“Stubborn,” Jack said. “The Naylor womenfolk should be in Dr. Johnson’s lexicon under the definition of stubborn. Grandmama has threatened to travel to France on her own, you know. That dog would fancy a nibble of bacon. I suspect he’d fancy a nibble of me as well.”

Wodin had kept Ellie and Voltaire company in the small hours of the night. “I’ll take him back to the duchess today. The sun’s out, and I could use some fresh air.”

“You don’t mind if I bide here for a bit?” Jack asked, tearing a strip of bacon in half and tossing a portion to the dog.

Wodin caught the treat with a snap of his teeth.

“Stay as long as you like,” Ellie said. “I really am leaving for France.”

“Then, Eleanora, you really are a fool. Your duke will tidy up his accounts at the bank whether you move to France or not, but what happens after that depends on you. You’ve spent your life looking for schemes before the schemers could take advantage, but that man’s only aim is to cherish you.”

He’s not my duke. He will never be my duke. “Hush, you.”

Jack tossed Wodin another bite of bacon. “I’ve said my piece. I can take the dog to the duchess for you.”

Jackson Naylor offering to do favors was unnerving. “Wodin prefers my company. If you leave, lock up before you go.”

Ellie wanted time to think, and rambling around London was good for that. She also wanted to say farewell to a duchess who’d never planned to wear a tiara. Perhaps Ellie should have a word with His Grace of Walden too.

A word of thanks, offered in parting.

*  *  *

“You are certain?” Walden asked. “You don’t want time to consider?”

Rex was far from certain, but the decision he’d made felt both liberating and terrifying, suggesting the choice was sound.

“The solicitors will take forever to draw up the documents,” he said, surveying the volumes of poetry assembled in Walden’s library. When was the last time Rex had taken an hour to enjoy good verse? “The lawyers’ deliberations will give me ample time for second thoughts.”

Walden was attired for an outing, though a tiny stain that looked like jam marred his linen. Rex, by contrast, was still wearing the ensemble Jackson Naylor had recommended for an evening of catching thieves.

Plural. After that enlightening chat with Mama, Rex had called on Eddie and confirmed that illegal brokering had paid for Eddie’s matched team, his mistress, and his well-appointed apartment. The brokering was likely impossible to prove, which left banishment to Peebleshire as Eddie’s fate.

“Are you angry?” Walden asked. “Finding out that your relatives have been stabbing you in the back must have been an unpleasant revelation.”

“Come here,” Rex said, waggling his fingers. “You cannot go out in public with jam on your neck cloth.”