"Yes, indeed." Meredith fanned herself gently. "I never pay much attention to that sort of thing, of course. But if you think your husband might be interested in some shares in Wylde's project, I might be able to prevail upon Trowbridge to see if he can convince Wylde to sell him some."

"I would appreciate that," Lady Rantley said quickly.

"I'm not so certain that will work," Anthony said with a meditative air. "You know Wylde, Meredith. He does not take kindly to gossip. If he discovers that Lord Rantley is spreading the pirate story about, he is quite likely to refuse to let him into the venture."

Meredith gave Anthony a concerned look. "You are quite right." She turned back to Lady Rantley with a regretful expression. "I had better withdraw my promise to speak to Trowbridge on your behalf. Wylde will no doubt be extremely annoyed at anyone who spreads the rumors of piracy."

"No, wait," Lady Rantley said urgently. "I have no notion where this dreadful pirate story came from, but I will undertake to quash it at once."

"Very wise of you, Eugenie." Lydia finally put down her opera glass and beamed at Lady Rantley. "It is wonderfully amusing pretending to have a pirate in the family, but we are not at all certain that Wylde will be quite as amused as the rest of us are if he hears the tales. And when Wylde is annoyed, he can be extremely difficult."

"And on top of that, there is no telling what Papa would do if he discovered rumors were going around about his new son-in-law," Meredith said with a troubled look. "Papa is so fussy about that sort of thing. He might feel obliged to limit all his business dealings to gentlemen he felt he could trust not to repeat such stories."

"Quite true," Lydia murmured. "Eugenie, I believe Rantley has recently bought shares in a mining venture that Clarington has started, has he not?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact he has. We are quite hopeful of success," Lady Rantley allowed cautiously.

"It would be a shame if Clarington concluded he could not do business with Rantley."

Anthony looked extremely grave. "Very unfortunate."

"I understand." Lady Rantley rose majestically. "Rest assured that the rumor will be put to rest at once." She sailed grandly back out of the box.

Phoebe smiled happily at her mother, brother, and sister. "I always knew that there must be some use for all that boring business information you are all forever discussing."

"I know that from time to time you find us extremely stuffy and tiresome, Phoebe," Anthony said. "But we are not stupid."

"I have never made the mistake of thinking you are," Phoebe assured him. "Thank you for your support of Wylde tonight. He is not used to it, you know."

Lydia swept her opera glass across the audience one last time. "He will become accustomed to it. After all, he is a member of the family now."

"Good heavens, what a crush." The crowd outside the theater was every bit as bad as Phoebe had envisioned. "I was right when I said we would be forever waiting for our carriage."

"It's raining," Meredith exclaimed. "That will make it all the longer."

"I'll see what I can do about hurrying things along," Anthony said. "You three wait here. I'll find one of the footmen."

He detached himself and disappeared into the throng of elegantly dressed theatergoers. Phoebe stood with Lydia and Meredith beneath the roof at the lobby entrance and watched the crowd milling about in front of the theater.

Carriages jammed the street, vying for position. Tempers were flaring. Coachmen yelled at one another as they tried to force their vehicles into a more advantageous location. Two or three people were arguing a short distance away from Phoebe.

"Well, then, Phoebe." Lydia smiled in satisfaction. "Did you enjoy your brief respite from incarceration?"

"Very much. I am forever indebted to you for your efforts on my behalf, Mama."

Meredith looked at her. "In truth, I was rather surprised Wylde let you out even for a short while tonight."

Phoebe grinned. "So was I. Mama convinced him to do so."

At that moment the argument which had been brewing a short distance away erupted into a loud shouting match. One of the men punched the other. The second man roared with rage and shoved the first man aside.

"Get out of my way, you bastard. I saw that hackney first, by God."

"The devil you did."

The first man used his fists to drive home his claim to the hackney. Someone else yelled as the first man's punch went wild and struck a bystander. A fourth man screamed abuse.

Meredith frowned. "Let's move out of the way. I wish Anthony would hurry."

Phoebe started to retreat back into the lobby with her mother and sister, but the argument was exploding all around them now. People were pushing and shoving. Ladies shrieked. The sound of ripping silk caused Phoebe to glance over her shoulder. A woman was slapping furiously at two rude young bucks who were using the commotion to take liberties.

Phoebe swung her reticule at the head of the nearest dandy. He staggered as the small purse found its mark. With amazing speed, he snagged the reticule and angrily started to tug it out of Phoebe's hand.

She jerked hard on the strings of the reticule. They snapped. The little beaded bag disappeared forever beneath the feet of the crowd.

The woman who had been defending herself from the two men used the momentary distraction to dash toward the safety of the lobby.

Phoebe turned around and discovered that she had been separated from her sister and mother by the surging throng. She glanced about anxiously. People heaved about like flotsam on a stormy sea, making it impossible for Phoebe to see anyone.

A drunken young man reeled into her just as she stood on tiptoe to see over the nearest heads. Phoebe's left leg buckled and she lost her balance.

"Devil take it." Phoebe staggered awkwardly but managed to keep her feet. She gathered her skirts close around her and tried to forge a path toward the lights of the theater lobby.

A man's arm closed around her waist.

Phoebe yelled in outrage and tried to pry herself free of the arm. "Let me go, you blundering fool."

The man did not respond. He began to drag Phoebe relentlessly through the crowd. Phoebe yelled again, this time much louder. There were people all around her, but no one paid any attention to her shouts for help. Everyone was too busy trying to protect himself or herself from the crowd that was threatening to turn into a mob.

A second man materialized near the one who had a grip on Phoebe.

"Ye sure this be the right gel?" he hissed as he grabbed Phoebe's flailing arm.

"It better be," the man snarled. "Wearin' a yellow and green dress, just like we was told. I'll tell ye one thing, I ain't goin' back into that lot to find another gel."

Phoebe lashed out with her hand. Her fingers found a man's bewhiskered cheek. She dug in her nails, raking his skin fiercely. The man growled in outrage.

"Damn little bitch."

"She's a right 'andful," the first man complained. "Is the carriage where it's supposed to be?"

"It's there. Bloody 'ell."

"What happened?"

"She kicked me."

"We're almost there. Get the door open." The first man heaved Phoebe upward.

Phoebe grabbed at the open door of the carriage. Her gloved fingers scrabbled on the wood. She braced herself, but the effort was useless.

Someone shoved her forcefully between the shoulder blades and she was thrown inside the cab. She landed in a heap on the floor between the cushioned seats.

The first man yelled at the coachman, then vaulted up into the cab. The second man followed.

Phoebe felt the coach lurch forward. She screamed furiously and kicked wildly until rough hands succeeded in binding her wrists and feet. A dirty piece of cloth stuffed into her mouth cut off her shouts for help.