The two men strode toward their comrade at the top of Pilgrim Street. They did not look back. As they turned the corner out of sight, I realized I was still crouched. Still pressing my hand against my chest. I straightened, steadying my breath.

“Forgive me, my lady. I should have stopped him,” Samuel said, using the wall to haul himself upright. “Mr. Weatherly will have my guts for garters.”

“We were ambushed, Samuel. No fault of yours. Can you walk?” I was not entirely sure I could; my legs were trembling.

“Of course, my lady.” He tugged his waistcoat into order and bent to pick up his sodden tricorn, wincing at the movement. A shake of the felt hat and it was back upon his head. He crossed the cobbles—the youthful bounce gone—and offered me his arm. “I’ve had worse from my brothers.”

Clearly a lie, but I let it pass. I would send for Dr. McLeod when we got home, make sure the boy was in one piece.

I took his arm and together we limped up toward the busy thoroughfare of Ludgate Hill.

6

Mr. Bridge was somewhat surprised to see me arrive without an appointment, but as ever welcomed me into his elegant showroom, offered refreshment, and brought out the new turquoise parures that I shakily requested to see. His calm and gently jovial presence, along with two glasses of excellent canary, helped steady the trembling in my legs and dissipate the ice in my innards.

I ordered a turquoise set for Julia for Christmas and chose two neat silver boot daggers set with ruby cabochons: one for Lord Evan with his initials to be engraved upon the cartouche—an elaborately flourished E and B—and one for myself with an A and C upon it. After this morning’s events, a dagger of my own seemed a prudent idea.

By the time Mr. Bridge had engraved, boxed, and wrapped the daggers, the carriage had pulled up outside and Weatherly had swung down to open the carriage door. He gave a small nod through the jeweler’s window: the notice had gone in. The tension in my body eased.

Before long, I was back in the carriage with Weatherly in the seat opposite.

“So, all went well? No one was watching you?” I asked as we pulled away, the momentum jerking me back against the seat.

“No one, my lady. The notice will be in tomorrow’s paper and for the next week, saving Sunday, of course.” He paused. “Samuel told me what happened. The boy is shaken and mortified that he did not protect you adequately. Are you…?”

“Well enough,” I said quickly, ignoring the new pain in my shoulder. “Samuel had the worst of it. He kept to the Rundells’ story even under great duress.”

“I told him no one was to know our real destination. He’s a good lad,” Weatherly said.