“I see.” Duffy dug a hand into his pocket and pulled out some coins, holding them out to Kent. “Here.”

Mr. Kent stared down at the offering, then shook his head. “No, thank you, Lord Duffield. I am paid for my services.”

“Certainly, but even the lowliest of servants receive vails. Take it. You seem to have done good service here.”

“Mr. Kent is not a servant, Duffy,” Julia said.

“No, thank you, my lord,” Mr. Kent said firmly.

“As you wish.” Duffy pocketed the coins again.

“I shall take my leave, my lord, my ladies,” Mr. Kent said, bowing. “Peter, come with me.”

“Yes, Mr. Kent,” Evan said, making his own bow.

It was said with an admirable pretense of humility, but I knew it stuck in Evan’s throat. He followed Kent to the door. Evan looked back at me, but for once I could not read his expression. He still had his gun, as did Kent. Good God, would the Runner try to arrest Evan now?

This was not even close to finished.

As Weatherly closed the door behind them, I made to follow. “Excuse me, Duffy, I must see if—”

“Augusta, who is this lady?” our brother demanded, finally noticing Miss Grant. “We have not been introduced in all the excitement.”

Good God. I looked wildly across at Julia. He could not know her real name. Julia, however, was still fixed upon Mr. Kent’s departure, an expression of distress upon her face. The first meeting between her Runner and Duffy could not have gone worse; it had been inevitable, but that did not make it any easier for my dear sister.

Miss Grant’s safety was up to me, then. I scrabbled for a pseudonym. Smith too obvious, but nothing else came to mind. My frantic gaze fell upon the novel I had left upon the side table. Ah yes, that would do. “Lord Duffield, allow me to introduce Miss Dashwood. She is staying with us for a short while.”

Miss Grant stared at me for a hard moment, then smiled at Duffy and curtsied. “How do you do, Lord Duffield?”

“Miss Dashwood.” He bowed. “Unfortunate circumstance, but here we are. I hope you are not too discomposed.”

“Not at all, Lord Duffield.”

Weatherly entered. “Breakfast is served, my lady.”

“Ah, excellent,” Duffy said. “Miss Dashwood, allow me to escort you to the dining room.” He offered his arm. To her credit, Miss Grant hesitated for only a second before taking it. “I say,” he added as they made their way out of the room, “are you related to the Dashwood-Kings, by chance?”

It was testimony to Weatherly’s management of our household that everything was already back in order. Duffy and Miss Grant led the way down the stairs to the dining room, Julia reaching for my hand as we followed.

She bit her lip: What are we going to do now?

I gave a reassuring smile: I will handle it, do not worry.