Number 20 was a tall, narrow house, with Doric columns flanking the front door and Greek pediments over the windows. A young footman opened the door and gazed haughtily down at me. I handed the impudent lad my card, upon which I'd scribbled that I'd come on behalf of Mr. Summerville.

The footman departed, closing the door in my face. He returned a short time after that, let me into the house, and commanded me to follow him.

He led me up a polished staircase to a back sitting room that overlooked a narrow garden. A cheerful fire crackled on the hearth, and low chairs with cushions invited lounging. Books that looked well used lay about on tables, and candles cut the gloom. It was the room of one who enjoyed comfort but not ostentation.

The lady in question entered. I stilled, finding myself enchanted.

Mrs. Chambers was a small woman with dark brown hair and blue eyes. Her turned-up nose gave her a young look, but the settled curves of her body put her in her early thirties.

She was not beautiful, but she was arresting, as comfortable and lovely as her private sitting room. Without saying a word, she made a gentleman want to linger here, made him long to sink back into her sofa's cushions and have her look at him with those eyes. I could only applaud Summerville's choice.

"Captain Lacey?" Mrs. Chambers held my card in her hand and polite inquiry in her tone.

I came straight to the point. "Mrs. Chambers, Mr. Summerville believes he left an article here last evening, and has sent me as an errand boy to fetch it."

Her smile bathed me in charm, and I decided that Summerville was a fool. He was choosing to marry the rather colorless Miss Wright instead of living out his days in comfort with this woman.