“It’s true,” Lucie said. “I just wish I had been with you. I never liked the manor when we were growing up. Besides, I’ve always wanted to burn down a house.”

“I assure you,” said James, “that it is overrated.”

Lucie plucked the dress from James’s lap and gestured for Cordelia to follow her into the adjoining bedroom. She set about helping Cordelia undo the hooks at the back of her blue dress. “I will mourn this one,” said Lucie, as it crumpled to the floor in a charred heap, leaving Cordelia standing in her petticoat and combination. “It was so pretty.”

“Do I smell like burnt toast?” Cordelia inquired.

“A bit, yes,” Lucie said, handing Cordelia the cotton dress. “Try this. I borrowed it from my mother’s wardrobe. A tea gown, so it ought to fit.” She regarded Cordelia thoughtfully. “So. What happened? How did James come to burn down Blackthorn Manor?”

Cordelia told her the story as Lucie deftly helped brush the ash out of her hair and pin it back up in something resembling a passable style. When she was done with the tale, Lucie sighed.

“So it was at Grace’s request,” she said. “I thought—I hoped—well, never mind.” She set the brush down on the vanity table. “Grace is still marrying Charles, so it can only be hoped James will forget her.”

“Yes,” Cordelia said. She, too, had thought and hoped. She, too, had been wrong. The dull ache in her chest increased, as if she were missing a piece of herself, some vital organ she could barely breathe without. She could feel the hard shape of Layla and Majnun still secured under her jacket. Perhaps she should have thrown it into the flames of the manor.

They went back into the main room, where the Merry Thieves appeared to be arguing among themselves. Thomas had joined Matthew in brandy drinking; the other two had not.

“I still cannot believe you burned down a house,” Thomas said, toasting James.

“Most of you never saw inside that house,” said Lucie, perching herself on the edge of the sofa, near James. “I peeked in the windows when I was a little girl. All the rooms full of dry rot and blackbeetles, and the clocks all stopped at twenty to nine. No one will think it burned down for any reason save neglect.”

“Is that what we’re claiming?” asked Christopher. “To the Enclave, I mean. There is the meeting tomorrow to consider.”

James templed his fingers under his chin. The bracelet on his right wrist gleamed. “I should be willing to confess to what I did, but I wish to leave Matthew and Cordelia out of it, and I cannot speak of the reason I went in the first place. It would be breaking my promise to Grace.”

Christopher looked puzzled. “Then are we meant to invent a reason?”