Agatha’s maid sat quietly in the corner of the carriage, ignoring them as she had been trained to do. It still seemed wrong to Juliette to behave as if servants were not present, and she wanted to guard her tongue lest she give the woman fodder for gossip. Not that she knew the maid would natter about her mistress to the other servants, but it was always a possibility.

“I don’t think your feelings are wrong. Everyone’s grief is different. Don’t think of this as an invasion of his privacy. Think of it as taking responsibility for the business empire he built.”

“I do not think he intended me to take over his business empire. I think he intended me to marry a man who would take over for me.”

“Which you will, but it is not wrong for you to have at least some idea of the scope of the inheritance your father left you.”

“I will not marry anytime soon if Alonzo continues to act as if he does not wish to be near me.” Sorrow thickened Agatha’s voice, and she stared out the window at the passing buildings. “He is behaving most peculiarly.”

“Perhaps he is processing his own grief. Or he does not wish to burden you with anything and is giving you space to mourn?” Though Juliette wondered if such thoughts were in keeping with Alonzo’s nature. Admittedly, she did not know him well, but on their brief acquaintance, he had often seemed more concerned with his own person than with anyone else. She studied her garnet ring, her hand resting on the muff in her lap. Most likely she was doing the poor man an injustice. Agatha cared for Alonzo, and that should be enough to recommend him. She should try harder to like him.

The carriage rocked to a stop outside the Bank of England, and men in suits and hats hurried in and out the massive doors. Juliette was relieved to see ladies as well. They would not stand out as unusual in this bastion of male finance and commerce.

“Wait here. We shall conduct our business and return as soon as possible.” Agatha dismissed her maid to wait in the carriage and squared her shoulders, though she looked frail to Juliette.

They walked up the steps of the be-columned center of the kingdom’s finance. Inside, tall windows flanked by dark-green curtains let in sunlight. At the far end of the high-ceilinged room, a statue of William III, the founder of the bank, stood in an alcove, staring the length of the space. Juliette dearly would have loved a closer look at the marble image. From this distance he looked more like a Roman Caesar than Good King Billy.