Miranda felt a strange shiver run up her spine as she stood beside Maude and stared with her into the mirror. It surely wasn't natural. "You're to meet the duke belowstairs at ten o'clock," she said, moving away from the disturbing image. She unclasped the serpentine bracelet from her wrist and held it up to the light." The duke will expect to see his gift on your wrist."

She fastened the bracelet around Maude's slender wrist. Maude held up her wrist to examine the bracelet more closely. "I don't like it," she said with a puzzled frown. "I don't like wearing it."

"Perhaps because it belonged to your mother," Miranda said. "But I own I don't like wearing it, either. It's very beautiful… or perhaps that's not quite the word for it. But it's unique, I'm sure." She reached to touch the emerald swan. "The charm is beautiful, though. But it doesn't seem to make the bracelet any the less sinister, does it?"

"No," Maude agreed. "It feels strangely familiar, but how could it be?"

Miranda frowned. "I thought that, too. How very odd." Then she shook her head, dismissing what she had considered from her own point of view to be a fanciful if powerful reaction to the piece of jewelry.

"The duke's courtship seems to be going very well, my lord. He tells me he's to take Maude on the river this morning."

Gareth looked up irritably at his betrothed's sugary tones. She had penetrated his own private sanctum, something that even Imogen did sparingly." This is an unexpected pleasure, madam."

Mary had been about to step farther into Gareth's privy chamber, but changed her mind and remained in the doorway. "Have I disturbed you, sir?" She gave a tinkly little laugh. "Forgive me. I was so anxious to have private speech with you. We've hardly had a moment to ourselves since you returned from France."

Gareth forced himself to smile. He rose from behind the table to bow.

"Goodness, what a muddle," Mary said, indicating the paper-strewn surface of the table. "You need a wife, my dear lord, to keep you tidy. When we are married, I shall ensure that all your documents are filed away where you can easily lay hands upon them. I should, think this must drive you to distraction."

"On the contrary," Gareth said. "If you tidy them away, I assure you that that will drive me to distraction."

Mary laughed again, but a little uncertainly this time. "I was saying that the duke's courtship is going well. You must be feeling very pleased." Now she stepped into the room, lowering her voice confidingly. "I do trust that Maude will not do or say something indiscreet when she's alone with His Grace."

"Why would you think she might jeopardize her chances for such a splendid match?" Gareth inquired, taking up his pipe from the mantel.

Mary closed her eyes against the smoke and wafted it away with her fan. "Such a terrible habit, my lord."

"I smoke only in the privacy of my own sanctum," he said pointedly.

"I am disturbing your privacy," Mary tittered uncomfortably. "But I feel there is so much we have to talk about. The wedding arrangements, for instance. You haven't said when you wish the ceremony to be performed. I had hoped before May Day, maybe even in the new year. If we were married before Maude, then I could assist Imogen with the arrangements… help to prepare your cousin."

Gareth rather doubted that Imogen would welcome Mary's collegial assistance. He allowed Mary's chatter to wash over him, but he heard little or none of it. His thoughts for some reason were circling endlessly around Henry's river excursion with Miranda. But they weren't circling to good effect. For some reason, he couldn't settle on what was troubling him about the expedition. But something was."

"So, I shall ask Her Majesty for leave to celebrate our nuptials on Twelfth Night, then?"

Gareth came back to the room with a start. "What? I beg your pardon?"

"Twelfth Night?" Mary repeated. "We have agreed to celebrate the wedding next Twelfth Night."

Four months away. A mere four months away.

Mary took an involuntary step back at the look in Gareth's eye. He seemed to be staring at her, and yet she was sure he couldn't be seeing her. He had the air of one who'd come face to face with the devil.

"Let us wait until I've drawn up the betrothal contracts between the duke of Roissy and my ward," Gareth said, his voice distant and discordant. "Once Her Majesty has given her leave, the arrangements will be set in stone. I must take care of Maude's future first."

"But surely our marriage needn't wait upon Maude's?" Mary's tone was suddenly acidic." The girl cannot expect her life to take precedence over her guardian's."

"My ward is my responsibility." Gareth set down his pipe. "You would not have me renege on such a responsibility, madam. It would not bode well in a future husband."

Mary was stymied. She managed a stiff smile and an even stiffer curtsy. "I'll leave you to your privacy, my lord. Perhaps we can discuss this again when Maude's betrothal contracts are signed."

She left Lord Harcourt and went in search of Imogen, hoping that the earl's sister would say something, offer some reassurance to combat Mary's growing unease, this creeping sense of foreboding. The ground was suddenly very slippery beneath her feet and she didn't know why. But she looked with ill-concealed venom at Lady Maude, who was crossing the hall on the arm of the duke of Roissy, on the way to the waiting barge at the water steps.

Maude had been feeling very sick as she'd descended the great staircase when the clock chimed ten. She knew that even to her own eyes, her resemblance to Miranda was complete, and yet her knees were still knocking, her palms still damp. Only the length of her hair would betray the deception, but her coif was fastened securely enough to withstand a midwinter gale on the river. Nothing could go wrong. There was nothing that could go wrong.

Instinctively, she touched the bracelet at her wrist as if, despite its sinister qualities, it could give her courage to face the small knot of people in the hall. Her cousin and her husband, two of the French lords, and the duke, whom Maude immediately recognized from her brief peep the previous night. But she hadn't been aware then of the sheer physical power of his presence. He seemed to be too big for the hall. He towered over the others, and yet she could see that he was not that much taller than his French lords. It just seemed as if he were. He appeared to be paying scant attention to the conversation but slapped his gloves into the palm of one hand with an air of impatience that made Maude's heart jump painfully.

He glanced toward the stairs and smiled. "Ah, there you are, ma chere. I grow impatient for the sight of you." He came with quick step to the bottom of the stairs and extended his hand to her.

Maude's heart lurched again in panic. But she laid her little hand in the duke's large, square one and smiled shyly. "My lord duke, forgive me if I've kept you waiting."

"No, not at all. I sadly lack patience, I'm afraid." He smiled rather ruefully. "I trust you'll not take it to heart if I seem unreasonably fretful at delay… but how well you're looking now. I thought you a little peaked at breakfast, but you have recovered your looks."

Maude couldn't help a smile of pleasure at the compliment. It was couched in such terms as to deny any hint of flattery; indeed, she rather thought this rough-hewn man would be incapable of flattery.

"The prospect of a morning on the river in Your Grace's company would bring out the best in any young woman," Imogen said with an obsequious smile.

The duke raised an eyebrow in such comical fashion that Maude was hard-pressed to keep a straight face. It was no wonder Miranda liked the man. She laid her hand on the duke's arm and they proceeded through the garden to the river. It was only as they passed through the wicket gate that Maude realized they were unaccompanied. Her foot faltered and she looked behind her.

"Is something amiss?" the duke inquired, pausing as he was about to hand her onto the barge.

"I… I was wondering where our companions are, sir. My… my chaperon?"

"Ah. I thought we could dispense with chaperons and companions on this occasion. My time is too short to spend overlong on formalities. I have your guardian's permission to be alone with you… although we are hardly alone." He gestured with a laugh to the bargemen, who stood at their oars.

Maude's heart was beating very fast. Miranda had assured her she would not be alone with the duke, and for all his jocular references to the boatmen, it was as clear as day that they would not be looking at their passengers. She hung back and the duke, with a laugh, caught her around the waist and lifted her bodily onto the barge.

"My lord duke!" she protested with a squeak. He'd said he was an impatient man. He clearly knew himself very well.

"Such a delicious little packet you are," he murmured with another of his rumbling laughs. "And I have to tell you that, while I'm sure you are virtuous as the Virgin Mary, you are not as demure and shy as you make out."

Maude gripped the rail, unable to find her voice. The duke laid a hand over hers but when she jerked it free with a little gasp, he smiled and rested his hands on the rail beside hers as the boatmen pulled the barge into the middle of the river.

Maude had very rarely been on the river. Her life as a reclusive invalid had granted few opportunities for such outdoor activities and for a moment she was able to forget the duke and enjoy the sights as they glided past the mansions lining the riverbanks, and the city of London passed slowly before her eyes. The cupola of Saint Paul's, the palace of Westminster, the great gray hulk of the Tower, the dreaded Tower steps, thick with green river slime, leading up to Traitors' Gate. Maude knew that very few people who entered the Tower through that grim portcullis ever emerged.