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that she find out what, precisely, that something was, but before she could make the attempt he took her hand and brushed his lips against her knuckles.
    “We’ll dine at seven tonight, in the small dining room,” he said. “Since you’re seeking out your own wardrobe, I’ll only suggest that you speak with Mrs. Beasel, my cook. Her daughter is married to a solicitor in Hanlith; I imagine Susan Simmons will have something appropriate for you to borrow. The girl does like to dress well.”
    With that he inclined his head and turned away to vanish through the door at the far end of the hallway. Sophia stood where she was for a moment. Feeling the gaze of the former duke on her back, though, she shook herself and left through the nearest doorway. How odd, that a painting of a former duke left her more unsettled than the presence of the current duke.
    In fact, despite his wealth, power, and reputation, he’d never been anything but polite to her. And he was turning out to be more good-humored than she’d expected. She rolled her shoulders. Despite being dumped into the river and despite Cammy’s absence she found herself enjoying Greaves Park. It remained an adventure, with a bounty—so far, anyway—of interesting and amusing twists and turns. And a very handsome duke who’d been paying her more attention than she would ever have expected. Whatever might happen, she wanted to stay. Because this was also her last adventure.
    *   *   *
    “Mrs. Beasel.”
    The cook jumped, spinning away from the stove and dropping what looked like a very promising meat pie onto the stone floor. “Oh, dear. Your Grace. I do apologize. You startled me.”
    “Clearly,” Adam said dryly. “Your daughter, Susan. She still resides in Hanlith, yes?”
    “Yes, Your Grace,” the cook said, her expression becoming dubious. “She’s married these four years to John Simmons, esquire.”
    As if he would pursue the daughter of his very fine cook for any reason. There were some things that one simply did not risk. “Good. I require your assistance. And hers. Send her a note asking that she have a … dark green evening gown made to her size. Send ten pounds along with the letter. The gown is to be finished by four o’clock this evening.”
    “But Your Grace, you—”
    “At four o’clock, Susan will receive a request from my guest, Miss Sophia White, to borrow an appropriate evening gown. Susan will send her the green dress.” He pulled a ten-pound note from his pocket and set in on a cutting board. “Get to it.”
    “I—right away, Your Grace.”
    That done, Adam found Udgell overseeing the polishing of the silver. At least the butler still thought Greaves Park would be full of guests for Christmas. “Miss White will very likely request that you send a note to Susan Simmons in Hanlith. Agree to her request, but do not send that note on until four o’clock this afternoon.”
    “Very good, Your Grace.”
    The entire house was too damned quiet, and the blanketing snow outside only made him feel more like he was locked into a tomb. Of course when the bride parade arrived he would likely find that he preferred the solitude. Or relative solitude, anyway. Adam made his way into the upstairs billiards room. It stood empty. Shrugging off his unexpected disappointment, he walked forward and yanked open the half-closed curtains.
    Though only half a mile distant, he couldn’t make out the line of ragged cliffs that cut Greaves Park off from the rest of Yorkshire, but he knew they were there. He had the paths, the best fishing spots, the few places where someone could climb up to the moors beyond, all memorized. Trees with branches bent and twisted into claws by the wind leaned off the clifftops, reaching for the boy he’d been to drag him off into the faerie realms. There were times he wished they’d done so.
    And there were times now he wished he could be that naïve again. But someone of his position, with his wealth and power,