Why, everything she knew about this place and how to treat the treasures within had changed without her knowing. Gone as she’d been, she’d failed to know that her papa had grown more lax in his allowance of whom he let see to his collection.

“Cassssssiaaa, do step away! He’ll see you . . .”

Momentarily distracted by that curious statement from one of her cousins, Myrtle let herself into the Corner Parlor.

Clustered at the windows, her cousins Linnie and Meghan stood in a sideways line, using the curtain as a shield while Myrtle’s elder sister, Cassia, peered around the edge.

“I know it did not seem it at the time, but you truly were fortunate to avoid a future with that one,” their cousin Meghan was saying.

While Myrtle had been gone, Cassia had nearly wed? One would expect that discovery after discovery of just how much life had continued on without Myrtle would have left her numb to each way she’d been excluded from the family. And yet, it did not. “You almost made a match?” she blurted, and her sister cast a sharp look over her shoulder.

“It was Mother and Father’s idea.” She gave a little toss of her auburn curls. “I merely behaved as the dutiful daughter”—Myrtle narrowed her eyes at that less than subtle jab—“joining them when they paid a visit to welcome him.”

With that, Myrtle was invisible once more. The figure who had fascinated her kin recalled their attention.

“Was he really as rude as my mother said?” Meghan asked earnestly.

Cassia looked squarely at the younger woman. “Worse,” she murmured in ominous tones. “But it wasn’t just that he had his butler turn us away three times . . . Oh, no. It was something far worse.”

“W-worse?” Meghan stammered, breathless with fear.

Cassia gave a grave nod. “Worse.”

As one, the McQuoid ladies looked outside.

Unbidden, Myrtle found her gaze following their stares below, and then saw him.

Attired in black from the top of his head to the dark wool of his jacket, trousers, and boots, amidst the white, snowy landscape, the gentleman had the sinister look of a fallen angel trapped in paradise. Why, even the queue that hung past his headwear bore the same midnight coloring. His arms laden with wood, he strode with furious steps toward the mammoth townhouse.

Not that most would consider London in winter a paradise.

Myrtle did.

At that moment, the hulking bear of a man stopped, then looked up.

At her side, her kin gasped and stumbled out of the way to avoid being seen.

Myrtle, however, remained trapped.

Never before had she witnessed such fury emanating from a person’s eyes. The fiery sort that locked a person’s feet to the floor and even stole all thoughts of fleeing from one’s head.