Lord Carleton was the third person to have his peace cut up that evening, worrying about Frances. He had heard absolutely nothing since he received her letter. The news of a lost heiress returned to the fold should have flown around London's drawing rooms before the gossips could have drawn a second breath. The silence was deafening, and more than a little disquieting. He would have to take the bull by the horns and call on Lady Murray tomorrow. Perhaps he could say he had known Frances' father and wished to pay his respects to his daughter?

He was just about to set out for his club for a late supper, when his butler drew himself to his attention by appearing at his elbow and clearing his throat.

"Excuse me, my lord, but there is a person here to see you," he said cautiously. "I explained that you were about to go out and suggested he call back tomorrow but he was very insistent. He said you would think it important. His name is Hopgood but he said that would not likely mean anything to you, so he asked me to give you this letter."

Carleton had been looking at him with raised eyebrows but took the folded piece of paper held out to him. It was from the rector of Brasted announcing the fact that he had married Lady Amanda Murray to Mr Henry Metcalf twenty five years ago. Frances! Carleton seized the butler's arm. "Quickly, man, where is he?"

"In the hall, my lord," stuttered Rawlings in alarm. Carleton released him and strode down to the hall where a middle aged stranger was standing, twisting his cap between his hands. The disappointment was like a blow.

"Yes?" he asked, unaware of how intimidating he looked in his evening wear, his cloak already around his shoulders.

The older man gazed hesitantly up at him, was this tall, elegant Corinthian really a friend of Frances? Well he had come this far, he wasn't going to give up without a struggle.

He stated in a firm voice, "I've come about Miss Frances, milord," then stopped as Carleton held up his hand and shook his head slightly. The change in Carleton's face was remarkable, it was as if someone had turned on a light. "Let us go into the study, Hopgood, is it?"

"Yes, my lord," he answered bemusedly as he was ushered into a cosy study and seated in a leather chair before he could blink.

"That will be all, Rawlings, thank you." Carleton dismissed the butler. "A glass of brandy?" he offered.

"Thank you, my lord," was the dazed reply. "Very kind of you."

"Now tell me what has been happening," requested Carleton, pouring himself a glass as well.

John filled him in about his trip to Brasted and what Frances had disclosed about her subsequent visit to Lady Murray. He then went on to recount what had occurred that very day when he had tried to see Frances at Devonshire Street.

"Miss Frances would never have sent me away like that, not if it were ever so. I am thinking, my lord, that perhaps Lady Murray was not so pleased to have her granddaughter prove she was legitimate as she pretended." He added shrewdly, "It seems plain to me that Miss Frances is being held there against her will."

Carleton nodded, "It would seem so! I will call on her tomorrow and see what I can discover. Where are you staying?"

"At the Regent Hotel, my lord. Miss Frances still has rooms there and some of her belongings."

"I will call on you tomorrow evening, will you be there?"

"I'll make sure of it, my lord," John replied, feeling hopeful. Lord Carleton appeared to know what he was doing.

"I am on my way to Whites, can I drop you somewhere?" Carleton asked.

"No thank you, my lord. I might take a stroll round to Devonshire Street, just to keep an eye on things."

Carleton nodded and they parted at the door. He thought he might take a leaf out of Hopgood's book, and spread the word of Frances' existence and her parents' marriage. If it became common knowledge, it would be much more difficult for Lady Murray to orchestrate a cover up. He would make an appearance at Almack's to drop the word in a few feminine ears and then call in at his club.

Entering the 'Marriage Mart,' he was fortunate enough to see Sammy Fairfax there with a party of friends, and went up to her. "Sammy, give me the next dance will you?"

"But I am already promised to Tom Humphries," she protested, smiling at him.

"Fob him off," he demanded impatiently, "I have something extremely important to tell you. You will be the first person to hear the news," he offered tantalizingly.

Sammy swapped her dance with Tom in exchange for going in to supper with him, and was soon standing up with Carleton, eager to hear what he had to say.

"Do you remember the woman you met as Diana Murray?"

She nodded questioningly, her eyes fixed on his. "Yes?"

"Her real name is Frances Metcalf and she is the missing granddaughter of Lady Anna Murray, her mother was Lady Anna's daughter Amanda and her father was Henry Metcalf."

"Lud! Is it true? She said she thought she was a relation of Lady Julia Murray!" Sammy exclaimed excitedly.

"Her aunt," confirmed Carleton. "She is staying with her grandmother at the moment. No doubt she will be presented soon."

"But how-?"

"Before you pepper me with questions, that is all I know," interrupted Carleton firmly. "I am sure she will have lots to tell you when you see her next. Perhaps you and your aunt might call on her one day soon," he suggested, hoping to distract her.

Despite his disclaimer, Sammy continued to plague him with unanswerable questions until he was glad to hand her off to her next partner. He stayed only to politely greet several dowagers of his acquaintance before departing for his club, before Sammy could corner him again. He took a slightly different approach to spread the tale at White's. A few simple questions as to whether George or Harry had met the latest heiress was enough to get the rumours circulating.

Unaware of the schemes being hatched on her behalf, Frances was getting tired of being compliant. She had spent a very boring day pacing her room and had even ventured to read a few pages of the improving book Lady Murray had selected for her. She had carefully explored every inch of the room, which took less than ten minutes, and had reached the conclusion that her best weapon was the chamber pot. She had spent an hour testing the strength of the bars in the window and attempting to chip away at the bricks they were embedded in, but unless she was going to be there for several weeks, the only way out was through the door.