Lord Thorndike raised his brows, his expression bemused. “I am interested in your views, Mr. Finch, and I had hoped to bring you and Garfield Montgomery together to discuss your differences, but perhaps we can save that for later, when the ladies have retired to the conservatory? I’m sure the gentlemen will find the conversation most stimulating once we are alone.” He signaled the footmen to begin clearing plates for the next course. “Are you aware that you are seated beside one of London’s finest? Mr. Daniel Swann of the Bow Street Magistrate’s Court. Mr. Swann is an investigator.”

Finch jerked as if someone had kicked him in the knee beneath the damask tablecloth. He raised his serviette and dabbed his lips. “A runner? Here?” The incredulity in his voice did Daniel no service. “Whatever for?”

From the looks of those around the table, most of the guests wondered the same thing. Brows raised or lowered according to their dispositions, Daniel supposed. He could almost feel the drawing aside of skirts.

The Dowager Duchess of Haverly, seated near the Countess of Thorndike, sniffed—and her sniff could be heard across the channel. “I knew you had quite an eclectic taste in guests at your events, Lady Thorndike, but really, a rabble-rouser and a policeman? What’s next? Blacksmiths and stevedores?”

“We’ve never had a blacksmith to luncheon before, have we, my dear?” the earl asked his wife. “Poets, artists, policemen, thespians, and activists, but no blacksmiths. I shall have to make inquiries. I should think a stevedore or blacksmith would have an interesting perspective to share.”

The dowager gaped like a trout before snapping her jaws shut. A gleam of mischief lit the earl’s eyes, knowing he’d provoked the old bird.

Lady Juliette didn’t seem to be abashed, smiling from one parent to another. The earl and countess were known as broad-minded and unconcerned about class distinctions. Perhaps their work behind the scenes of society led them to see the world differently.

The earl bent a benevolent smile on his daughter.

A twinge of loss plucked at Daniel. Lady Juliette had an enviable relationship with her parents, something he had never known. His own father was a mystery his mother had refused to divulge.

He casually looked toward the angled screen in the corner, separating the formal dining room from the servants’ area. His mother was the housekeeper in this very home. They hadn’t spoken in more than a dozen years, and Daniel didn’t know if they ever would. After all, she had gotten rid of him at the earliest opportunity and gone on with her life as if he had never existed. And he had forged his own way without her help. They were strangers to each other.