“Certainly, Your Grace.” Mrs. Hawkins walked over and lifted her skirt, aligning her foot with the stain on the carpet.
Her foot was too large.
“Thank you, Mrs. Hawkins,” Roxburghe said, dismissing her, then he bowed, sending a ridiculous grin to Miss Webb. “My dear.”
Giggling, Miss Webb walked over to the print and placed her foot beside the mark.
It matched!
Roxburghe yanked her away from the print, blocking her from the rest of the room with his body.
“You all know it wasn’t Nora,” he said, darkness lacing his tone.
“We know.” Levi held up his hands in a placating manner. “The only thing Miss Webb is guilty of is falling for a scoundrel.”
Beaufort nearly split himself in half, laughing.
Edging around him, Miss Fernsby-Webb stepped up to the footprint without request. Like Mrs. Hawkins, her foot was larger than the stain, and she spun, pointing at the carpet.
“Everyone here witnesses the thief is not me,” Miss Fernsby-Webb said, waiting until each person confirmed before returning to her sister’s side.
Levi couldn’t fault her for the display. She’d been falsely imprisoned for months due to her mother’s twisted desire for revenge and had only recently regained her freedom.
That just left Miss Rowe.
Levi turned to address her, but Miss Rowe had vanished.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
EVELINE/HELENA
How was she going to avoid being measured against the print?
Miss Webb had an alibi… her fiancé, but Helena, what explanation could she offer when her foot matched the exact shape and size of the stain?
She ran down the corridor, her mind racing with plausible excuses.
Maybe if she gave it all back? If she said she found everything hidden somewhere and… and what? Retreat to the shadows when Miss Drummond revealed Helena’s true moniker to be Miss Eveline Braddock, liar and fugitive fiancée. She wouldn’t escape Humphrey again.
Stocking feet slipping on the staircase, Helena grabbed hold of the handrail, then hurried up the remaining steps to her bedchamber, the only unsearched room on this floor. She darted into the chamber, shut the door as quietly as possible, and dragged a heavy armchair in front of the door, wedging the chair back beneath the handle.
Her jewelry box seemed a brilliant hiding location in the early morning hours. However, Helena almost fainted when the Duke of Mansfield unlatched and opened the gold inlaid lid of Miss Webb’s wooden container.
She hastened across the floor, snatched a key from a small drawer in her dressing table, and unlocked her jewelry box. Lifting the lid, she peeked behind her to ensure the chair was still in place, then shoved her hand into the box, digging until she found the three gold chains and the Duke of Lennox’s ring.
The sunlight streaming through the window caught the ruby, painting scarlet rainbows across the vanity. She sighed. Despite her situation, she knew she wouldn’t forgive herself for handing over the Duke of Lennox’s family heirloom to Miss Drummond.
But the ring couldn’t be discovered in her possession.
Her gaze slid over the furnishings, seeking a unique hiding place—somewhere the pragmatic Duke of Mansfield wouldn’t think to search—and landed on a vase of sharp holly branches adorning the mantel above the fireplace.
The corner of her mouth pulled.
Anyone fool enough to stick their hand in that vase deserved to find the ring.
Rising on her toes, she gingerly wove her fingers between the thick, spiky leaves, sucking in a quick breath when one of the spines stabbed the back of her hand. She released the ring, waiting until a muted thud indicated the heavy gold circle landed on the bottom of the vase, then retracted her arm, adding a second scratch to her skin.
Certain Miss Drummond would offer no respite a second time, Helena returned to her dressing table and sorted through the paltry collection of paste jewelry she possessed. There was only one piece of comparable value to the Duke of Lennox’s ring, an item she’d secreted out of her brother’s house when she departed for Wiltshire—her mother’s pearl and gold necklace.
