“You need to talk to Beast, then. That lad has a knack for finding anything.”

Monday morning Fancy awoke with a ray of hope. After returning from her mother’s the day before, she’d penned a letter to Beast asking for his help, which she intended to hand off to Lottie that evening. Of all her brothers, Beast was the most mysterious. She didn’t even know where he resided. While she was relatively certain her mother knew how to get in touch with him, she had decided to handle the matter in her own way.

Glancing at the mantel clock, she saw that it was nearly nine. In all the days that she had managed the shop, she had never not opened the door when the hour struck nine. In spite of her lack of focus on Saturday, she threw back the covers, climbed out of bed, and prepared herself for the day. On the dot of nine, she unlocked her door, went to the counter, lifted her cup of tea, glanced at the calendar, and froze.

It was the day that her sire was to go on trial. At ten. Matthew would be there, giving his testimony. He wouldn’t break that promise, surely. She could see him, find an opportunity to speak with him, and at least let him know that she wasn’t marrying Beresford. Perhaps they could begin anew. Or at least begin where they’d left off before they had their row.

Marianne wouldn’t arrive for another couple of hours. As much as she regretted closing up her shop, she saw no help for it. After retrieving her reticule, she locked up and rushed along the streets until she reached the boardinghouse where Marianne lived. With the landlady’s permission, she dashed up the stairs to Marianne’s rooms, knocked briskly, and when a sleepy-eyed Marianne opened the door, she apologized. “I have something I have to do. Here’s the key so you can get into the shop.”

“Should I go in early?”

“If you’d like, but don’t feel you must. I’m sorry this has come up so unexpectedly. I don’t know how long I’ll be, and I just want to ensure the shop is opened at some point.”

“I’ll change out of my nightgown and get right over there.”

“Thank you, Marianne.” She turned for the stairs, stopped, turned back. “I apologize. I was so distracted on Saturday that I didn’t ask how your outing with Mr. Tittlefitz went.”

Her clerk pressed a hand to her lips. “He kissed me, Miss Trewlove, and it was ever so lovely.”

Reaching out, she squeezed Marianne’s hand. “I’ve always thought the world of Mr. Tittlefitz. I’m glad he’s making you happy.”

“Oh, he is. Now off with you. Don’t worry about the shop. I’ll see that it’s well cared for.”