"So. It's official." I lowered the paper with a shaking hand. How had it come to this? The entanglement with Patience had seemed a little unreal up until now. I never doubted Matt, not really. I always thought he would find a way out of it. Now it was splashed in bold type in the most prestigious newspaper of the city, it was very real indeed.

Matt sat on the bed near my knee and closed his hand over mine. "My uncle assured me he would give me more time to convince Lord Cox." His fingers tightened. "I'll have it out with him this morning."

"What will you do?"

He said nothing. I wouldn't put it past him to punch his uncle. He'd threatened it before, and looking at him now, his chest rising and falling with his seething breaths, he was in the right frame of mind to do something rash.

"Don't," I said, my eyes burning with tears. "The more you anger him, the less likely he'll be to let you out of the arrangement."

"He was never holding out hope for Cox to change his mind," he bit off. "I know that, now. I was a fool for trusting him. Damn it."

I sidled closer and put my arms around him. I rested my head on his shoulder and felt him relax a little. "What do we do now? Keep trying to convince Lord Cox?"

He kissed the top of my head and tucked me under his chin. "He's not going to give in."

"Then what? Backing out of the engagement would embarrass Patience now that it's been made public. She already suffered after Lord Cox withdrew his suit."

"I know," he said heavily. "I can't end it, anyway."

I pulled back to look at him. He avoided my gaze. "Tell me, Matt. Tell me what he has over you. Together, we might be able to think of a way out."

He didn't speak for a long time, and I thought he was thinking up a lie to placate me. But when he spoke, I knew it wasn't a lie. "He told me if I didn't agree to the union, he would inform the home secretary about your magic. They're friends."

"The home secretary?" I murmured. When it came to the country's safety, only the prime minister was higher. "But…what would he do if he found out about my magic?"

Matt swept the hair off my forehead. "I don't know. That's the problem, India, I just don't know. He might treat it as a joke, or he might lock you up."

"Or he might have me studied."

He nodded. "If you can think of a way out of this arrangement without angering my uncle, I'm all ears."

I slumped against him and plucked the fabric of his shirt. "We could run away together. Let's go to America after all."

"It'll be an admission of guilt, and the home secretary will believe my uncle. You'll never be able to return here."

"So you do agree to do it? Even if it means hurting Patience and destroying her chances of a good marriage?" And that of her sisters, I might have said, but didn't want to add more burdens to his conscience. He already knew anyway.

He traced the line of my jaw with light, gentle fingers. "I'm not marrying her, India. Only you."

I pressed my lips to his in a light, feathery kiss then snuggled into his warm body with a sigh. "As much as I want to be with you, Matt, and as angry as I am at her for going along with this scheme, I don't want to ruin Patience's life." She desperately wanted to get away from her parents and sisters, and she saw marriage as her only way out. Without a skill or trade to fall back on, it probably was. But if Matt abandoned her so soon after Lord Cox had, no man would want her. She was already too old for most gentlemen to consider her, and she was too shy to easily attract beaus. Two broken engagements would bury her.

"I'll speak with her alone," Matt said. "If Lord Cox won't change his mind, perhaps she'll change hers and refuse me."

I doubted it, but I didn't say so. He needed to cling to some hope, just as much as I did. The problem was, I couldn't see a way out that didn't involve us running away and her being unhappy for the rest of her life.

Matt prowled from one side of the drawing room to the other while the rest of us sat and watched, helpless. "He said he wouldn't announce it yet," Matt growled to no one in particular. "He broke his promise to me."

"Did she make a promise?" Miss Glass asked. "Did my sister-in-law say she wouldn't announce it so soon?" It was difficult to gauge her feelings from her cool gaze, her outward calmness, but the steeliness of her question suggested she wasn't entirely ambivalent.

Matt stopped short. "Aunt Beatrice made no such promise."

"Then she is to blame for this." Miss Glass picked up the newspaper only to throw it down on the table again. It skidded off and fell on the floor. "You must speak to her, Matthew. You must tell her that you and Richard had an understanding. She shouldn't be allowed to get away with this gross mishandling of the situation."

Matt began pacing again. "It won't change anything. What's done is done."

Cyclops picked up the newspaper and placed it on the table. "So what are you going to do?"

Matt stopped again and his gaze met mine. "I couldn't say." He didn't need to tell me more. The situation had reached the crisis we'd discussed. It was time to make plans to leave England.

Willie, Cyclops and Duke seemed to reach the same understanding. Everyone's focus shifted to Miss Glass. Thankfully, she seemed unaware. I didn't want her reaching the same conclusion. Not yet. We had not discussed where she fitted into our plans, and now that I thought about it, I knew there was no easy solution. She wouldn't want to leave England, yet we couldn't leave her with her horrid relatives.

"I don't understand why Lord Cox is being so obstinate," she said with a shake of her head. "He seemed to enjoy Patience's company and didn't mind her timidity. Indeed, he seemed to like that she wasn't as brash as her sisters."

"He can't look past her indiscretion," I said.

"He feels as though he was taken in by her and her parents," Matt added. "He thinks the timidity you speak of, Aunt, was merely a ruse to secure him."

"The man's an ass," Willie said. "Most of 'em are, excepting you three. If you ask me, she's well rid of him if he ain't got the b—"

"Willie," Matt snapped.

She sniffed and crossed her arms. "He's an ass," she said again.

Miss Glass sighed and excused herself. She looked upset, and I rose instinctively to go with her. She paused at the door, but when she saw me sit down again, her chin lowered and she left.

"So when are we leaving?" Willie asked Matt once Miss Glass was out of earshot.

Matt's gaze connected with mine.

"For Patience's sake, we should tell her today that you cannot marry her," I said.

"Matt has told her," Willie whined.

"But she knows Lord Rycroft has something over him and will use it to force his hand. Patience thinks it's enough. She doesn't know it's not."

"We can't tell her," Matt said, finally taking a seat beside me on the sofa. "She'll tell my uncle, and he'll follow through with his threat. We have to leave before he finds out."

"You can send her a letter," Duke said.

"The coward's way," Matt muttered.

"You can't risk anything else. The gov'ment won't want India leaving the country."

"First of all, we don't know that Patience will tell her father immediately," I said. "Second of all, you're overstating my worth to any government. Thirdly, you are assuming the authorities will believe Lord Rycroft. So far, they have not commented on Oscar's articles. For all we know, the home secretary will laugh him out of the office."

"Or he won't," Cyclops intoned. "It ain't worth the risk. I agree with Matt and Duke. You can't tell Patience, or anyone else, when we're leaving. I know it ain't fair to her, but you got to think of yourself now. Don't play games with your freedom, India. When it's gone, it's mighty difficult to get it back again."

I swallowed. He was right. But I had one ace up my sleeve. "I have an idea. If it doesn't work, then we make plans to leave England in secret. If it does, then hopefully Lord Cox will change his mind and we can stay after all."

Willie gave another snort. "You going to blackmail him?"

"We have nothing to blackmail him with," Matt said.

"We're going to invite them both to dine here," I said. "Just the two of them, and neither will know the other is coming."

Willie snorted. "I want to be in the room when they realize it's a trick."

"It's not a trick," I retorted. "Merely a…"

"A matchmaking service," Duke finished for me. "Like them marriage brokers. Back in the old days, they arranged matches between men from the west and women from the eastern states."

Willie rolled her eyes. "It ain't like that at all, Duke. It won't work."

"You just ain't romantic."

"An arranged marriage ain't romantic. It's a prison sentence."

"It might work," I said. "At a suitable point in the evening, the rest of us will leave them alone. If Miss Glass is right, and Lord Cox does truly like Patience, then perhaps he'll reconsider after spending more time with her."

Matt nodded thoughtfully. "It's likely they were never left alone much. If he gets to know her, he might fall in love with her."

"Or he might flee in the other direction," Willie said. "Well, it's true," she added when Duke admonished her. "She's as dull as mud."

"She's not," I said. "I like her better than her sisters. At least I did before she refused to defy her parents and set Matt free."

Matt took my hand. "It's a good idea, and I see no other way at the moment. I'll arrange it."

I gave him a flat smile. It was the best I could offer.

"And if it don't work?" Willie asked.

"Let's give it a chance before we make plans," Matt said.

She sighed. "I suppose I can wait. What about you two?" she asked Duke and Cyclops. "You want to go home soon, don't you?"

I wasn't surprised when Cyclops gave a non-committal shrug. Returning to America meant returning to danger, with his past employer still hunting him. He also had feelings for Catherine, even though he denied them. I was surprised to see Duke hesitate, however.

Willie muttered something under her breath that I didn't hear and pushed to her feet. "I'm going out for some air."

"I've got something for the three of you to do," Matt told them. "I want Mr. Hendry, the paper magician, Mr. Sweeney, the Stationers’ Guild master, and Abercrombie watched. Decide which of you follows which man."

"You think Abercrombie is involved in Baggley's murder?" Cyclops asked.

"I wouldn't put it past him to have his finger in this pie."

The three of them left with flasks of whiskey and a pie in their pocket to eat cold for luncheon. If nothing else, it was something for them to do now that the convent's roof was fixed.

"Where are you going?" I asked Matt when I saw him asking Bristow to fetch his coat.

"To speak with my aunt and uncle," he said. "We had an agreement."

"It's too late to change anything now. Whatever you say to them will fall on deaf ears. Let them think you've accepted the situation. That way they won't anticipate our counter-move. Now go and write the invitations to Patience and Lord Cox."

He lightly kissed my forehead. "You're far more pragmatic than I."

He wrote the invitations in his study before handing them to Peter the footman to post. We'd decided the following night would allow Mrs. Potter the time she needed to prepare special dishes. Matt then informed his aunt of the plan and swore her to secrecy. We briefly considered not telling her at all but decided we had to. She would be joining us for dinner, after all.

I waited for Matt in the entrance hall, gloves in hand, ready to leave to call on the Delanceys. He joined me with his aunt in tow and watched on as she pressed something into my hand.

"I wanted to give you this, India," she said. "It will look very fetching on that jacket."

I opened my hand to see a silver brooch in the shape of a honeyeater. A small amethyst brightened the bird's eye.

"Shall I pin it on you?" she asked.

"I can't accept this," I said. "You shouldn't be buying me things, Miss Glass."

"I didn't buy it. It's one of my own, but I no longer wear it. It's for a younger woman, and the blue looks nicer on you than me, anyway."

I pushed it back into her hand. "It's not right to accept it if I am no longer your companion."

"Come now, India, let's set aside our differences and be friends again."

"Some things cannot be set aside. We will only argue again, and that's not how I want to spend my days. Do you?"

She clasped the brooch to her chest. "Matthew? Will you talk to her?"

"I agree with her decision," he said gently. "This is too important to the both of us to sweep aside. Can I fetch Polly to keep you company today? We have to go out."

She pulled a face. "Polly is so dull. I want India. Her conversation is much more lively."

"Polly will have to do until I employ someone else to be your companion."

"I don't want a stranger. I want India."

"I'd rather that too," I told her. "But we can't agree on an important matter, and both of us will end up miserable. I won't back down on this, Miss Glass."

"Nor will I," Matt said. "You need to accept that India and I will marry."

"It's too late, Matthew," she said, her voice frail. "The announcement has been published. I am sorry it happened this way. Really, I am. But nothing can be done now. The dinner won't achieve what you want. Lord Cox is far too proud and Patience is simply not that appealing. You'll be married to her within weeks and that's that."

Bristow fetched Polly just as a hack pulled up outside. Our own carriage had not yet arrived from the mews, and we were not expecting visitors. The long legged form of Oscar Barratt stepped out and trotted up to the front door.

We ushered him in out of the drizzle and Matt took his coat. His aunt, still waiting for Polly, clicked her tongue at her nephew performing a servant's task.

We waited for Polly to collect Miss Glass and for Bristow to return. Matt asked him to bring tea into the library, but Oscar insisted he couldn't stay.

"I needed to tell you something in person," he said as Matt shut the library door behind him. "Two things, actually. First of all, I discovered who owns The City Review."

"I'm still not convinced it matters," Matt said. "The owners don't want you to stop writing your articles for the Gazette. They're good for business."

"Not that good. From my inquiries, I've deduced that the Review isn't getting any more circulation than it was before. I'm persisting with my theory that the owners are men of business who would rather see magicians suppressed to maintain the successes of their own companies. They're powerful men of commerce. They won't stand idly by while magicians take over."

"Go on," Matt said. "Who owns The City Review?"

"A consortium of three bankers. The main investor in the consortium is an extremely wealthy man by the name of Delancey."

"Delancey!" Matt and I both cried. "We dined with him at Lord Coyle's recently," I added.

"We were just on our way to see him," Matt said. "Like the rest of Coyle's collector friends, he and his wife want to keep magic a secret. That already made them suspects in the shooting."

"But it does rather fly against your theory that all businessmen want to persecute magicians," I said to Oscar. "Delancey doesn't want to harm us. He is actually fascinated by magic and values magical objects. He's not afraid of us."

"Not when you were hiding away, performing magic in secret," Oscar said. "But things have changed, and businessmen like Delancey want to return to the status quo."

"Not by killing you, surely."

He didn't respond.

"We'll talk to him," Matt said. "Even if he isn't the killer, he might know something."

Oscar agreed. "The other thing to note is that he's not highly educated. His father came from humble beginnings before making the family fortune in the wool trade. He didn't believe his son required higher learning. We already suspect the author of the letters is not well educated in the traditional sense, and Delancey fits that profile."

"His grammar errors," I noted, not sure that I agreed. Mr. Delancey certainly sounded like he was from the upper classes, but I supposed the accent could have been affected over the years to fit in with the powerful men around him, like Lord Coyle.

"There's one other thing," Oscar said, scrubbing his short goatee. "Someone visited my office on the day of the murder and asked after me. He was told I was not in but would be working late."

"Was he told you would be alone?"

Oscar shook his head. "It may or may not be the killer, but I thought it worth mentioning."

"Do you have a description of the man?" Matt asked.

"Slender build, thinning fair hair, glasses. He had a quiet manner of speaking, sounded educated and his clothing was a little shabby. He left on foot."

"It could be Professor Nash," I said to Matt.

"Do the police know about the visitor?" Matt asked Oscar.

"Yes, but they have probably dismissed it as unimportant, since they don't believe I am the target." Oscar rubbed his hand over his eyes and down his face. He sighed heavily. "Will you confront the professor?"

"I have someone watching him now. We'll consider what to do next."

"How are you coping, Oscar?" I asked gently. "You look worn out."

He offered me a smile that fell flat. "I admit that I'm worried."

"Then you shouldn't have come here," Matt said. "For the sake of my family and friends, as well as your own."

"No one followed me," Oscar said. "I made sure of that. Besides, I'm not in any danger in broad daylight, and I needed to get out of the house and away from the office too."

"I imagine it would drive you mad to be cooped up all the time," I said.

"I can manage that. I always have something to read or write. I had to get out because those are the two places my brother knows where to find me, and he has a rather persistent nature when it comes to ordering his little brother about."

"Your brother is in London?" Matt asked. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"Because he's not a suspect, Glass. An irritant and a bore, yes, but he's not trying to kill me. We're brothers, for God's sake."

Later, when we were alone in the carriage, Matt said, "Everyone is a suspect. Being family doesn't exclude his brother. My grandfather wanted to kill me."

While I hated to admit it, he had a point. Family members made the most dangerous enemies.

Being a Saturday morning, Mr. and Mrs. Delancey were at home. Their Belgravia house echoed Lord Coyle's in many ways, although it didn't face Belgrave Square and was painted all white. The red door made a bold statement and the entrance hall was equally bold with its pink marble floor and staircase. The footman invited us to wait in the drawing room, where the eclectic nature of Mrs. Delancey's style reigned in the deep red wallpaper, pale blue upholstery, the gold piping on the cushions, and gold tassels on the curtains.

She swanned in, all toothy smiles and a warm welcome. "What a thrill it is to have you in my humble home, Miss Steele." She indicated we should sit, and she too sat, only to spring up again. She went to lift a clock set onto an onyx base off the mantel but, finding it too heavy, put it down again. "What do you think of this piece? Is it not very fine? My husband bought it only last week from an auction at Marlcombe House. A very unfortunate business, being forced to sell one's treasured possessions. I'm sure Lady Marlcombe would be happy to know the clock looks well on our mantel. Would you like to touch it, Miss Steele?"

I blinked rather stupidly at her. "That isn't how my magic works," I said.

She laughed musically. "I know. I thought you might like to feel it anyway. Come on. Up you get." That smile of hers never wavered, and I felt I ought to reward her for her effort.

I flipped open the clock's glass case and ran my thumb along the brass minute hand. It was warm.

She clapped her hands. "Marvelous!"

"What is it, India?" Matt asked, coming up behind me.

"It's warm," I told him, inspecting the clock. It was old, perhaps fifty years or more, and beautifully made. "Would you mind turning it, Matt? I want to see the maker's mark on the back."

"No need," Mrs. Delancey said, sounding smug. "It has your grandfather's mark. Lady Marlcombe says she bought it off a man who bought it from your grandfather's shop, many years ago."

Matt turned it and I traced my finger over the engraving. Chronos had made this, all those years ago. Or perhaps it was my grandmother's hands that had crafted the fine piece. She'd been a horology magician too, and more dedicated to the work of watch and clockmaker than her husband. I wanted to ask Chronos and was tempted to visit him. It could be for the last time.

"That's why you bought it," I said. "You saw the mark and assumed it held magic."

"We wanted it for our collection," Mrs. Delancey said. "When we learned about your family history in horology magic, we decided to find something a Steele had worked on. Your shop had closed, but we didn't want to buy anything from it anyway. What if we purchased something that artless man had worked on instead?"

Eddie Hardacre, also known as Jack Sweet, hadn't worked on much, by all accounts. The shop and all its contents would most likely become mine again soon. Matt's lawyer was working on the legalities, but with Eddie guilty of duplicity and other crimes, and my grandfather still alive, it would surely belong to my family again soon. I hoped I would still be in London to see it transferred back to Chronos's name.

"Why do you not keep your collection locked away like Lord Coyle?" Matt asked.

"Because we want our guests to admire our things," Mr. Delancey said from the doorway. "Otherwise, what is the point of owning them?" He entered and greeted us as warmly as his wife had.

"You're not like Lord Coyle in that respect." I indicated the clock. "Do you tell people it was made by a magician?"

"No. At least, we haven't yet." He looked at Mrs. Delancey. "My wife would like to, but I think it unwise."

"Because of your position in commerce?" Matt asked.

The butler pushed in a wheeled table with a silver tray and teapot. He left discreetly, and Mrs. Delancey filled the dainty Wedgewood cups. Her smile had slipped but it widened again as she handed me a cup and saucer.

"Mr. Delancey?" Matt prompted. "Are you worried how your magic collection will be perceived by your friends? I assume they won't look too kindly upon someone who appreciates the very thing they believe will put them out of business."

Mrs. Delancey took a very long sip of tea and avoided looking at us. Her husband, however, met Matt's gaze with his own steady one.

"I think it's wise to keep the unique nature of our collection to ourselves, for now," Mr. Delancey said.

"If it became known that you do collect magical objects, your friends would abandon you. Some would even grow angry and accuse you of supporting their business rivals."

Mrs. Delancey whimpered in protest.

"Our friends will always be our friends, Mr. Glass," Mr. Delancey said coolly. "But my colleagues and business partners might take a different view. Because of that, I think it's wise to keep quiet on the topic of magic. My wife agrees with me, don't you, my dear?"

She nodded quickly and sipped again. I suspected the topic was much discussed in the household, and her wishes had been overruled by her husband. I had to agree with him. They were better off not mentioning magic to anyone in the current climate, particularly to powerful businessmen who traded in the very goods competing with magical objects.

"Speaking of maintaining silence, that's why we're here," Matt said. "You're part owner of The City Review."

"What of it?"

"The City Review is involved in a war of words with Oscar Barratt and The Weekly Gazette over the existence of magic."

"I may be owner, but I have no influence over what is published."

Matt scoffed. "No one believes that."

I glared at him; we were guests in the Delanceys’ house. But Matt paid me no mind, and I shouldn't expect him to. He wasn't a man who held his tongue simply because it was the gentlemanly thing to do.

Mr. Delancey set down his tea untouched. "I think it wise to let the two newspapers fight it out. The Gazette and Barratt need to be challenged by a respected source. If not, then the truth will be more widely accepted and we've just discussed why that would be bad, Mr. Glass, not to mention we want to maintain the value of our collections through their exclusiveness. What of you, Glass? Where do you stand on magic being openly discussed as a result of Barratt's articles?"

"I'll keep my opinions on the matter to myself," Matt said.

"Miss Steele?"

"As will I," I said.

Mr. Delancey smiled tightly. "Do I detect some discord between you? I can see why you would side with Mr. Barratt, Miss Steele, but I wasn't sure where you fell on the matter, Glass. I admit that the other evening at Coyle's I thought you two were…together. However, my wife informed me this morning that an announcement has appeared in The Times. Congratulations on your engagement to your cousin."

"Congratulations," Mrs. Delancey echoed. "How lovely."

Matt did not thank her. He didn't correct them and tell them he wasn't marrying Patience, either. "The reason we came here was to ask where you buy your personal stationery."

"Why?" Mr. Delancey asked at the same moment is wife said, "Hendry's. He does very fine work."

"Why?" Mr. Delancey asked again.

"Someone has been sending threatening letters to Oscar Barratt at the Gazette's office, ordering him to stop writing his articles. The letters were sent on paper made by a magician named Hendry."

Mrs. Delancey gasped. "I knew it! I knew his card stock was too good to be made by an artless." She clapped her hands. "I pride myself on my good taste."

Her husband wasn't as excited by the revelation but he was equally interested. "Are you implying that we sent those threatening letters?" he asked. "And, by extension, are you also implying that we would harm Barratt if he didn't stop writing for the Gazette?"

Matt stared coolly at him.

Mr. Delancey went quite still, and I suspected he was thinking through the implications of Matt's suggestion. It didn't take long for him to come to the same conclusion as we had. "You think Barratt was the intended victim, not the editor. Don't you?"

Mrs. Delancey took a few moments to connect the facts, but when she did, she set her teacup down with a loud clank and pressed a hand to her chest. "It…it wasn't us. We didn't send those letters, did we, darling? Nor did we kill that poor editor. Tell them, Ferdinand."

"It's all right, my dear. Of course we didn't kill anyone. How could we, when we were dining at Coyle's when it happened? Mr. Glass and Miss Steele were there themselves."

It was a very good point, but he could have paid someone to kill for him. A rich banker like Delancey didn't need to get his own hands dirty. I didn't voice my theory, and nor did Matt.

"Besides," Mr. Delancey went on, "why would I kill Barratt when the articles in The City Review are doing a serviceable job of discrediting him?"

"Perhaps 'serviceable' doesn't bring fast enough results for you."

"Neither I nor my wife killed that editor, Mr. Glass. Kindly refrain from insinuating as much or we cannot be friends. And I would dearly like to remain friends with Miss Steele and, by extension, yourself."

The two men exchanged stiff nods, and Mrs. Delancey looked pleased they'd come to an agreement.

"You are our friend, aren't you, Miss Steele?" she said. "Please say that you are."

I nodded.

"Excellent. And of course we can't be suspects, can we? You dined with us at Lord Coyle's. I suppose that also means the other guests are innocent too. That's fortunate for Lord Coyle and Sir Charles Whittaker."

"Why?" Matt asked.

She waved a hand. "They've become quite secretive of late. Before you arrived that night, they spoke in whispers in the corner. Sometimes those whispers became quite loud and heated. I caught your name, Miss Steele, but I couldn't tell you in what context they spoke about you." Her smile was as eager as ever but the spark in her eyes caught me by surprise.

We made our excuses and directed our driver to continue on to Lord Coyle's house next. "Mrs. Delancey isn't as silly as she tries to make us believe," I said, watching the Delanceys' butler close the front door as we drove off.

"It's her husband I don't trust," Matt said. "He's too smooth. He had an answer for everything and never seemed particularly ruffled."

"If that was a reason to arrest someone then you'd be in prison."

"Some things ruffle me. Aunt Beatrice's action, for one. My uncle's blackmail, for another." He leaned forward and rested his hands on my knees. "Not being with you."

I swallowed past the lump rising up my throat and didn't respond, nor give him any sigh of encouragement. It was dangerous being alone and intimate in the confines of the carriage. Matt was not a free man, and if we were seen, it would not go well for him with his family.

Lord Coyle dismissed our questions about his whispered exchange with Sir Charles Whittaker. "It was merely a discussion about whether we should invite you to meet our other collector friends," he said. "He wanted you to give a lecture on your magic, and I said it was too soon. Not only would you say no, it might jeopardize the trust we've begun to develop." He tapped his pipe on the edge of the table then bit down on the stem. "I couldn't risk that."

"You are quite right, sir," I said. "I would have refused."

"As to the trust," Matt said darkly, "I think you're overstating your relationship with India, somewhat. We trust no one with such a deep interest in magic."

Lord Coyle pointed his pipe at Matt. "You may not, Mr. Glass, but allow Miss Steele to make up her own mind. You are not, after all, her husband. I see from this morning's announcement that you never will be. It seems I was quite wrong about you two, and Miss Steele means nothing more to you than the doctor magician who saved your life. I apologize for my error."

Matt's jaw hardened, and I almost expected to see steam rise from his nostrils. I'd never seen him put in his place like that before. The worst of it was, we could not correct Lord Coyle. Not when the announcement of his engagement to Patience was in black and white.

"Or was my first assumption correct?" Lord Coyle's moustache lifted with his curious smile. "I am quite a good judge of character. You two act like a young couple in love. Miss Steele's blush would confirm it."

I dipped my head.

"Do you have a point, Coyle?" Matt growled.

"I have an offer to make you, one that could see you freed from your obligations to your cousin."

I sucked in a breath. "Go on. Tell us, sir, I beg you."

Matt put up a finger. "What do you mean by offer?" he asked carefully.

Lord Coyle puffed on his pipe then removed it from his mouth. "Patience Glass was engaged to Lord Cox, but something made him withdraw the offer suddenly. Am I right?"

Neither Matt nor I confirmed or denied his statement. Lord Coyle went on regardless.

"What if I told you I have a piece of information you can use to convince Cox to change his mind and take your cousin off your hands, Glass?"