Hertfordshire, 1815.

Shouts echoed through the ballroom. The buzz of conversation slowed as the crowd of country gentry tried to both listen and pretend they didn’t notice anything amiss. Whatever was happening was far enough away that Lily Adler couldn’t make out the words, until one voice rose above the others.

“You will be there at dawn, or I will hunt you down and kill you where you sleep.”

A few of the dancers faltered then, though the musicians played bravely on, and a moment later the sounds of confrontation were smothered. The guests in Lord Crawford’s Hertfordshire ballroom laughed and returned to their entertainment, more than one making a sly comment about young men sampling the baron’s good whiskey.

“As I was saying, it is miraculous, the change marriage has worked on her,” one elderly woman, her head wrapped in a fiercely purple turban, said loudly, trying to regain her audience’s attention. “Her father let her run absolutely wild— hunting and playing cards and romping outside with those neighbor boys. ‘Mr. Hawes,’ said I, more than once you may be sure, ‘you must get Susie a governess, or no one will marry her no matter how much you settle on the poor girl’ and lo and behold, not a year after he finally did…”

But Lily shivered, unable to rejoin the lighthearted gossip around her. She knew— though she would have preferred to forget— what someone ready to kill sounded like. That last voice had been terrifyingly serious. She kept her eyes on the door to the supper room, where the shouts had come from, until she saw a familiar figure in a blue coat emerge. Excusing herself from the group around her, Lily hurried over.

“What happened, captain?” she asked quietly, pulling her friend aside. “The whole ballroom could hear the commotion.”

Captain Jack Hartley’s face was grim, and that made her worried. Cheerful and easy-going, with a roguish grin that had stolen more than one heart, Jack had spent half his life fighting in His Majesty’s Navy. There were few things that could ruffle his composure.

Murder had done it, just a few months before. The comparison worried her.

“Couple of idiots worked up over what should be nothing, and one of them is going to get killed because of it. We finally stop sending our men to die in France, so of course they start shooting at each other here,” Jack muttered. “God, how could Burke be so stupid? Everyone knows Astin is a jealous ass.”

“What happened?” Lily asked again.

Jack sighed, raking an agitated hand through his hair. “Simon Astin — Lord Crawford’s heir, you know — found Charles Burke propositioning Mrs. Astin. Lord knows Mrs. Astin is beautiful enough to tempt a fellow to all kinds of stupidity, but I cannot believe Burke would do such a thing. He must have been foxed beyond belief.” Jack frowned. “He never used to drink like that.”

“And what did Mr. Astin do?” Lily lowered her voice, though she already could guess the answer.

“Pistols at dawn.”