Free Revealed by Kate Noble

rubies today. Phillippa thought them less impressive than the sapphires, but as Bitsy wasn’t to leave the house today (sadly, he could not stay away from the Warwicks’ déclassé basset hound when it was in heat), it was permissible if he dressed down.
    Only occasionally did Phillippa regret naming her male dog Bitsy, but to be fair, she had been unaware of his gender until it made itself clear, and by then, Bitsy was already becoming more of a Bitsy by the moment. He seemed to really respond to the jewelry.
    After that brief interlude of pet fashion, Phillippa’s mind returned to the subject at hand. If Marcus Worth was the Blue Raven, it would be nearly impossible to prove. The Blue Raven moved like mist, it was said, and was nearly as difficult to take hold of. However, it would be relatively easy to disprove, would it not? Simply fix the location of Mr. Worth when it was known the Blue Raven was elsewhere. He had been involved in the war, she knew that much.
    “But then again, so was just about every young man not lucky enough to be firstborn or sermon-minded,” she said, receiving a quizzical look from Bitsy. “If we can place his regiment in, say, Spain, when it was known the Blue Raven was in Paris, why, that could be very damning evidence against!”
    “What could be damning evidence?” came a voice from the doorway of the breakfast room.
    Phillippa turned to find her inattentive companion, Mrs. Tottendale, garbed in a dressing gown and looking all the blearier from the night’s festivities.
    Mrs. Tottendale was a dear friend of Phillippa’s mother, who, when Alistair died so suddenly, had been happy to stay with Phillippa when her mother could not. The Viscountess Care had pressing social obligations that the death of a son-in-law could not abate. Phillippa understood.
    And Totty had been a great comfort to Phillippa. Totty, in turn, found her lodgings (and the well-stocked cellar) in Benning House to be very comfortable, so she simply never left. Phillippa was glad of it. She knew it was invigorating for Totty to have found a new purpose in life as her companion after suffering the disappointments of a son and husband who both died too young. And much like Bitsy, Totty needed Phillippa as much as Phillippa needed her. Totty was harmless, and she was delightful in her way.
    Just not in the mornings.
    “Good God child, what makes you so bright at this hour? No, Leighton, no toast, just the tea and a tomato juice, if you would be so good.” Mrs. Tottendale seated herself opposite Phillippa, and visibly winced when she looked at her. “Child, can’t you do something about your hair?”
    “My hair?” Phillippa questioned, arched voice and eyebrow.
    “It’s far too shiny. The reflection is hurting my eyes. Oh, thank you, Leighton.” Once the requested fluids were placed down, Leighton, a man of such high thought and morals that his nose was perpetually stuck at an upward forty-five-degree angle, was quelled by one small look into wheeling over the sideboard tray to Mrs. Tottendale’s elbow. This was established routine.
    After selecting her chosen decanter and pouring a decidedly liberal amount of liquor into her tomato juice, Mrs. Tottendale kicked back her morning constitutional and addressed her young hostess.
    “You were saying something about evidence?”
    “Well, I—”
    “And where did you get off to last evening? I was halfway to the Norriches’ card party before I realized you were not with me.”
    “I had a headache—decided to call it an evening and left from the Fieldstone affair.”
    “The Fieldstones! So early! Not even Lady Draye’s?”
    Phillippa shook her head and was once more thankful for lack of chaperonage. Before she was married, Phillippa’s mother would have been apoplectic had Phillippa left a party early, ruining a dress with dust in the process. Now, her mother was off somewhere with a Spanish Count, and Phillippa’s mistakes were hers to make.
    Yes, more often