MR LENNOX of Cheltenham. Renegade and Leonardo send their regards. Suggest meet at noon on Thursday 22nd at the place where it all started. Urgent. Respond likewise.

“Renegade?” Julia asked.

My cheeks heated, but I could not help smiling. “It is what he calls me.”

“I see,” she said, at her most opaque.

We debated using the name Hargate instead of Lennox, but Julia remembered that Mr. Kent knew that it had been Evan’s highwayman alias. Lennox, however, was a name Evan had used only a few times and so was not widely known. I hoped it would catch my love’s attention when he read the paper. If he was, indeed, currently reading the paper.

“I think we should tell Lady Hester that we are attempting to contact her brother,” Julia said. “She will, no doubt, wish to communicate with him too.”

Something clenched within me. “I think we should wait until he answers,” I said. “I do not want to raise her hopes if he does not. Besides, the fewer who know our plans, the better.”

Julia surveyed me for a long moment. “As you wish.”

Now, how best to get it to Printing House Square and the Times office? I glanced at the mantel clock.

“It is gone five o’clock,” I said. Damn, by the time we got there, the paper would be closed to notices. “Too late to put it in now. I shall have to wait until tomorrow morning.”

“Gone five?” Julia said. “Lud, we must dress for the Berrys’.”

In all the focus upon the advertisement and Lord Evan, I had forgotten we were expected at the Berry sisters’ soiree.

“I am not in the mood,” I said.

“Nonsense,” Julia said, leading the way to the door. “You love the debate. Besides, it will take your mind off Colonel Drysan’s revelation.”

I followed her from the room. I would go to the Berrys’, of course, but nothing was going to take my mind off the possibility that Lord Evan might be associated with the Exalted Brethren of Rack and Ruin.

•   •   •

The Misses Berry held their famed “circle” at their home in North Audley Street. A rather modest abode, but neat and pleasant, rather like its two celebrated tenants.

We were met at the door by a young maid who bobbed a curtsy and took our wraps. Julia cast her eyes around the small hallway, painted in fashionable green and decorated with a rather flattering marble bust of the elder sister, Mary Berry, set upon a plinth. Sculpted, I remembered, by her good friend Mrs. Anne Damer.

“They have a new sideboard since we were last here,” Julia murmured. “Chesterfield. Very nice.” She cocked her head, eyeing the oak bureau that stood alongside the staircase that led upstairs. I suspected my sister would be consulting the Chesterfield catalog when we returned home.