Cordelia found herself grateful for the familiarity of the carriage and horse both. She had been trying to get into the spirit of the thing and let herself be surprised by the house, though due to her mother’s warnings, she couldn’t help but fear damp rooms, no heat, perhaps no furnishings. What if the house didn’t have a roof? No, surely James would have noticed the lack of a roof. And Risa would be there; she had gone ahead of them, to get the place ready for their arrival. Cordelia tried not to smile, imagining Risa cursing angrily while snow fell into the coal scuttle.

As they rattled through the streets, she found herself trying to guess the house’s location by the carriage’s direction. They traveled west along the Strand, through the chaotic traffic of Trafalgar Square, and headed down Pall Mall past the War Office, its gates flanked by royal guards in bearskin hats. A few more quick turns followed, and Cordelia saw they were on something called Curzon Street, outside a pretty white town house on a quiet block. Cordelia was relieved to see it indeed seemed to have a roof on it, and all the other necessary outside bits to match.

She turned to James, astonished. “Mayfair!” she said, poking an accusing finger into his chest. “I was never expecting such a posh address!”

“Well, I’d heard the Consul lives near here, with her ne’er-do-well sons,” James said. “Wouldn’t want them lording it over us.” He disembarked from the carriage and offered her a hand to help her down.

“By which you mean you wanted to live near Matthew.” Cordelia laughed, looking up to take in the house’s four stories. Warm light spilled from the windows. “You ought to just say so! I wouldn’t blame you.”

The front door opened and Risa stepped out. She had been in more formal clothes earlier, for the wedding, but she had changed into a plain dress and apron, and clutched her cotton roosari at her chin against the wind. She waved them inside. “Come in out of the snow, silly children. There is hot food for you inside, and tea.”

She had spoken in Persian, but James seemed to understand well enough. He bounded up the front steps and quickly took control of the logistics, directing the coachman to take their valises upstairs.

Cordelia came inside more slowly. Risa helped her with her velvet sacque coat, and then with Cortana, taking the sword carefully as Cordelia stared around in surprise. The entryway was lit with a soft glow from the ornate brass sconces that lined the walls. There was wallpaper in a pattern of birds and passiflora on a deep emerald-green background. “So pretty,” she said, grazing the outline of a golden peacock with her fingertips. “Who chose it?”