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gotten the better of me,” Calliope said. “I imagine the supper hour has long since ended. Are my brother and sister-in-law in the parlor now?”
    “They retired to their rooms not long ago. I’m afraid we spoke exhaustively on the topics of town, pugilism, and the apparent felicity of marriage.” He said the last in wry humor, his mouth puffing out a ring of smoke.
    Calliope was little acquainted with Rafe Danvers but knew enough that he was a confirmed bachelor. While the tragic circumstance of his wedding—or lack thereof—had happened a year prior to her debut, it had still been the foremost gossip on everyone’s lips. Yet because he remained apart from most of genteel society, she’d had little chance to know him. Certainly not enough to add his character classification to her once-thorough list.
    Hmm . . . Rafe Danvers did not have a completed page in her book. With his wavy dark hair and the short side-whiskers trimmed at an angle, defining the line of his cheeks and jaw, he certainly possessed the appearance of a romantic hero. Considering his dreadful history, however, she doubted he was the scribe of those infamous letters. Still, she couldn’t pass up an opportunity to inquire.
    “Earlier, my cousin was speaking of a letter she’d received.” Calliope studied him askance, watching for any sign of artifice that would suggest he was guarding a secret. So far, nothing in his countenance betrayed him. “I’m certain she would enjoy reading it again, but I was unable to find it.”
    “Tell me, Miss Croft . . . ” He stopped at the threshold of a pair of open French doors and squinted at her as if she’d presented him with an unsolvable puzzle. “Women tend to read letters over and over—some gentlemen too, I suspect—but the content therein never changes. I see no purpose in it, unless one is of a mind to find flaws or twist the meaning of each phrase into something that was never intended.”
    Calliope laughed. “I see your point. I have found myself in an argument with ink and paper at times. Yet you are forgetting one immeasurably important fact. The power of a well-written letter can be as transformative as a chrysalis. Emerge from it, and the world is new and vibrant in a way you never imagined.”
    Rafe Danvers shook his head. “There is more power in speaking face-to-face,” he said firmly—conviction enough for her to completely cross him off the list.
     
1. He did not possess a poet’s soul.
2. There was no undisguised yearning in his gaze.
3. Not even a hint of an inclination to marry.
4. His vehemence on their topic suggested a passionate nature. That passion, however, was not directed toward her.
     
    She didn’t even bother to check for ink stains on his fingertips.
    Now, back to the matter at hand . “You are quite right, I am sure,” she offered. “But there are those of us—my cousin included—who reread letters to ensure our connection with others is never severed. It’s an ongoing conversation, even though we may be miles apart. So you see, it is imperative that I find that letter.”
    Inside the room, something crashed to the floor with a loud clanging sound. “Bugger it all,” quickly followed.
    Rafe Danvers chuckled as he glanced into the room. “That would be Everhart. He’s recently become quite clumsy.”
    Surprise jolted through Calliope at the mention of Everhart’s name. Though why she should feel alarm when she was already aware of the inhabitants of the manor, she didn’t know. Well, perhaps she did. The truth was, the last time she’d seen him, he’d made it quite clear that he disapproved of her treatment of Brightwell. More to the point, he did not like her at all.
    “Have the two of you been introduced?” Danvers asked with a decidedly devilish grin as he gestured for her to precede him into the room. “Of course you have. How silly of me.”
    While Calliope didn’t know her escort all that well, from experiences with her own family she knew