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any ways acted contrary to Law.”
    Whoever sent Gideon this declaration knew what he wanted. James’s supporters were experts at offering people whatever would tempt them to his cause. And in Gideon’s case, this was not a title or a place at court. James had promised peerages to so many men that it was questionable whether he would be able to make his promises good, even if he did ascend the throne. But if he could regain it, he would be able to grant Gideon’s most profound wish with just a stroke of his pen.
    Night after night, Gideon had tried to think of a way to clear himself through the courts of justice, but he had not found any means. If he did nothing, his estates would never be restored to him, but he still did not know what he was willing to do to get them back. Make war on his countrymen? Force a king on them against their will? Take the chance that James would prove to be a tyrant and impose his Catholic religion on England?
    Gideon had met James on his tour of the Continent and had liked him. It was impossible not to like a prince with the Stuart charm. James’s followers, though, had not inspired him with their leadership or their disinterest. He had turned his back on the Stuart cause two years ago. He still could not bring himself to join them unless his path became clear.
    For nearly the hundredth time, he put James’s declaration back on his dressing table and left his chamber in search of his dinner.
    * * * *
    Harrowby’s footmen had returned to Hawkhurst House with blackened eyes and bruised lips. Then, later, the family learned that the riot had been repeated in other towns, especially in those, like Oxford, where the Stuarts had always held sway.  Clearly the Tories fall from power had exacerbated the people’s feelings, and King George, by appointing only Whigs to the ministry, had convinced some that their duty was to fight.
    Isabella and her mother had to take more servants along on their shopping expeditions, for through the month of May, the Jacobites seized every pretext to riot. The anniversary of every Stuart triumph was found to bring them out, from the Pretender’s birthday to Queen Anne’s coronation day. The populace even revived the celebration of the Restoration—not observed these past twenty years—in order to riot against King George.
    When visitors now came to Hawkhurst House or the family attended another hostess’s drawing room, the conversation turned as often to the latest political pamphlet as it did to fashion or the plays. Mrs. Mayfield declared that she never wanted to hear another word from the Tories or the Whigs, and that as far as she was concerned, they could paper the city with their accusations and justifications, but she would never lower herself to read them. If they choked on all those nasty papers, it would only serve them right.
    She refused to let the turmoil interfere with her own plans. Her mind was ever employed on the many ways that her daughter’s brilliant marriage to an earl could benefit the Mayfield fortunes. With summer approaching soon, when the Court would leave town, she had very ittle time to waste.
    She cornered Hester one morning before Isabella was awake and drew her into the small withdrawing room, which was equipped with an escritoire for the countess’s use.
    “I want you to write a letter to Mayfield for me,” she said. Mrs. Mayfield never referred to her eldest son by his first name, Dudley, for she thought it beneath his dignity. It had been she, and not her poor, abused husband, who had framed the Mayfield genealogy and hung in the hall of his house. “I want him to come immediately, so Hawkhurst can get him a place at Court.”
    “You want me to write to your son?”
    Mrs. Mayfield bristled. “I hope, you are not too good to do a service for your aunt, now that you are waiting woman to a countess! I wonder where you would be if I had not taken you into my house?”
    “I meant no ingratitude, Aunt. I was simply