Minnie reached for the letter—but Stevens yanked it away from her. He shuffled angrily through the papers, looking at them.

“Someone,” he said. “Someone must pay.”

She had paid once, and she would pay again. But for now… Now, she’d earned her money. She’d have enough to leave, enough to escape Minerva Lane for good. So why did she feel like weeping?

“Get out,” Stevens said. “Just—get out. I’ll deal with you later.”

Minnie slowly left the room.

Lydia had waited, pressed against the wall the entire time. But as Minnie went by, she followed her out into the front room.

“Lydia.” Minnie’s voice was shaking.

“What was that?” Lydia asked. “It couldn’t have been the truth. The Duchess of Clermont paying you? Minnie, she only arrived in town a few days ago, and this thing with the duke has been going on much longer than that. Telling them your name is really Minerva Lane? If you were really named Minerva Lane, you would have told me. I know you would have.”

Minnie flinched. “Lydia.”

“You would have told me,” Lydia repeated. “You are like a sister to me. You can’t be anyone else.”

“My name really is Minerva Lane.” She dropped her eyes. Somehow, this story should have been easier on the second retelling, but it was even harder with her friend’s eyes on her.

“No.” Lydia shook her head more fiercely. “It can’t be. You would have told me.”

“In a way, Minerva Lane never existed,” Minnie said. “When I was very young, my father dressed me as a boy and brought me around Europe, showing me off. He called me Maximilian. The truth came out.” She swallowed. “I was ruined. You can only imagine how I was ruined. I changed my name to escape his legacy.”

“But…” Lydia was shaking her head. “But how could that be true? If it were true, you would have told me.” She was becoming more vehement with every repetition of the phrase.

“No,” Minnie said. “I wouldn’t have.”

Lydia drew up her chin. “You knew everything—absolutely everything about me. How could you not tell me?”

Lydia’s ragged breath, her clenched fists, felt worse even than that moment when the crowd had surrounded her, when they’d gathered around her…

“Lydia. I couldn’t. If I told you—”

“I wouldn’t have said anything. Not ever.”

Minnie’s scar felt tight. Her whole head burned. Her stomach churned. “I can barely bring myself to speak of it. When I do, my whole body starts to shake. I stop being able to breathe. I couldn’t have you looking at me while I said it. I couldn’t.”

“God forbid,” Lydia said, “that you should have showed me a weakness. Why, I might have thought you a mere mortal.”

Minnie closed her eyes. “I still love you. Lydia?”

“How can you?” Lydia said coldly. “The person who was my friend—she wasn’t even real. She was a construct.”

“No. It was…it was real.” But her voice was quiet now, so hard to marshal, and Lydia wasn’t even looking at her.

“Get out,” Lydia said. “I can’t even look at you right now. Get out.”

Minnie stumbled to the door. It was still raining hard, and the rumble of thunder sounded like the stomp of feet, the roar of a crowd. Lightning flashed, searing across her vision.

“Here,” Lydia said, shoving an umbrella into her hand. “Take this. No, you ninny, I don’t care what happens to you. I just want you out of my sight. Go!”

Minnie wasn’t sure how she staggered down the steps to the pavement. She could scarcely even see through her tears. When she opened her eyes, she saw three men across the way. They looked at her curiously. Perhaps it was not every day they saw a woman stumble out of a house. Just three, but it was enough.

It’s nothing. It’s nothing. You’re nothing.

But she wasn’t nothing, and she couldn’t pretend that the events of today had happened to anyone but her. She bent over double and was noisily, violently ill on the pavement.

When her stomach settled, she stood. She was still shaking, but it felt as if that wave of nausea had carried everything away. Not just the physical shakes, but her fear, her timidity, twelve years of lies. Everything that had made her Wilhelmina Pursling, the shy, retiring wallflower who stuck to the corners, had been washed away.

She glanced at the Charingfords’ house over her shoulder. Wilhelmina Pursling was gone, and with her had gone a decade of friendship.

Bravo, Minnie. Bravo.

Sighing, she opened the umbrella and started toward the mews where she’d left her horse.

Chapter Eighteen

IT WAS ODD, ROBERT THOUGHT, THAT HIS OUTLOOK could change so completely in twenty-four hours. Two days ago, he’d made an offer of marriage. He’d been full of hope and desire and longing. And today…

“So, you see, Your Grace, we are at an impasse.”

Robert was seated in his parlor. Captain Stevens stood before him, a sheaf of papers laid out on his table.

“I cannot announce that it is you who authored the handbills,” Stevens said. “To give such sentiments the imprimatur of a duke would leave the rabble with no reason to hold back at all.”

Robert could scarcely listen. His mind was still fixed on that letter. It was a good thing he’d been sitting when Stevens had brought it out and told him that his own mother had paid Minnie to obtain it, or he might actually have stumbled.

She could have just said no.

“You, yourself, will likely face no consequences.” Stevens frowned. “But if I detect your sincerity correctly… For every handbill that you author, I will have one suspect arrested and imprisoned.”

“Without proof? Knowing that they are not involved?” Robert’s voice was quiet.

“It’s all of a piece,” Stevens said. “Someone must pay. If nobody does, we all will. I cannot—the law cannot—be flouted in this manner.”

Even through the roaring in Robert’s ears, he recognized what Stevens was doing—threatening him by threatening others. He’d known that someone was behind the convictions for criminal sedition—convictions that should never have happened. He’d wanted to draw out whoever it was that had perverted the law.

At least he’d succeeded in that. He made a mental note to have Stevens removed from office. Just as soon as he had a chance to gather his wits.