On the day of Albert Wilkins' arrival, Marguerite found herself wrestling with thoughts of yesteryears. A different era, a different life. Like a chameleon, she'd once been adept at changing her colors, blending into the crowd, being seen yet unseen. Those days now felt like echoes from a distant past, yet as she sat in her stately manor, they rang loud and clear in her mind.

The thrill of the chase, the high of narrowly escaping capture, the satisfaction of a well-executed plan - those feelings were now memories she held close, their remnants often surfacing unbidden.

Yet, as she looked around her current life, she found an unfamiliar sense of contentment. She had left behind the uncertainty and dangers of her past life for a life of stability and love. But with every glance at her past, she found herself drawn to the parts of her that had once been an integral part of her identity. It was a reminder that she was not just Marguerite Roxton, lady of Avebury, but also the quick-witted, elusive woman of her past.

The luncheon was a stately affair. John, Marguerite, Veronica, Ned, Albert Wilkins, and his wife gathered around the grand dining table, the mood formal, the conversation polite. The clinking of silverware and the low hum of civilized chatter filled the room.

After lunch, Albert and Marguerite found a quiet corner in the library. They looked back on their shared history, remembering times when they'd been on opposite sides. Albert, always the pursuer, and Marguerite, always one step ahead.

"And yet, here we are, years later, seated across each other as friends. Life has a funny way of turning tables, doesn't it?" Albert asked.

Marguerite smiled, a spark of mischief in her eyes. "And yet you never gave up, Albert. You always hoped the next corner would be the one."

Albert chuckled, a sense of nostalgia softening his features. "Well, you did keep it interesting. But now, it seems, our roles have reversed."

Marguerite queried an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "Oh, how so?"

Albert leaned forward, his tone becoming more serious. "I find myself needing your... unique perspective. There's a shadow on the horizon. You have obviously heard that the new Unicorn is looming about."

He spread out a series of photographs, possible suspects, documents of the investigations, hints, and clues that he had gathered so far. Marguerite took in the assortment of information, her amusement replaced by a keen focus.

Marguerite's gaze shifted from one unfamiliar face to another. Each one was a potential suspect, but to her, they were just faces devoid of any connection or recognition. Her eyes suddenly paused on one particular photograph. A face she recognized. Aiden Sinclair. A name, a connection from her past.

As Marguerite studied Aiden's photograph, her mind wandered back to the time before the war. To Gunther Harold, the man who'd once seen potential in a young, naive version of herself and decided to offer her a deal. She remembered his lessons, his careful instructions, the way he'd turned her from a quick-witted girl into a formidable operative in the world of high stakes theft.

She recalled how Gunther had emphasized the importance of planning, of understanding your targets before striking. He taught her to exploit vulnerabilities, to adapt to any situation, to slip into a crowd unnoticed. She learned how to crack safes, pick locks, mimic accents, and blend into any environment.

Gunther didn't just teach her the tools of the trade; he instilled in her a mindset. The balance between risk and reward, the necessity of an escape plan, the critical importance of timing. Under his tutelage, Marguerite had become a con artist unlike any other.

And it was Gunther who taught her the art of assessing diamonds. Carat, clarity, color, and cut. She remembered him holding up a diamond, light refracting off its surfaces as he explained the intricacies of each characteristic.

But perhaps one of the most significant moments was when Gunther, sensing the winds of change as war loomed, asked her to pass on her knowledge to a new protege. A young man named Aiden Sinclair. Marguerite had been hesitant at first, unsure of Aiden, but she had seen the same potential in him that Gunther had once seen in her.

Now, Aiden's face was on Albert's list of suspects, and Marguerite couldn't help but feel a twinge of apprehension. Her past was catching up with her, and she knew she had to tread carefully.

Marguerite glanced up from the documents, meeting Albert's probing gaze. "I'm afraid I don't recognize any of these faces," she said, her voice steady, betraying none of the recognition she felt for Aiden.

Albert nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "I understand, Marguerite. But perhaps you could keep these documents? Go through them at your leisure. Your insights have always been unique. Who knows? Perhaps something will jog your memory, or you might connect some dots. If you find anything, I trust you'll let me know."

Marguerite returned the smile, though it did not reach her eyes. She accepted his offer, knowing that she was stepping back into a world she thought she had left behind, a world that still had a hold on her, whether she wanted to admit it or not. The game was afoot once more, and Marguerite knew that she was far from finished.