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maids. As I reached Carrie Astor’s former bedroom, male voices drifted from around the corner of the corridor. I hesitated, immediately on the alert. There shouldn’t have been men in this part of the second floor. It had been reserved exclusively for the use of the female guests.
    Then again, with the ball still in full swing downstairs, they wouldn’t have expected anyone to be within hearing range. They spoke in low, tight murmurs that raised the hair at my nape.
    â€œYou can lie all you want, but I know your little secret,” one said. “I promise you, you won’t win this time.”
    With my hand on the doorknob, I froze. Who knew what secret? I willed them to say more, but silence followed, then footsteps. Quickly I turned the knob and stepped inside, but before I closed the door behind me I peeked over my shoulder. Without glancing my way, Virgil Monroe passed under the light of the electric wall sconces. His eyes were blazing, his face aflame.
    Good heavens, he seemed to raise discord with everyone he encountered. Had he been the one who spoke? Or had he been the silent one? Another set of footsteps approached, and this time I opened the door wide as if innocently stepping out.
    A second man stopped as if startled and glared at me. He was younger than Virgil, and while his features were smoother and stronger, the family resemblance was obvious. I smiled politely.
    â€œGood evening, sir.”
    His mouth twitched; then he simply looked forward and kept walking, his long legs making short work of the corridor. I turned back into the room and gestured to a maid sitting in view of the doorway.
    â€œDid you see that man who just passed? Is he by any chance related to the Monroes?”
    â€œHe certainly is, miss. That’s Wyatt Monroe, Mr. Virgil’s younger brother. He’ll be piloting his sailboat in tomorrow’s races.” Her lips tilted in a dreamy smile. “He’s a handsome one, and ever so sporting. His team is sure to win.”
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    When I arrived home I changed from Grace’s beautiful gown into an infinitely more comfortable cotton nightdress. Even as I breathed a sigh of relief to be out of binding stays and that impossibly delicate fabric, I allowed myself the luxury of running my fingertips over the embroidery and imagining myself wearing the gown to yet another function. I would not, of course. Grace’s gift had warmed my heart, but it was her friendship I valued. That, and the fact that this dress would fetch a price that could help support numerous orphans for a good long while. I couldn’t possibly keep it knowing that. Tomorrow Katie and Stella could take it into town, to Molly’s Dress Shop. Molly would fetch a good price for it, and I would send the proceeds to St. Nicholas Orphanage.
    Then I tiptoed across the hall and into Nanny’s bedroom, careful not to wake her. I found the child on the upholstered bench at the foot of her bed, asleep in the dresser drawer Nanny had emptied and lined with blankets. As I bent over him I made a mental note to have Katie and Stella find him a proper cradle in town tomorrow.
    I reached in to gather him up, and his little eyes popped open. He barely uttered a sound, just some soft gurgles as I settled into the easy chair opposite the bed. I held him to me and rested my cheek on his little head, and released the tension of the past hours.
    I couldn’t help feeling I’d failed him, that I’d go on failing him. Marianne had added no insights from the other maids. I had learned nothing tonight but that strife existed in the Monroe family, just as it did in countless other families. True, there had been the lace trimming Daphne Gordon’s purse, but hadn’t she told me Mr. Monroe brought back bolts of the stuff? Which meant any lady of means might have obtained some by now.
    That wasn’t all that troubled me. How different Derrick had been—a stranger. And his mother