The euphoria of the waltz vanished the moment Amelia stepped back into the Ashbury townhouse. The silence of the grand foyer felt heavy, expectant, like a predator waiting in the tall grass.
Waiting on the silver salver in the hall was not an invitation, but la single, square envelope made of cheap, vellum paper. There was no coat of arms, no elegant calligraphy—only her name written in a cramped, hurried hand.
Amelia retreated to her bedchamber, dismissing Margaret with a shaky wave of her hand. By the dim light of a single taper, she broke the wax seal.
My Lady,
A dance in the dark is a dangerous thing to lose one's footing in. I saw the waltz at Vauxhall. I saw the kiss that followed. Such a pity it would be if the Earl of Crawley were to learn his future bride is already... well-acquainted with a radical.
If you wish to keep your reputation—and your family's name—intact, you will find a small ledger in your father's study. It is bound in red leather and kept in the bottom drawer of the bureau. Bring it to the sundial in St. James's Park tomorrow at noon.
Do not fail me. A single word to the gossip sheets, and you shall be the ruin of Ashbury.
A House Built on Lies
Amelia felt the air leave her lungs. Someone hadn't just watched them; they knew Henry's secret and her father's vulnerabilities. The mention of her father's ledger was the most terrifying part. Why would a blackmailer want the Earl of Ashbury's private accounts?
She remembered Henry's words from the printing house: "The ton values silence above all else."
She realized she was being used as a pawn in a game much larger than a mere romance. To steal the ledger was to betray her father; to refuse was to destroy herself and Henry.
The Midnight Theft
Driven by a desperate adrenaline, Amelia waited until the house was deathly still. She crept down the back stairs, her silk robe whispering against the floorboards. The study smelled of stale tobacco and old parchment.
Her heart hammered against her ribs as she reached the bureau. The drawer was locked, but a heavy letter opener served as a crude key. With a sickening crack, the wood gave way.
There it was. The red ledger.
She opened it briefly, her eyes widening as she scanned the columns. These weren't just gambling debts. There were names—members of Parliament, lords of the Admiralty—and sums of money listed next to "Suppression of Information."
Her father wasn't just losing money; he was being paid to keep the government's darkest secrets.
"Looking for something, Amelia?"
She spun around, clutching the book to her chest. Standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the hallway lamp, was her brother, Julian. He didn't look angry—he looked terrified.