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he complained, rubbing his nose.
"All right! All right," he cried as she lifted her hand
again. "I don't think they were footpads."
    She glared at him. "Well? What were they, Stacy?
Jealous husbands?"
    He blushed. "Don't be silly!"
    "Not jealous husbands, not footpads," she murmured thoughtfully. "Not gambling debts. What then,
hired assassins?" She laughed briefly at the absurdity of the idea.
    "Well... "

    "Hired assassins! "Juliet cried. "Are you mad? Why
would you say such a thing?"
    "I didn't say it, in point of fact," he said, beginning
to babble. "In point of fact, I haven't said anything.
You can't say I've told you anything because I haven't."
    Juliet jumped to her feet. "And yet I heard you quite
distinctly! Someone has hired assassins to kill my
brother. And you say you know who is responsible? His
assailants must have said something when they were
beating him. What did they say?"
    "Something about the broken arm being a gift
from Lord Swale," Stacy mumbled unhappily.
    "Swale? I've never heard of him," she declared,
tossing her head. "He must be new. Ring for Parker,
will you?"
    Since at that moment the butler was listening at the
door, he was not long in arriving.
    "Parker, go and fetch the Peerage from her ladyship's sewing basket," the young lady commanded
him. "I want the history, if any, of a creature called
Lord Swale."
    Parker was astonished. Obviously, Miss Juliet was not
thinking clearly. Fortunately, Mr. Calverstock spared
him the embarrassment of having to tell the young
lady that butlers do not fiddle with ladies' sewing
baskets.
    "It's a courtesy title," Stacy explained. "Swale's
father is the Duke of Auckland."
    Juliet gasped. "The Duke of Auckland! I danced
with his Grace twice last week at Almack's! An amiable
old gentleman. Indeed, I was terrified he might make
me an offer. Some older gentlemen do seem to prefer
the plainer girls, you know, especially when they are
in the market for a second wife. Well, perhaps they
don't prefer us exactly." She smiled ruefully. "Perhaps it's just that they have learned not to trust the really
pretty ones!"

    Stacy, who ought to have been accustomed to such
frank talk from his best friend's sister, found himself
blushing. "My dear Juliet," he stammered, "you are
anything but plain."
    "Thank you for your gallantry," she answered with
a faint smile. "But I know very well I am not a beauty
like your cousin Serena. All the same, I expect I shall
manage to find a nice, quiet, respectable husband.
Don't look so shocked," she teased him. "Someday,
someone will make me an offer, despite what you
might think, Mister Calverstock. I just hope it won't
be his Grace of Auckland-I absolutely refuse to
marry a man old enough to be my grandfather! I must
say," she continued in a more serious tone, "I can
scarcely believe that Auckland has a son capable of
such outrageous conduct! Why on earth would Lord
Swale want to harm my brother? Has ... has Cary
done something terrible to Lord Swale?"
    Stacy snorted. "On the contrary, Cary has honored his lordship too much by challenging him to a
curricle race. Cary's chestnuts against his lordship's
grays. If it is any consolation, I ... I don't think Swale
wanted Cary dead."
    `Just out of commission for the race," she retorted.
"The shameful coward! Someone should teach this
Swale a valuable lesson about good Ton and bad Ton."
    "I intend to," said Stacy resolutely, inspired by her
flashing eyes and heightened color. "Tomorrow ..."
A glance at the pretty ormolu clock on the mantel
forced him to correct himself. "In a few hours, I shall
ride down to the yard of the Black Lantern Inn, where
everyone will be assembled for the race at the ungodly
hour of seven o'clock. My dear Julie, I mean to call him
out! "

    "Call him out?" she scoffed. "Is that the best revenge
your feeble brain can invent? What good is a duel to
us? There will always be people who say that my brother
was the coward