The breakfast discussion was inconsequential, as if everyone present already knew the details of all of the evening’s events. Which was impossible, since only Davy and Gaz knew what had happened and they were confined to the kitchen with Jenny.

Farnsworth, the one of Father’s men with more insight, didn’t arrive until the dishes were being cleared. His appearance up the backstairs from the kitchen made it clear to Perry that this house—her house—was a regular gathering place for her father’s people. It must be a safe house for the spies taking this route to and from the Low Countries. They all knew their way around the stables and kitchens.

While MacEwen, Kincaid and Father made room for Farnsworth, Perry fidgeted, gripping the edge of the chair seat, the urge to jump up and help Jenny, Davy, and Gaz clear the dishes almost overwhelming. All of her many lessons on proper decorum had vanished this night.

Farnsworth addressed the full plate of food with a lack of gentility, as if he were used to eating quickly when food was available. He’d been attached to a revenue cutter for the past several days and looked the worst for it, his hair plastered wet, his dark, well-cut clothing salt-stained. In between bites, he made his report.

Under the veil of the tablecloth, Fox’s hand slid around hers. Farnsworth’s level gaze moved over her, the tiniest of frowns forming.

She clasped Fox’s hand tightly. “Did you catch up with the smugglers, Lord Farnsworth?” she asked.

“We lost the three men in the skiff in a rocky cove.” His frown darkened. “We sent men in and found naught but an empty boat. They’d disappeared into those cliffs.”

“And the smugglers’ ship?” Fox asked.

“We saw it off the coast. The weather turned us all back.”

Perry’s heart eased. They’d heard as much from MacEwen. They’d have another chance at stopping the assassins.

Farnsworth peered closer. “Are you quite all right, Lady Perpetua?”

She nodded. “I am.”

He looked back at the two local men, hovering along the wall. They’d come back up from the kitchen to wait for Farnsworth’s dishes and eavesdrop.

“And the boy?” Farnsworth asked.

Davy brushed back a shock of hair. “Tucked into his bed, thanks to the lady and Mr. Goodfellow.”

Father’s lips pressed together. His dark gaze scooted between her and Fox and the other men, like he was a spectator at a cricket match. She shifted closer to Fox and straightened her spine.

Outside, the wind howled, making the candles flicker. A sliver of light shone through the glass of the doors. Dawn would be upon them soon.

“You’re all very tired.” Father looked at Davy and Gaz. “You men, when Scruggs asks, as he will, you may tell him I’ve come.” He sent them off to their homes and their beds.

Kincaid looked a question at Father.

“Might as well set events in motion,” Father said, “and tomorrow is soon enough to speak to them. Off with you, too, MacEwen.”

MacEwen went off to the kitchen, presumably headed for his bed in the stables. And perhaps to spend time with Jenny first.

There were two more bedchambers next to Perry’s own. She would take one of them. “I’ll just move my things, Father, and you may have—”

“No need.”

“But there are only two empty bedchambers. Take Mother’s, and Kincaid may have my maid’s cot in the dressing room.” Jenny could bed with her, and Farnsworth could have the other, assuming he was staying on.

“Fox will yield his chamber for Farnsworth, won’t you, Fox?”

That meant him sleeping in the stables.

Or…with her. Could they manage it, right under Father’s nose? Would Fox be willing? She squeezed his hand.

Fox nodded curtly. “I’ll spell MacEwen on watch,” he said, without budging from his chair.

Kincaid tossed back one more gulp of whisky and stood. “Not much to be done now. We can catch a few hours of sleep. I’ll ready your chamber, Shaldon.” He nodded his goodnights and left. Farnsworth followed him.

Leaving her and Fox alone with Father. A wild thrumming started up in her. Fox would tell him the truth, he’d said, and then what?

Father wouldn’t beat her, she didn’t think. He might despise her. He might try to marry her off to some lord in his service.

Farnsworth, perhaps. He was a baron, long-ago widowed, but not in a million years would she have him.

“Go to bed, my dear,” Father said. “I would speak to Fox privately.”

Fox’s grip on her hand slackened and she looked at him. He wanted to send her away also.

She pulled her hand away and stood. “I will not. What he has to say concerns me also.” She twisted her hands in the kerseymere skirt and paced around the table where she could face both of them. “I’ll not be shut out, or sent to bed. I’m not a child any longer.”

Perry’s eyes held so much hurt, it tore at his heart. She’d not been a compliant girl, and she wouldn’t be a compliant wife, either. Yet, she must give him his due as a man to talk to her father in his own way and own time, especially since she’d forced the issue. He wouldn’t beg Shaldon to bless a marriage between them. Only a blessing freely given would make for a marriage that would endure. If Shaldon begrudged them this marriage, Perry would be unhappy. If they were sent away, she would miss Cransdall, her brothers and their wives, and her nieces and nephews. She’d miss her horses also.

Love wouldn’t sustain without the friendship of her family.

But if he took her to America…his brother had written seeking reconciliation, promising his share of their father’s lands, if he returned. Land yes, but no guarantee of the friendship of his family. More than likely, she would be desperately homesick for England.

She’d forced this hand and he had no choice but to play it.

He reached for her and she came to him. He could feel her quaking.

“Lord Shaldon, I care very much for Perry, and…we’ve shared this cottage without a proper chaperone. I’ve compromised her.” His throat tightened and took a deep breath. “I would like your blessing to marry your daughter.”

“And you’ve spoken to her before speaking to me, or her brother?”

The ass. He was every bit as condescending as Fox had expected.

“I’m of age, Father.” Anger flashed in Perry’s eyes. “And Bakeley has no say over me.”

“So, I take it, daughter, you are willing to marry Fox?”

Her lips formed an O sending his heart crashing, but she finally nodded. “Yes.”

“And if I oppose the match?” His gaze took them both in. Shaldon’s shoulders lifted in a sigh. “Come here, Perpetua.”

She bit her lip and stalled, what she had said, that she didn’t truly know her father, displayed on her face. “Fox has been very honorable. I should greatly appreciate your approval, Father, but I shall be willing to marry him even without it.”

Dear, defiant Perry. He opened his mouth to set the record straight, but Shaldon spoke first.

“Yes. I know. Come here.”

She glanced at Fox and he nodded.

Her father grasped her hand. “So cold,” he murmured. “And there is that bruise on your cheek that you’ve painted over. I’ve been wondering about it since I arrived.” He shot Fox a look that sparkled with anger. “Now let me see what else you are hiding under that scarf at your neck.”

Perry gasped. “It wasn’t Fox’s doing—”

“The scarf, Perpetua.”

Fox stood and went to help her, his fingers fumbling with the cloth. “It wasn’t my doing, but it was my fault.” It’d been his rejection that’d caused her to take flight.

The scarf slipped away, and Shaldon took in the ugly bruises, his mouth going hard. “His brows drew together and he turned a look on Fox. “She’s been wincing and favoring her left side. Is there more?”

“Blows to the back. Above and below the kidney, I’d say. Nothing broken, but badly bruised.”

“How did this happen?” Shaldon addressed the question to him.

“She was…” he fumbled for words that would not make her feel foolish. “taken on the road to Scarborough.”

“And this was before or after you compromised her?”

“It was after I spent a night alone in this house with a single man.” Perry’s tone was laced with anger. “And I left because Fox was being so honorable and so determined he was unworthy. He was thinking of your feelings and not mine.”

Her eyes glinted with unshed, angry tears. “I’m sorry, Perry.” The night’s events rushed back upon him and he pulled her close. “She was taken by three men. A big man, who might have been the real John Black, the smuggler, his minion, and a Frenchman.”

Shaldon frowned. “The three men in the skiff.”

Perry lifted her head. “No. Two of them went off and left the Frenchman. Fox shot him before he could shoot me and Pip.”

“Pip.” Shaldon rubbed his forehead. “Pip is the boy Farnsworth mentioned?”

“Yes,” Fox said.

“I see. Or rather, I don’t see. You’ll start at the beginning and leave out nothing. Er, except for the part about compromising my daughter. I don’t care to know those details.”

“Will you give your blessing, Father?” she asked.

He pressed his lips together. “You should not have come here, Perpetua. This is a dangerous business. Fox must keep you alive before any talk of marriage.”

Fox helped her into a chair and seated himself next to her, his stomach roiling. They would chase down these villains, find Carvelle, and puzzle out Lady Shaldon’s murder, before any talk of marriage. Shaldon would give her a chance to come to her senses and cry off from a promise they’d never made.

He’d never felt less honorable in all his days.

The sun was on the horizon when Father rose from the table. Perry lingered, gathering the remaining glasses and cups, stalling until Father was out of sight.

“Leave them,” Fox said. “Jenny can get them later.”

Jenny had already gone up to bed.

“I have a new spirit of republicanism.” She joked but her heart was quaking. The old Fox, the one who kept his thoughts hidden, was back. “And I’m not sure I can sleep. Are you angry with me, Fox?”

“For forcing my hand?” He dropped a kiss on her forehead and reached for the tray. “We’ll talk later. You go to bed.” He headed down the stairs to the kitchen.

She followed him.

He set the dishes to soak and gathered her into his arms.

“You don’t have to sleep in the stables, Fox. You can come upstairs—”

“With your father in the next room?” He pressed his lips to hers lightly and then broke away, taking her elbow. “Come on. I’ll escort you upstairs.”

Reluctantly, she let him lead her, dragging her tired limbs. They’d got to the parlor floor when the sound of a carriage reached them.

“Wait here.” Fox went to the door and peered out.

Perry ducked around him to look. A traveling chaise was coming up the drive, with black-clad outriders in front and behind.

MacEwen came up the drive from the stable and greeted one of the outriders.

“That’s MacEwen’s cousin,” Perry whispered.

“Did I not tell you to wait?” Fox said.

Indignation mixed with apprehension, and she clutched his arm. “And that is one of my father’s unmarked chaises. Charley would not take a chaise. Or Bink. Nor would Bink come after me. That had better not be Bakeley.”

“In a chaise? Your brother?” Fox opened the door and went down the steps.

The chaise door opened to a display of a wine-colored traveling dress. Perry hurried after Fox.