“How do we prove which came first?” Elizabeth asked.

“Good point. They’re no longer using the cipher,” Tommy said. “The war is over. Old messages may no longer be guarded. If we can demonstrate Damaris easily deciphering one, that would prove her familiarity with the cipher.”

“Can’t you affirm she invented it?” Marjorie asked. “You’re in the reading circle.”

“It was long before Chloe and I attended,” Tommy explained. “Apparently Damaris showed Philippa first, and then the others. They could come forward and call Captain Northrup a liar—”

“But they’re women, and he’s Captain Northrup,” Elizabeth finished dryly.

“They could swear in a court of law,” Marjorie insisted. “Eyewitness testimony.”

“It will never come to that,” said Tommy. “As a viscount, can’t Northrup just claim ‘right of privilege’ and have the whole thing tossed out?”

Philippa had said she wanted to be part of the escapades. The difficulty was thinking up an escapade that would work. If Northrup could dismiss all charges with a wave of his hand, where did that leave them?

Elizabeth pulled a face. “Damaris said she instructed the reading circle to burn the instructions once they’d committed them to memory, which means she has no evidence of a prior cipher. More importantly, Northrup is her mother’s brother, and her mother would not forgive Damaris for bringing formal charges against him, no matter the outcome.”

“Captain Northrup won’t back down now that there’s fame and a title in his future,” Graham said. “Worse, he’s acting like he already has it. You should see all the purchases he’s made on credit in the past few weeks alone. He seems certain that where there’s a title, there’s a bride with a large dowry.”

“He’s probably right.” Marjorie set down her empty plate. “But we’re going to stop him before we’d be dragging an innocent down with him.”

“Meanwhile…” Elizabeth pointed her sword stick at Tommy. “Baron Vanderbean has a romantic engagement he’s definitely not afraid of.”

14

14

Flower in hand, Tommy stepped out of her carriage and strode up the perfectly swept path of the York residence. The air was crisp and cool. Leaves were beginning to show signs of gold and orange. She had arrived to escort Philippa to a ball.

Tommy. Philippa. A ball.

It sounded like a fairy tale, and if there was one thing all fairy tales had in common, it was that nothing went according to plan.

For one, despite her bravado to Philippa, Tommy hadn’t ever been invited to a society ball. She had attended them in various guises, such as Great-Aunt Wynchester or a liveried footman, but never as someone fashionable. She knew how to comport herself in any number of settings, but that was not the same thing as fitting in.