Harriet went to the door and opened it.

Mr. Gower immediately turned from where he was standing in conversation with two other men. “Miss Ward.” He bowed. “Mrs. Ward. And Miss Sophia. Allow me to introduce Mr. Picknard and Mr. Silverstone from the bank.”

Harriet curtsied, as did Mother and Sophia. “What a lovely surprise,” Harriet said, though it took all of her persuasive powers to keep her expression pleasant. “To what do we owe the honor of this visit, late though the hour?”

“I’m sorry about the time.” Mr. Gower seemed to grow taller as he glanced at his two companions from the bank. “There is a problem with the extension.”

Mr. Picknard shifted uneasily. “Yes, ah…as you know, the extension was granted based on Miss Ward’s supposed fiancé, Captain Frakenham.”

“Supposed?” Mother said, blinking. “What do you mean ‘supposed’?”

Mr. Picknard rubbed his red nose. Large and heavy-set with reddish hair and a large, drooping moustache, he resembled an untrimmed sausage stuffed into a black coat. “By supposed we mean to say that there are some questions as to just who and if Captain Frakenham actually exists.”

Gower’s expression gleamed with triumph. “Someone has been guilty of fraud. Someone has attempted to trick the bank by falsifying reports. Someone has—”

“Oh for the love of God,” puffed Mr. Silverstone. Taller than either of the other men, and dressed with quiet distinction, Silverstone appeared far better bred than either Gower or Picknard.

In fact, Harriet had the impression that here was the man who made all the decisions at the bank.

He shot a hard look at Mr. Picknard from beneath heavy gray brows, then turned back to the ladies, paying special attention to Mrs. Ward. “I hope you will pardon our intrusion this evening, but Mr. Gower has uncovered a seeming discrepancy in the stories we’ve been hearing about this Captain Frakenham. I’m certain you can straighten this all out. I thought perhaps we should wait until tomorrow, however”—he shot a sharp glare at Gower—“I was informed that it would be foolhardy to let this situation go on another day as certain individuals could disappear.”

Harriet smoothed her damp palms on her skirts. Everything was at stake. “Mr. Silverstone, I assure you that no one has attempted to defraud your establishment. Indeed, within the week, we should have the money for the payment and—”

The door opened. Mother gave a sigh of relief. “Captain Frakenham!”

Chase bowed. Only it was not the man Harriet had grown used to seeing these last few weeks, wearing Stephen’s discarded clothing and a floppy brimmed hat. Chase had gathered his own garments and now stood before them dressed exactly as he really was—a London gentleman of fashion. And not just any gentleman of fashion, but obviously one raised amidst untold wealth and privilege.

For some reason, the sight made Harriet’s heart sink.

Oblivious to her feelings, he smoothed his sleeve as he walked forward. It would have been difficult to suggest an improvement on the man before them—his blue coat was perfectly cut, smooth across his broad shoulders and tapering to his narrow waist. His buff breeches fit his long, muscular legs, his black boots were shined until they resembled glass. His snowy white cravat was knotted and tied in a way Harriet had never seen, but she recognized the touch of a master when she saw it.