Biting back further remonstrance, I said, “Lady Hester and Miss Grant do not need any advice to stand firm. It is all they have done for the past three years.” I looked across at the empty chair opposite. “I see Miss Grant is not yet down for breakfast.”

Was she avoiding me after our confrontation?

“She is taking a tray with Lady Hester,” Julia said. “She seems somewhat out of sorts.”

So, that was a resounding yes.

I waited until Weatherly, our butler, had finished pouring my cup of coffee, then shifted a small vase of sad-looking Michaelmas daisies out of the way of the imminent sweep of my newspaper. Ever since we had moved in, Julia had made a point of sending one of our maids out every morning to buy a posy from the old flower woman who sat at the gates of the square’s central garden. According to our neighbors, the old woman had been there nigh on thirty years, scraping a living. Julia was now on a campaign to make every house in the square buy a daily posy. A challenge, since our neighbors were not generous and the flowers not particularly well-kept.

Julia put down the letter from Miss Ponsonby and opened her gold pillbox, choosing one of the blue mass pills prescribed by Dr. Thorgood for the breast tumor. She took one every day, as instructed, but frankly I could see no benefit from them. In my view it was well past time for a second opinion.

“Oh, and I have asked Cook to make a pound cake and a selection of biscuits for Colonel Drysan’s call today,” she added.

“A good thought. Cook’s baking does seem to put our male guests into good humor,” I said in a bland voice. Mr. Kent was particularly fond of Cook’s almond macaroons.

Julia placed the pill in her mouth and took a sip of tea, a toss of her head doing service both to wash down the medicine and to answer my jibe.

“Do not expect too much from Colonel Drysan, Gus,” she said, snapping shut her pillbox. “Twenty years is a long time. He may not remember anything.”

True, but I could not help hoping for some revelation. Julia picked up the next letter on the small stack, made a small sound of surprise, then broke open the wax with a flick of her thumb. I caught sight of the direction on the packet: written in Duffy’s impatient scrawl. What did our dear brother want now? Well, he would have to wait; I had a confession to make, as well as Brummell’s troubling news to impart.

“I rode the Row this morning, at dawn,” I said into the silence.

Julia looked up from the letter. “You rode with the grooms? Oh, Gus, really? At least tell me you took Thomas for propriety.”