George closed the box and the drawer and turned to prepare for her wedding.

“THIS IS WHERE THE AGRARIANS MEET?” Bennet looked incredulously at the low-slung entrance to the coffeehouse. It was on the bottom floor—really the cellar—of a half-timbered building in a narrow back lane. “The place isn’t going to fall, is it?” He eyed the second floor looming over the lane.

“It hasn’t yet.” Harry ducked and entered the smoky room, Will sticking close to his side. He’d asked de Raaf to meet him here.

Behind him, he heard Bennet swear as he caught his head on the lintel. “The coffee had better be good.”

“It is.”

“Harry!” A large, pockmarked man hailed him from a table.

“Lord Swartingham.” Harry made his way to the table. “Thank you for coming, my lord. May I present my brothers, Bennet Granville and Will?”

Edward de Raaf, fifth Earl of Swartingham, frowned. “I’ve told you to call me Edward or de Raaf. This my lord stuff is ridiculous.”

Harry merely smiled and turned to the second man at the table. “Lord Iddesleigh. I hadn’t expected you. Bennet, Will, this is Simon Iddesleigh.”

“How d’you do?” Bennet bowed.

Will merely ducked his head.

“Charmed.” Iddesleigh, a lean aristocrat with ice-gray eyes, inclined his head. “I had no idea Harry had relations. I was under the impression that he’d sprung fully formed like Athena from a rock. Or maybe a mangel-wurzel. It goes to show one can’t always go by impressions.”

“Well, I’m glad you came.” Harry held up two fingers to a passing boy and took a seat, making room for Bennet and Will.

Iddesleigh flipped a lace-trimmed wrist. “Wasn’t much else going on today, anyway. Thought I’d tag along. It was either that or attend Lillipin’s lecture on compost layering, and fascinating though the subject of decay may be, I can’t think how one could take up three whole hours on it.”

“Lillipin could,” de Raaf muttered.

The boy banged down two steaming mugs of coffee and whirled away.

Harry took a scalding sip and sighed. “Do you have the special license?”

“Right here.” De Raaf patted his pocket. “You think there will be objections from the family?”

Harry nodded. “Lady Georgina is the Earl of Maitland’s sister—” But he cut himself off because Iddesleigh was choking on his coffee.

“What’s wrong with you, Simon?” de Raaf barked.

“Sorry,” Iddesleigh gasped. “Your intended is Maitland’s sister?”

“Yes.” Harry felt his shoulders tense.

“The older sister?”

Harry merely stared, dread filling him.

“For God’s sake, just spit it out,” de Raaf said.

“You could have told me the bride’s name, de Raaf. I only heard the news this morning from Freddy Barclay. We happened to meet at my tailor’s, wonderful chap on—”

“Simon,” de Raaf growled.