I took a moment to swallow my suddenly dry mouthful. “Not that I can recall.”

“It seems someone wrote to him with a rumor and he feels obliged to follow all intelligence upon the matter,” Duffy added.

“Well, as you see, we do have a guest, Miss Dashwood, but she is hardly hiding,” I said, smiling across at Miss Grant, who managed to rally her own smile. “Perhaps that is where the mistake has been made.”

“No doubt,” Duffy said, nodding to Miss Grant. “I only check up on the matter because Deele and I are old friends. You know, Eton and Four-in-Hand club and so forth.”

“Yes, of course,” Julia murmured.

“My other purpose is to invite you to Duffield House. As you are no doubt aware, Augusta, Julia has begged me to forgive you, and, indeed, Harriet is of the opinion that it is the Christian thing to do. So I invite you both to Duffield House for Christmas and an extended stay. Miss Dashwood, as a guest of my sisters, you are most welcome, too, of course.”

Miss Dashwood gave a small bow in her chair and murmured her gratitude, but I could see the panic in Miss Grant’s eyes.

An invitation to return to Duffield House was a huge concession on Duffy’s part. Even so, it was not I who needed to be forgiven, and I did not believe for a minute that Harriet’s opinion came from any Christian impulse. By the hopeful expression on Julia’s face, I knew she desperately wanted me to accept, and usually I would do as she wished in these matters. Her happiness was my happiness. However, this was not the time to heal the breach. Quite the opposite. We needed to put as much distance as we could between us, London, and Lord Deele’s spies, one of whom, it seemed, was now our own brother.

Through the closed dining room door, I heard the muffled sound of voices in the hallway.

At last.

I looked past Duffy and his sourly expectant face to the view outside the window, but my vista of the square was too limited. I pushed back my chair and stood, crossing to the window.

“What is it, Augusta?” Duffy demanded. “Why do you go to the window?”

I ignored him.

“Augusta can go to the window if she wishes, Duffy,” Julia admonished gently.

I peered through the pane into our square. Was anyone waiting out there?

Peggy the flower seller crouched at the garden gates as usual. Farther along a well-dressed couple walked arm in arm, and a nursemaid pushed a child in a perambulator along the pavement. And a man—dun greatcoat, big build—leaned against the wall at the diagonal. Not Mulholland, but Pritchard by the heavyset shoulders and slouch.