Juliette glared at Bertie, who laughed. He well knew her thoughts on the dowager’s overbearing and strict rules for debutantes. Still, she had been able to evade the woman’s draconian ways and help with the last caper. She would find a way to investigate this new one.

“And don’t get any notions about poking into the Montgomery case.” Her uncle tilted his head, the lamplight gleaming off his black hair. “I recognize that expression, young lady. As your father said, Montgomery’s death is a matter for the authorities. If you go nosing around, you’re likely to land yourself in a vat of trouble, and you might even blow your cover. If there is anything to concern us in the case, Swann will let us know. Until then you should focus your attention on your training and your debut Season. Keeping up the appearance of a marriageable debutante is essential.”

Juliette crossed her arms, feeling mutinous. She might be green when it came to being a spy, but she knew better than to tromp around an investigation like a cart horse in a rose garden. And as to appearing as a marriageable debutante … it was beyond time she made it clear she had no intention of marrying anytime soon. Her ambition was first, to become reacquainted with her parents after so many years abroad at boarding school, and second, to learn her new trade as an agent for the Crown. There would be plenty of time to think of marriage once she had completed those goals.

Though at the rate at which she was moving toward those two things, she might very well be an old maid before either was accomplished.

She shot Uncle Bertie a glare so he would know how displeased she was with him. He merely grinned.

“Speaking of being a marriageable debutante”—Father helped Mother with her chair—“there has been some speculation concerning you, Juliette.”

His words jerked her attention from the silent sparring with Uncle Bertie. “What?”

“It appears that the preference one Duke Heinrich von Lowe has shown toward you has not gone unnoticed. The Dowager Duchess of Haverly asked if the duke has made his intentions known.”

“A German duke. Not bad.” Bertie did up the buttons of his open waistcoat and adjusted his watch chain to hang perfectly. “You could be quite an asset to us if you lived in Germany. There’s always so much intrigue and backstabbing—sometimes literally—amongst the Visigoths. Having an agent in the upper echelons of German society might prove useful. You could do worse than marry Heinrich.”