Rosemary was tired. No, she was absolutely exhausted. As she lay awake, staring at the beams of the roof illuminated by the fading fire, she wondered why it was that sleep always seemed so elusive just when one needed it most.

Well, actually, she admitted to herself, on this occasion the reason behind her wakefulness was not difficult to arrive at. Reasons, rather. In the morning she would undertake possibly the most dangerous endeavor in weeks of dangerous endeavors, and then, on an entirely different front, there was the dear doctor.

Primat, lying beside her, mumbled in her sleep and rolled over. Rosemary hauled her share of the eiderdown back from under her ayah's still form and then wondered why she had bothered. She was not anywhere close to slumber. Dr. Erskyn's face plagued her mind; the ardent expression he had worn as he declared his love was branded into her memory.

She was seized by the most irrational urge to go check on him. Perhaps he did not have enough blankets. Perhaps his mattress was too lumpy. 'Oh, Rosemary,' she thought, the corners of her mouth twisting upward. 'How pathetic.' It had simply been far too long since she had been held - lovingly, that is - in a gentleman's arms.

She rolled over onto her side and clutched her pillow. Once the happy discovery had been made that she could lean her face upon it at the same time as she embraced it, she was able to relax into sleep. After all, she rationalized just before her thoughts became too scattered to do so, no harm could come of pretending it was Alistair's chest beneath her cheek.

Alexander Erskyn awoke to a cold bed. He grimaced as he sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the mattress. If there had been no other time that he missed Martha Nesper - and, he admitted to himself, those times had been few and far between - this was it. Waking to a chilly bed was something he rarely experienced, and he had no desire to make it a more common occurrence.

False dawn was peeping through the closed curtains, but Alexander was in no hurry to let in the light. He padded quickly across the cold floors to splash his face with the frigid water left over in the basin from the night before. When he looked up from the towel he had buried his face in, he was inwardly shocked to see Alistair's face staring back at him from the mirror.

Suppressing his involuntary start, Alexander raised one eyebrow. "Bad dreams, Alistair? I recommend brandy."

"Oh, do shut up about the thrice-blasted brandy," his twin snapped back. "I'd like to see how you would handle disgrace and heartbreak. I don't suppose I ever will."

"No. I lack a necessary accessory for heartbreak, you see." At his twin's unspoken question, Alexander elaborated, "The heart, you dolt. Must one really spell everything out for you? Never mind, the answer to that question is just as obvious. Why did you come here? I don't flatter myself it was for our usual scintillating conversation."

"Neither should you," Alistair replied. "It's about Mrs. Carlyle."

"Why am I not in the least surprised to hear you say so?" Alexander wondered, stripping his nightgown over his head and tossing it upon the bed. Naked, he padded to the wardrobe and pulled forth some clothing that made his brother wince. "What of the - unwilling, I suppose? - widow?"

He heard a grinding noise. Glancing up, he saw that it issued from the vicinity of Alistair's teeth. Mastering his frustration, the doctor said, "She has no idea what danger awaits her."

"On the contrary, dear brother, I think she has a very fair idea of the danger, unless she is incredibly stupid." Noting the rather alarming flush climbing his brother's neck, Alexander finished buttoning his shirt and sighed. "But I suppose it makes no odds to you. What do you have planned to protect her? I use the word 'protect' loosely, you understand."

Alistair hesitated before trying to form an answer.

"Come, come I know you have some sort of plan to keep the widow out of this mess. By the by, what exactly happened between you and Lord Kenneth Dunderhead?" Alex looked at him keenly.

Alistair looked down, knowing how well his twin could read his eyes. The betrayal was too fresh and raw. As he was trying to get his emotions under control, there was a sharp rap on the door which was opened as two gentlemen entered the room.

"I beg your pardon!" Alex exclaimed indignantly, as he moved towards them.

Alistair placed a hand on Alex's arm, "Wait, I know one of these men. How is that arm, Fairleigh?"

Roly flourished a bow. "Tres bien, thanks to you, Dr. Erskyn. Allow me to introduce you to Mr. August Falcon. We, er, ran into each other as I was following that rascal Daventry," he paused noting the questioning look on Alistair's face. With his typical gaelic gesture, he spread his hands shrugging his shoulders, "Alas, we lost our quarry, but we managed to find your group. Mr. Falcon is also involved in this gem business and has some news for you."

August looked at them both noting the remarkable similarities and announced, "The emerald you had possession of is not real."

Alex snorted derisively causing August's blue eyes to narrow dangerously. "Hah! I informed my doltish brother of that fact yesterday. You're a day late."

Roly gave Alistair a warning look. Alistair hastily told Alex, "Since you are done getting dressed, why don't you go order something to eat for everyone. It's going to be a long day."

Alex opened his mouth to argue, but suddenly remembered why the name August Falcon was familiar. He etched a stiff bow and sauntered out of the room.

Regarding the retreating figure through his quizzing glass, August drawled, "Your twin's manners are as atrocious as his choice of clothing Doctor."

Alistair flushed, "I apologize for my brother, I think we all are overtired." He gestured them both to sit down. "Why don't we have a seat and discuss our next step?"

"Ewwwww!!!" Cecily squealed in rage. "I shall make them all pay." She pulled violently on the rope to summon the maid, who appeared very quickly having already heard about her mistress' temper through the servants grapevine.

"Yes mum?" as she curtsied.

"Clean up that mess. I had a little 'accident.' Then pack me a valise and let the stable know I need a coach immediately."

Sent to fetch food like a common footman, Alex brooded to himself, while his brother played the commander-general in secret conference with Fairleigh and Falcon. Of course, knowing Alistair, he was just trying to shield his little brother from danger. Alex snorted. Ridiculous, especially since he'd worm everything out of Alistair later in any event. His big brother never could keep any secrets from him, even though lately Alistair liked being able to pretend to do so. Part of his idiotic image as the heartless man, no doubt. It just made looking after the silly block more complicated. Thank goodness Rosemary Carlyle was putting a period to that tiresome game.

Treated like a lackey. He shrugged. Then he may as well make use of the servant's staircase and be that much faster back in the room with his brother. He headed for the back of the hallway.

Devil take it, the only reason that he hadn't made Alistair tell him the whole story in the first place was because the damned jewel was paste. It was so obvious that he had just assumed that Alistair knew it. But he should have realized that his monkish brother knew as much about precious jewels as about fashion and making diverting small talk. Nothing.

He smiled to himself. Now, an it had been a real emerald, he would not only have made Alistair divulge it's provenance, he would have gotten the gudgeon to tell his plans for its use as well. A man could do a lot with a real emerald that size. Some men, at any rate. No doubt the only thing that Alistair could think of would be to open an infirmary for widows and orphans. Not that Alex begrudged widows or orphans, of course. He just preferred to benefit widows on a more individual basis.

The twisting servants' staircase was narrow and dark, the only light coming from a small windows high up above the landings on each floor. One had to feel sorry for the poor mopes carrying trays of provisions up this way. The treads were worn until slippery and he had to make his way slowly as he had no intention of touching the grimy walls for support if he could help it. Life without a proper valet was wretched enough without befouling his last decent coat. Any smudge stood out on gold embroidery.

Coming sharply around the last corner, he spied Rosemary Carlyle's servant standing in the first floor landing, holding up a length of fabric to the light from the window.

Excellent. He would be back with Alistair and the others sooner than he hoped. Possibly even before his brother could invent a likely fabrication to fob off on him.

What was the woman's name? Something odd. Primo? Primary? Primat! Yes, he was certain that was it. Primat. She did not turn when he approached, but kept her gaze fixed on her work. She was mending a tear in one of those garments that she wore and that Rosemary had donned the day before. Unusual looking garb. Good colours, though. The one she held was deep turquoise with orange trim. It would make an excellent waistcoat. Assuming he ever escaped this rustic abyss and clapped eyes on his London tailor again, he thought with a sigh.

Her head remained bent over her needlework, even when he stopped at her elbow. She was probably hard of hearing, he thought, common enough at her age. He watched her slender fingers deftly weave the needle through the bright silk.

She still did not look up. Seeing her close, he realized that she was younger than he had originally thought. Her cheeks were smooth, there were no lines around her eyes. It must be the stern expression she usually wore that made her seem older. She was probably the same age as Mrs. Carlyle.

He cleared his throat. Her hand stopped in midair and she looked upat him, her brown eyes revealing no surprise at his presence. He gave her his endearing smile, the one that always guaranteed cooperation from serving wenches and house maids, slightly apologetic, slightly bemused at being so dependent on their assistance.

"Surely you can find a chair somewhere to do your mending," he said, holding the smile. "Standing all day long may be have been expected where you come from, but I'm certain that Mrs Carlyle would like you to be as comfortable as possible. You're not in India any longer."

Her eyes held his. "Is that why you patrol the servant's quarters, sahib?" she asked. "Because you are concerned that the maids do not strain themselves?" She blinked once slowly, then returned to her stitching.

He felt himself flush. "I'm here because we need food sent up to our room immediately. Some chicken, perhaps, and some bread and cheeseand apple pie. Ale of course..." He tailed off. She had not looked up once, remaining concentrated on her sewing, her long lashes concealing the expression in her eyes. He doubted that she was even listening to him.

What the devil had he ever done to provoke such a response from the woman? He had never even spoken to her before now, he was fairly certain. Unless - it occurred to him at last - she confused him with Alistair. Alistair who was notoriously incapable of smoothing the way with any female. No doubt Alistair had antagonized his ladylove's servant. It was even possible this Primat felt threatened by Alistair's growing attachment to her mistress, worried she would be given her leave or even jealous, perhaps.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked her.

She tucked her needle into the fabric and turned to face him, meeting his eye with her level gaze.

"I am Alexander Erskyne," he said.

"I know who you are, sahib." Her face remained composed as she regarded him.

He gave her the charming smile, the one that subdued recalcitrant mamas and uncooperative duennas. "You do? It's just that people often confuse my brother and me. We are twins and extremely like in appearance, you know."

She looked puzzled. "I do not find it confusing, sahib. You are the pretty one."

He laughed, gratified. His charm hadn't failed him, despite the woman's impervious facade. "That's very kind of you to say," he said, "but in English, one doesn't refer to men as pretty. You may consider me handsome. And my brother and I are virtually identical, so in fairness to him, you must compliment us both equally."

She inspected him from the top of his head to the tip of his boots, lingering for a moment on his brilliant waistcoat. "Your brother is handsome," she said. "You are pretty." She turned away from him toward the light and tugged on the thread in her needle.

He stared at her dumbfounded.

"Is this the attitude of servants in India?" he asked when he found his voice.

"Ah, but we are not in India, are we, sahib?" For the first time, she smiled.

Despite himself he grinned. "A hit, madam Primat, I concede a hit. I can see that you have taken me in aversion." He paused, but she - confound her - did not contradict the statement, although she did turn her head toward him. He shook his head. "Fortunately for you, I take nothing seriously. My brother has always done that well enough for two. That my brother's friend's servant disapproves of me is hardly likely to make me lose any sleep."

He gave her his most captivating smile, the one reserved for widows and wives with husbands on long sea voyages and turned on his heel.To hell with her. He needed to find food.

Primat returned to her sewing under the window. She had to stretch on her toes to get enough light so that she could see her stitches.There was never enough light in England. It was such a dark and dreary place. She missed a stitch in the gloom and the needle jabbed into her finger.

It was all the fault of that shiny peacock.

As the gentlemen settled before the small fire, Alistair hastily pulled on the least objectionable garments from his twin's wardrobe. There was only a trifling too much silver lace on the dark blue velvet coat and he'd found a silvery waistcoat that he hoped did not call too much attention to itself. He counted himself fortunate that he'd lost weight, or else he'd never have been able to move in the close-fitting coat. He considered his erstwhile patient as he finished.

"Fairleigh, you should not be out of bed yet. That wound..."

"Is as nothing, mon cher Doctor. You must not consider it." Fairleigh lounged comfortably against the mantel, but the mischievous gleam in his eye that Alistair guessed was a usual facet of his character was missing.

Alistair took one last look and decided the man looked tired but not exhausted and did not seem feverish. He must have a powerfully strong constitution. "We concocted a plan last night to lure the villains into a trap. But since it involves the ladies, I trust with your help to come up with a more acceptable design."

"It matters not whether it involves the ladies or the Lord Mayor of Edinburgh and all the sheep in the Highlands, you will not put it into effect." Falcon dared the others to contradict him. Alistair leapt to the challenge implicit in the drawling voice and haughty expression.

"You mean to sit there and tell us we should not capture these villains?" He stared at the arrogant stranger from London. "Even putting aside the matter of treason, the harm done to innocents..."

"We cannot put aside the matter of treason." Falcon sat at his ease and looked up at this peacocky fire-eater. Were all heroes so hot at hand? "If we all go careening about the country looking for these villains and that bit of glass, how long do you think it will take them to guess that the Princess must have done something discreditable with the true stone?

"And if your ah, plan, to capture the villains succeeds? We still do not have the complete set. If the villains are in prison, the word will inevitably leak out and ruin the Prince and Princess nearly as completely as though the villains' plan was a resounding success."

"Then we are to do nothing? Falcon, that is not advice I would expect to hear from you." The gleam was back in Fairleigh's dark eye.

"Did I say that?" Falcon frowned. "I fear that some of us are going to be dashing back to London in short order."

"Dashing back? Oh." Alistair sank down on the edge of the bed. "You mean for us to act as though we still have the true stone. And if we did, we'd make all haste back to London with it."

"Ah, the light dawns! My dear doctor, you are not as foolish as a slight acquaintance with your brother might lead one to expect."

"An I am foolish, gentlemen, then I might well be foolish enough to mistake the room and deliver this elsewhere." Alexander entered, followed by two of the inn's servants bearing a large and steaming-hot breakfast.

Falcon brightened at the sight of the food. It had been a long, miserable ride from London and good food had been unfortunately scarce. "Did you think I was casting aspersions on you? I was merely suggesting that anyone who has heard you about Town has heard you comment on your brother's foolishness in turning his back on Society. I was merely expressing my discovery that he is smarter than I had expected."

Alex slipped the servants a few coins, and the maidservant a quick kiss and a pinch on the cheek that sent her blushing and giggling out of the room. "Ah... so you aren't calling me foolish. You're suggesting I'm a liar."

Alistair had a sudden vivid recollection of Falcon's reputation. Drat the boy for teasing the tiger! "Alex! have done. I don't know what's got you in such a taking, but now is not the time for such behavior."

"What has me in a taking?" Alex took a quick look at Falcon, who was staring at him, no doubt waiting for a challenge, and another at Alistair who was glaring and coming the big brother. Ah, well, there'd be enough excitement in the day, no doubt, without pushing himself into a duel. "Possibly the fact that my brother feels entitled to make himself free with my wardrobe?" He bowed to Falcon, who paused and then stiffly nodded. "Your pardon, sir. As my brother points out, now is not the time for us to fall out."

As the gentlemen demolished the substantial repast, Alistair shared the change in plans with his twin.

Alex sat back with a last cup of coffee and looked at the other men. "We will need to send out several messengers. If one is caught, it must be plausible that the emerald is with another."

"Has it occurred to you, brother, that if Mrs. Carlyle can look like Miss Primat, then Miss Primat can look like Mrs. Carlyle?"

The men all stared at Alex in consternation. "Ah," he said smugly, "I see that it had not crossed your minds." He started to make another comment but chanced to glance at Falcon and thought the better of it. He continued instead, "If both Mrs. Carlyle and Miss Primat were to ride off in different directions for London with either my brother or myself accompanying them, then surely one of us would be picked up and trailed. I do not think these villains so incompetent as to miss two pairs of riders."

"No," said August, with a hint of grudging respect, "I don't suppose they could fail to follow at least one of our decoys. But once we have them following, where do we lead them?"

"Well, this Finchale Priory seems ideal for an ambush. If we could lure them there and have Mr. Fairleigh, Captain Holt - to represent the law - and of course you, Sir, waiting for them we should be able to handle as many ruffians as they can send after the two couples." With this Alex rose. "What do you think Gentlemen?"

Alastair rose as well, "I think that, Alex, for once you have made a major contribution to something important. This plan of yours just might work."

"It sounds to me like this is the best we're going to come up with on a combined total of ten hours of sleep." Falcon laconically stood and added "Let's get to it then Gentlemen, we haven't much time."

The men all left to prepare for their various parts in the scheme and to alert the ladies as to their role in the plot. Alastair held his brother back briefly with a hand on his shoulder. "If you really hope to masquerade as me, brother," he said with a slight grin, "I suggest you tone down the waistcoat a bit. The Guardians would certainly never believe that I would present them with so colorful a target."

Alex stared after his brother in consternation. Humor from the dour doctor? This really was an eventful day.

Alastair found Rosemary in the bed chamber she had shared with Primat, staring at herself in the dressing table mirror. "Mrs. Carlyle?' he inquired softly, getting no response he tried again, a little more loudly, "Mrs. Carlyle?" Still receiving no answer, he cleared his throat and went up to tap her on the shoulder, "Rosemary?" The lady in question jumped up and whirled to face him with a small, startled shriek.

"Oh my! Alastair! You scared me half out of my wits." She paused as a blush rose to her cheeks, "You could have given me a little warning," she mumbled as she turned her face away from him, busying herself with the articles on the dressing table.

Alastair looked at her askance for a second then shook his head and gathered his thoughts. "My dear," he began, his face softening, "our scheme has changed somewhat on the advice of the formidable Mr. Falcon. It now appears that both you and Primat will be costumed as yourself, and Alexander and I, will be, well, me." He shook his head again, sleep deprivation did not make this explanation any more coherent. "I will... I mean, it has been decided that I will ride with you and that Alex will escort Miss Primat, that is, if it's alright with you." This last was spoken with some trepidation as she had not yet mentioned his declaration last night or the endearment with which he had greeted her.

"Yes of course, that is fine." answered Rosemary with commendable calmness. "I will tell Primat of the change in plans"

"Very well, then we leave on the hour."

Several miles away in a decrepit tavern, a tall well-dressed gentleman entered the taproom, glanced around and selected a table against the wall. He ordered ale and sat facing the doorway. The other occupants of the room considered him easy pickings until they glanced at his face and encountered the "nasty look" in his eye.

After a time, a rather non-descript man quietly entered, ordered a blue ruin and joined his table. They immediately put their heads together and began a low-voiced conversation.

"Ye wanted to see me, General?"

"Have you been able to locate Dr. Erskyn and Mrs. Carlyle?"

"Aye. They were staying at an Inn called The Missing Key. They left together this morning. They were heading south."

"You're sure it was them?"

"Aye. The woman was dark and dressed for travellin'. I saw 'er in the carriage with the doctor. Her Indian servant stayed at the Inn."

"Excellent!" A rather vicious smile curved the General's lips.

The tavern owner glancing towards the corner table at that moment, swallowed the lump in his throat, and quickly searched his memory for any possible wrongdoing. Finding it clean, he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Due to some unseen difficulties, there has been a change of plans. Here is what I want you to do."

The silence in the travelling carriage was deafening. Alex lounged in the corner of the carriage and watched the woman seated next to him. The transformation was amazing. He had to keep reminding himself that the beautiful woman seated next to him was in actuality Primat. She looked much younger with her hair dressed like Rosemary's. In the sunlight, he could see the fine-grained smoothness of her incredible skin, her cheeks like dusky roses. Not a wrinkle could be seen. From his vantagepoint in the corner, he could see how extraordinarily long her lashes were while admiring her profile. He had expected her to be clumsy in the unfamiliar clothing; but she wore the clothing like she wore her sari, proudly. And the way she moved, with that gliding walk of hers, made the garments seem to float around her.

Alex, never one to waste an opportunity when in the company of a beautiful woman, decided to find out if she was susceptible to flattery.

In the hallway of The Missing Key, Rosemary and Alistair were waiting for their carriage to arrive at the door. Roly, Falcon, Gareth, and Jacob had left for Finchale Priory as soon as their meeting had ended. Knowing the inn may be watched, they decided split up, in case anyone followed them. Gareth and Jacob had headed north and Roly and Falcon had headed south. They would rendezvous at Finchale Priory to set up their ambush.

Marianna, piqued at being left behind, kept pacing back and forth in the hallway while expressing her views of Gareth's treachery. Since her views were not limited to today's treachery, they included every little incident from their combined past, Marianna had been talking non-stop. Flora, who was the main recipient of all this angst, was on the verge of screaming; when assistance arrived as a shadow blocking the doorway. Glancing up she saw a tall gentleman; slightly the worse for wear, stop on the threshold and look around.

Marianna, who's pacing had almost brought her into abrupt contact with the gentleman, stopped her diatribe and looked up.

"Kenneth!" She squealed and threw herself into his arms.

Alistair, who had been admiring Rosemary from a distance while she spoke with her sister, froze. He felt his face harden as he slowly turned around. The look he gave Lord Kenneth Dunnett spelled death.

Cecily, whose network of spies would put the crowns to shame, lounged in the corner of her carriage contemplating life. A smile curved her lips. The information had cost her a King's ransom, but it was well worth it.

She reached into her reticule and pulled out a cut-crystal decanter. She held it up to the light and admired the deep amethyst color of the liquid it contained. The General would be enraged to find it missing from his coat pocket. Her smile grew wider. You never know when a little pickpocketing will come in handy. She could have made another batch of the liquid, but removing from the General's possession aided her revenge. She replaced the decanter as her coach slowed to a stop in front of an inn. The door opened and a gentleman entered.

"Ah, Daventry, so good to see you again."