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password if she wanted to go in, she scoffed outright.
    “You listen here,” she scolded sharply, hands on her hips, “I have no truck with such things as passwords and secret handshakes. For heaven’s sake, I am here to fetch Lady Glenwood for the urgent reason that her child is seriously ill. Allow me to be very blunt—Lady Glenwood is Lord Lucien’s mistress. If you do not allow me in to collect her—if you turn me away—she is going to be furious. She will blame your master, and Lord Lucien, in turn, will blame you. Is that what you want? I’ve heard he is a man not to be crossed.”
    “Aye, ma’am, that is our worry exactly. Come ’ere, lads,” the leader mumbled to the others. Grumbling in disgust, the gatekeepers walked away to confer on the matter.
    Alice could feel Mitchell and Nellie staring anxiously at her, but all her attention was focused on the men as she attempted to eavesdrop on their argument. She was not leaving here without Caro, she thought, her firm chin stubbornly set.
    “Wee spunky thing, ain’t she?” the first gatekeeper muttered.
    “She ain’t one of ’em. I never seen her ’ere before,” another said.
    “Course you ’aven’t. Look at her. She’s harmless,” muttered one big fellow with a scar on his face. “I say we let her in.”
    “He’ll kill us if we let ’er in without knowin’ the password!” another whispered harshly.
    “But she says she’s related to his mistress! He’ll kill us for embarrassment if we turn the lass away.”
    “That devil,” the scarred one muttered. “We’re damned if we do and damned if we don’t, with ’im.”
    Clearly, Lord Lucien’s men held their master in awe, but it was their terror of getting him into trouble with his mistress that finally persuaded them to allow Alice and her servants through the gates. She was displeased when Nellie and Mitchell were separated from her and hurried off to the servants’ quarters, but she dared not complain for fear of being turned away again. The big, scarred gatekeeper showed her into the manor house and entrusted her to the care of the austere, gray-haired butler, Mr. Godfrey.
    While the guard gave the butler some instructions pertaining to her in a low, secretive tone, she glanced into the dark, empty rooms adjoining the richly carved entrance hall and promptly found herself more puzzled still.
    Where were all the guests? The first floor was eerily silent, and barely a candle burned in the cavernous rooms. Something very strange was going on here, she mused. She had seen the carriages and the army of servants, and had personally run up against the exclusive guest list, so she knew that Lord Lucien was having a party tonight; but there was no sign of life in the house. Then she overheard a bit of the conversation between the butler and the guard that piqued her curiosity even more keenly.
    “See that she stays in ’er room. She is not to go down to the Grotto.”
    “I understand. We will inform His Lordship of the young lady’s presence in the morning.”
    Alice looked over quickly, glancing from one man to the other. As though noticing her furtive study, Mr. Godfrey bowed to her.
    “This way, Miss Montague,” he said cordially. “I will show you to your room.” Lifting a candle branch from the wall holder, he picked up her satchel and led her up the dark oaken stairs, which had wood-carved statues of knights and saints serving as stair posts. A large portrait of a nobleman in sixteenth-century doublet and ruff peered down haughtily from the landing where the stairs turned. He had piercing, steel-gray eyes, a pointed black beard, and a sly smirk of a smile. He seemed to watch her as she passed.
    “Who is that?” she asked, eyeing the portrait in trepidation.
    “That is the first marquess of Carnarthen, ma’am. He built this house as his hunting lodge.” Mr. Godfrey gave a heavy, troubled sigh, but offered nothing more.
    Peering everywhere around her into the shadows,
Alice