Daniel’s collar tightened, and his breath caught short. He did not have feelings for Juliette. He had regard, respect, and a certain rapport, but nothing deeper.

Liar.

“It is because of this … tendre … I have sensed and the friendship we have that I felt it only right that I tell you I have made my intentions known to Lady Juliette. I, too, harbor strong feelings for the lady, and while I cannot formally ask for her hand with her parents away, I did inform her of my intention to propose once the formalities have been observed. I will travel home, but at the first opportunity I will return to England, hopefully with my family, to make official my proposal of marriage.”

Daniel felt as if he were back on the waterwheel, turning and churning.

Everything was slipping away. His patronage, that he hadn’t even wanted but had grown accustomed to living with, had now ended. If he couldn’t solve Montgomery’s murder, and without his patron’s backing, Sir Michael would terminate his employment, most likely at the end of the month.

And now Juliette. She would marry Heinrich and move to his homeland, and he would never see her again.

Heinrich had been correct. Daniel had been harboring feelings for Juliette, else why would the thought of her leaving cause him to be so bereft? The pain in his chest was greater than the aches and bruises in his body.

“I wish you every happiness. You will make a fine husband for Lady Juliette.” He said the right words, with the right inflection, but they were all wrong.

Heinrich held out his hand, and Daniel shook it. “You are a good man, Herr Swann. I hope to meet you again.”

The duke took his leave, and Daniel sank into one of the chairs, putting his head in his hands.

Another knock on the door. Had Heinrich returned?

Ed Beck stood in the hallway. Vauxhall Gardens had less traffic on a Saturday night.

“Come in.” Daniel held the door open. “What’s wrong?”

“Thought I would call in on my way home. There have been some developments. A messenger from St. Bart’s came to Bow Street. The doctor sent round that a prowler was chased off the property not an hour ago. A nurse spotted him creeping down the hall toward the ward where our mill manager, Mr. Coombe, is being cared for, and she raised the alarm. The prowler eluded the night watchman.”

Daniel was fully awake and focused. “Do you think he was after Mr. Coombe? To finish off what the mill explosion couldn’t?”

“It’s possible, and if that is the case, then the killer must fear Mr. Coombe can identify him. Otherwise, why bother trying to kill a man who most likely will not survive? The doctor thinks it is a miracle he’s hung on this long.”