The fire in the grate was burning brightly—a footman had come in over the course of the evening to stoke it—but out in the square, all of the neighboring houses had gone dark. A steady rain had begun to fall, and the wind rattled the windows in their frames. He checked his pocket watch. It was past midnight. Voices suddenly sounded in the hall. “Nasty weather, and it came on so quickly … A visitor, at this hour?” It was the countess who spoke. “Lord Dorset? How very curious.” The voices moved closer. “If you don’t mind, Aunt Sophia, I will take myself off to bed. I’ve never danced so much. Thank you for talking my wrap, Canby.” Annabelle sounded breathless. Strained. “If he’s out at this hour and in this weather, my dear, Lord Dorset has important news. Let us see what this is about.” “I’d rather not,” Annabelle replied, but their footsteps were already headed this way. He stood hastily, brushing at his creased clothing. “Lord Dorset.” The countess swept into the parlor.
