Again, the ghost helps, suggesting questions to ask, steering conversation toward Lord Norrington. Miss Jenkins—call me Emily, please—does not wish to discuss him. She gives no sign of disliking her uncle. Quite the opposite. He is “very good to me, and I am very fond of him.” He just isn’t, to her, an interesting topic of conversation, not nearly as interesting as, say, a young man she knows, one who is a doctor and “just a little bit wicked.”

She means Nicolas, though I am not convinced one could ever call him wicked. Well, yes, he has a wicked sense of humor. He is also a wicked flirt. That is not what Emily means, and I suspect she has not seen that side of him. She means that he is a fugitive, a supposed pirate. She does not say that—only that he was a privateer—and very handsome, and very charming and intelligent despite being, yes, a little bit wicked.

Is it strange to hear a young woman swooning over the man I spent the night with? Is it uncomfortable? Yes, but mostly because I fear she may have betrayed him, and I would hope she would never do that to a man of whom she is enamored. Because she is clearly enamored.

If she will not speak of her uncle, then I must encourage this talk of Nicolas to get a sense of whether she might have done him wrong. It is not impossible that she likes him and yet still betrayed his trust. How many girls have swooned over an unsuitable young man only to stand by when their fathers send him running at sword—or gun—point?

Her mother didn’t do that. Her mother was the young woman who followed her heart and stayed true to her unsuitable love. Emily seems so young and sheltered that I can scarcely believe she is already nineteen.

“Do you see?” her grandfather says beside me. “She cannot possibly have schemed against young Nicolas. She is half in love with him. She is like her mother. There is not a duplicitous bone in her body. When my daughter ran off with Emily’s father, I told myself she had betrayed me, but I came to see the lie in that, the self-deception. She ran off with him because she could not betray him or her own heart. She could not lie to me and promise she would never see him again. That is Emily, too. She has not betrayed Nicolas.”

For his sake, I hope that is true. Imagine having a son who betrays your legacy, so you turn all your expectations on your granddaughter . . . only to learn she has done the same.

“You must gain access to my estate,” the ghost says. “To my son’s quarters.”

While Emily glances off at a butterfly, I turn a look on the ghost that makes him laugh.

“Not like that, child. I almost wish my son were that sort of man so you might flutter your eyelashes and not need to trick poor Emily. Alas, while my son has many faults, chasing pretty girls is not among them. My granddaughter may no longer live on the estate, but she is welcome there and visits almost daily. Inveigle an invitation, preferably when he is not at home. I can lead you to his office. He is a meticulous recordkeeper.”