrance hall. Her expression was transformed with wonder.
    “My word,” was all she could say. “Oh, my.” She had never seen such luxury; the ceiling of stained-glass panels, the glittering chandelier, the walls lined with gilded columns, the heavy swaths of deep blue velvet. Without taking her eyes from the gorgeous surroundings, she fumbled in her reticule for her notebook.
    Worthy spoke while Sara scribbled furiously. “I’ve told the staff about you, Miss Fielding. They are willing to provide any information that you might find useful.”
    “Thank you,” she said absently, adjusting her spectacles and peering at the carving on the capitals of the columns. “This is an Ionic design, I believe?”
    “Scagliola, the architect called them.”
    She nodded and continued to take notes. “Who was the architect? It looks like something by Nash.”
    “No, Mr. Craven felt that Nash’s ideas were not sufficiently imaginative. Besides, Mr. Nash was quite elderly, and far too busy with projects for the king. Instead Mr. Craven chose a young architect by the name of Graham Gronow. He made it clear to Gronow that he wanted a building so magnificent that it would outshine Buckingham House.”
    Sara laughed. “Mr. Craven never does anything in half-measures, does