Perhaps she ought to delay her visit until tomorrow.

She deliberated a moment longer and then started across the street. This investigation was too important to be set aside, however briefly, unless there was no alternative.

She went up the steps of the colonnaded town house and banged the knocker. The door opened immediately.

“Mrs. Lake.” The massive butler inclined his head in somber recognition. “I shall inform Mrs. Dove that you are here.”

“Thank you.”

Relieved not to have been barred from entrance on the grounds that Joan was not receiving visitors, she whisked into the black-and-white-marble-tiled hall and removed her bonnet. A glimpse of her reflection in the large, gilded mirrors revealed that the fichu she had tucked into the snug bodice of her violet gown was askew.

Madam Francesca, her tyrannical dressmaker, would have been outraged.

She had just finished making the adjustments to her attire when the butler returned.

“Mrs. Dove will see you in the drawing room.”

She followed him into the yellow, green, and gilt chamber. The thick velvet drapes were tied back with yellow cord to frame the pleasant vista of the park. Light streamed through the panes of glass, illuminating the thick, patterned carpet. Huge vases full of summer flowers brightened the corners.

Joan Dove stood at one of the tall windows, gazing pensively out into the street. It struck Lavinia that she made an excellent match for her new lover, Lord Vale. Joan was in her early forties, but she possessed the sort of striking profile and graceful height that would allow her to carry her beauty with her for many years.

It never ceased to amaze Lavinia that she had become friends with this woman. On the face of it, they had very little in common.

Joan had come to her first as a client. At the time of her husband’s death a little more than a year ago, she had inherited not only his fortune but, quite possibly, his position as the head of a mysterious underworld organization known as the Blue Chamber.

At the height of its power under Fielding Dove’s guidance, the tentacles of the Blue Chamber had stretched throughout England and beyond, onto the Continent. According to Tobias, who, in his capacity as a spy, had had every reason to know, the Chamber had operated a variety of businesses. Some of those enterprises had been legitimate. Others had been decidedly less so. The links between the two had often been murky.

The Blue Chamber was believed to have disintegrated in the wake of Dove’s death. Those few who were privy to the truth about his illicit activities assumed he had concealed his role as the lord of a criminal empire from his beloved wife and daughter. It was understood, after all, that gentlemen, even those engaged in legitimate investments, seldom troubled their ladies with the details of their business ventures.

Dove had been not only a gentleman by birth, he had also been extremely secretive. There was no reason to think that he had taken Joan into his confidence.

Lavinia and Tobias, however, were not so certain. There were rumors in certain quarters of the underworld that the clandestine operations of the Chamber were now under new management. And the only person around who appeared to be capable of running such an extensive enterprise was Joan.

Lavinia had no intention of asking Joan if the gossip was true. It was, she reflected, one of those questions one did not ask if one could avoid it.

On the other hand, it was difficult not to notice that, now that she had emerged from mourning, Joan exhibited a decided preference for a particular shade of blue. Her fashionable gowns and many of the gemstones she wore could best be described as azure in color.

Azure had been Fielding Dove’s secret title during the years when he controlled the Blue Chamber.

“Mrs. Lake, madam.” The butler glanced at the silver tea tray.

“Shall I fetch another cup?”

“That won’t be necessary, thank you, Pugh,” Joan said quietly.

“Maryanne declined to take any while she was here. Mrs. Lake can use her cup.”

“Yes, madam.” Pugh bowed himself out of the drawing room and closed the door.

“Please be seated, Lavinia.” Joan’s smile was warm but tinged with a wan, unhappy quality. “I am delighted to see you, but I must admit this visit comes as a surprise. What happened in the country?”

“There were some complications.” Lavinia sank down onto one of the chairs and studied Joan’s drawn features with concern. “Are you feeling ill? I do not want to impose. Perhaps it would be best if I came back later?”

“No, this is an excellent time.” Joan seated herself on the sofa and reached for the teapot on the heavily worked silver tray. “I have just concluded a most unpleasant conversation with my daughter, and I am badly in need of a distraction.”

“I see.” Lavinia took the cup and saucer Joan handed to her. “Well, as it happens, I have one for you.”

“Excellent.” Joan picked up her own cup and looked at Lavinia with a determined anticipation. “May I assume that Lake and March has taken on a new case and that it is connected to the rather sudden death of Lord Fullerton?”

Lavinia smiled. “I never cease to be astonished by the manner in which you are always conversant with the latest news.”

“I daresay that word of Fullerton’s fall from Beaumont’s roof reached London before you did. And the fact that Vale got his carriage back somewhat sooner than planned told us both that you and Mr. March were likely involved in the matter.”

“Yes, of course.”

Joan gave her a sympathetic smile. “I am so sorry that your visit to the country was cut short.” She paused delicately. “I don’t suppose that you and Mr. March had much opportunity to, mmm, enjoy some private moments communing with nature before the disaster occurred?”

“Fullerton managed to plummet straight past my window in the course of one of the few private moments Mr. March and I were able to share.” Lavinia shuddered at the memory and took a breath. “He screamed, Joan.”

“I presume you do not refer to Mr. March.”

“I cannot envision Tobias screaming at the sight of the gates of hell, let alone in surprise at a body falling past a window. No, it was Fullerton who shrieked, and it was a most bloodcurdling sound, I assure you.”

“I can well imagine.” Joan sipped her tea and lowered her cup.

“And you immediately suspected murder most foul.”

“It was impossible to avoid that conclusion. In any event, we found proof shortly thereafter.”

She gave Joan a quick summary of events. When she concluded her tale, Joan studied her with an expression of grave concern.

“This is not merely another case, is it?” she asked.

“No.” Lavinia set her cup down with great care. “I will be honest with you. Tobias thinks that the business with the memento-mori ring implies that this new murderer has issued a challenge, that he or she is playing out some deadly game. But I fear that the villain’s real goal may be revenge.”

“Against Mrs. Gray or Mr. March?”

Lavinia shrugged. “Perhaps both. But in truth, I am most anxious about Tobias’s safety.”

Joan raised her brows. “I collect that you are not overly fond of your new client?”

“Mrs. Gray is very beautiful. She is also a woman of the world. My intuition tells me that she would not scruple to use her wiles to manipulate a man if she thought the tactic would prove effective.”

Joan’s mouth curved upward at the corners. “I very much doubt that such a strategy would work with Mr. March. It has been my observation that he and Vale have a great deal in common. One of the attributes they share is a remarkable degree of sound judgment.

“Neither would be easily deceived by a beautiful face or an alluring manner.”

“I am aware of that, but the thing is, Tobias feels some responsibility for what happened in the past. He blames himself for having set Zachary Elland on the path that eventually led to his undertaking a career as a professional murderer.”