I smothered another enormous yawn. In the sluggish heat of the jostling carriage, the only fight was staying awake.

I leaned against Lucy’s shoulder. She rested her head on mine and began humming her favorite minuet by Bach, her fingers keying the notes on her pink silk petticoat.

Aunt Nora smiled at us, her plump cheeks going rounder.

“My angelic girls,” Uncle Henry said.

Not quite, I thought.

One of us had just decided to spy.

The Visser country home sat on rolling fields along the North River. It resembled a small village, with an impressive main house and smaller cottages scattered throughout the estate.

The festivities had already begun when we arrived. Gentlemen played cricket on the front green and ladies strolled in groups, hiding from the sun under parasols. Lucy and I joined Charlotte, sending our valises and trunks ahead with servants dressed in lavish crimson and white livery. In minutes, we were sipping lemonade under the shade of an oak tree, watching gentlemen competing in games.

This type of activity—being a spectator to others’ fun—was my least favorite form of socializing. At least theater sparked the imagination. A concert, emotion. This turned me into a decoration, and I’d never much liked it. Till today.

Today, I felt a purpose. By the time I made my weekly visit to Robert Townsend next Wednesday, I’d have learned something valuable to share with him. I gazed across the sunny lawn, wondering which of the gentlemen present had power and a loose tongue. A familiar feeling of anticipation stirred in me. Three years later and here I was again, risking my life in search of bits of treasure.

“Emmie,” Lucy whispered, “are you unwell? You seem unlike yourself.”

“She isn’t ill,” Charlotte said, surveying the lawn as carefully as I’d been. “She is expectant. She is waiting for her gallant knight to arrive. I confess, I’m eagerly awaiting his arrival, too.”

I’d barely mentioned my walk in the gardens with Lieutenant Duncan to them, but it appeared I’d said enough.

Charlotte looked at me and her smile disappeared. “Emmie, please, just for today, tuck that unattractive pocket watch into your stays. And straighten your—here, let me do it.” She fussed with the flounces on my sleeves, tending to my appearance as always. Charlotte had curated my entire wardrobe, including the canary-yellow robe à la polonaise I now wore. Without her expert eye for fashion, I’d have looked like a theater curtain. “That’s better. You must look your best when he sees you.”

“Char, go gently,” Lucy said. “You’ve made her anxious.”

“Have I made you anxious, Emmie?”