He was finishing his breakfast when Arabella entered the dining room. She hesitated in the doorway, uncertain and shy. He gave her a reassuring smile.

      ‘Good morning, my lady.’

      She was looking particularly fetching in a pale blue morning gown, her shining hair caught up with a matching ribbon, and he fought down an urge to jump up and escort her to her chair. A footman was on hand to do that and a second stood ready to pour her coffee and offer her a freshly baked bread roll.

      ‘I trust you slept well?’ he asked her as the servants withdrew from the room.

      ‘Yes. Thank you, my lord.’

      ‘I would much rather you called me Randolph.’

      A blush suffused her cheeks. ‘I cannot do that!’

      ‘Why not? We are supposed to be man and wife.’ He pushed away his empty plate. ‘I warn you, I do not intend to call you my lady every time I address you. I shall call you Arabella.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘That is your name, is it not?’

      Her chin went up. ‘Of course. I would not lie to you, my lord.’

      ‘No, it will be much better if we are truthful with one another. What plans do you have for the day?’

      ‘Why, none.’ The question appeared to take her by surprise. ‘If you had not arrived here, I should have been at Meon House this morning.’

      Meavy came in with a fresh pot of coffee and Ran waited until they were alone again before replying.

      ‘Do you blame me for wanting to meet the woman masquerading as my wife?’

      ‘No, of course not.’

      ‘We shall pay a call upon Lady Meon today and I shall apologise for dragging you away so precipitately. Although everyone was most understanding.’

      Her cheeks reddened. ‘It was mortifying.’

      ‘I am very sorry for it, but I think you deserved to be punished a little, do you not?’

      He smiled, to take any sting from the words, but she did not see it. She would not meet his eyes. She had assumed a look of indifference and was studiously applying herself to her breakfast. Ran stifled a sigh. Perhaps it was best she stayed aloof. It was far too tempting to flirt with her.

      She said quietly, ‘You said you would help me.’

      ‘And I will, but I need to know just what story you have given the people here if we are to carry on with this masquerade.’

      ‘I have told them almost nothing. They could hardly ask me about the reports in the newspapers concerning the new Earl. That is why I thought it would be safe to pretend I was your wife. I merely explained you had returned to England unannounced.’

      ‘Well, that much is true! What reason did you give for your coming to Beaumount alone?’

      ‘I said you had business elsewhere.’ She bit her lip. ‘I may have given the impression we had quarrelled.’

      ‘A lovers’ tiff!’ He grinned. ‘And your swooning would have done nothing to dispel that idea.’ He saw that she was looking uncomfortable and forbore to tease her further. Instead he said, ‘Tell me what you expected to achieve at Meon House.’

      Arabella paused, considering. ‘I hoped to discover what went on there and which of George’s particular friends were there with him. He never told me, you see, and I knew so few of his friends. There were only two I recall coming to Revesby Hall. One was George’s groomsman at our wedding and the other was Frederick Letchmore. He called upon us soon after George came home that last time. My husband was very excited about his visit and could hardly be still while he waited for him to arrive. He was like a child anticipating a treat.’

      ‘And was that usual for your husband?’ asked Ran.

      She looked troubled and did not answer immediately.

      ‘His temper had become mercurial in the past year. One moment he was all charming, devil-may-care insouciance, the next he was despairing. Blue-devilled, he called it, but said I must not worry. When Mr Letchmore arrived, George asked me to leave them alone together, to talk. Which I did, but not long after that he sent Mr Letchmore away. He was more angry than I had ever seen him. I clearly remember him saying, “You have killed me, Freddie. I trusted you to help but you have failed me.” Then Mr Letchmore rushed out and we never saw him again.’

      ‘And did you learn just how he had failed your husband?’ asked Ran.

      She shook her head. ‘George was in a towering rage following the meeting, almost incoherent and railing against his false friends, as he called them. After his death I wrote to both gentlemen, but I do not think my letters ever reached them, for I had no replies. I discovered Letchmore had left England. I thought it might be to escape any repercussions over George’s death. I wondered... I thought perhaps he might be one of those gamblers who exist only to prey on unwary young men and relieve them of their fortune.’

      ‘You think your husband was one of those, er, unwary young men?’

      ‘Yes! Especially after I discovered how much of the marriage settlement he had already spent in just three months. It would explain his anger with Mr Letchmore, too. George would never tell me why he suddenly became so set against him.’

      ‘Sometimes illness can cause people to change,’ said Ran, choosing his words carefully. ‘Perhaps you could tell me about your husband’s last days, if it isn’t too painful?’

      She pushed aside her plate and sat very still for a moment, her green eyes gazing at nothing.

      ‘He was very disturbed when he came home that last time. I had never seen him like it. He would go for days without sleeping, but sometimes he was almost euphoric, and would talk to me about what we would do when he was well again. At other times the black mood descended and nothing would please him.

      ‘I confess I did not like to be with George when he was in a temper. He would lash out at everyone. He even railed at Dr Philps and complained that everyone was against him. That we all wanted to kill him. The doctor had no remedy for whatever was ailing him. George grew weaker. He was very sick and could keep nothing down. He was very thirsty, too, and confused.’

      Ran put his elbows on the table and leaned forward, watching her. ‘And what was the cause of this malady?’

      She clasped her hands. ‘Dr Philps recorded the cause of death as convulsions, but I think that was to avoid any scandal.’

      ‘And what did the doctor say to you, privately?’

      ‘I did not actually speak to him.’

      ‘But you were Roffey’s wife. Surely they told you what was wrong with him.’

      She looked a little confused. ‘Lady Roffey was in charge of the sickroom and dealt with Dr Philps. But when I suggested that George might have been poisoned, she did not disagree.’

      Ran turned the coffee cup between his hands. ‘You were widowed after only three months of marriage and you told me your husband was away for most of that time. How well did you really know him?’

      The worry left her face and