Later that day, Sirena crossed the threshold into the most magnificent bedchamber she’d ever seen.

“This will be yours.” Perry linked arms with her. “It’s a bit outdated, not having been redecorated since the last century, but the housekeeper keeps it fresh. It is our grandest suite, even comparing it to Father’s. What do you think?”

The fawn-colored brocades all but glittered in the rosy light of early afternoon. It was all opposite to her room at home in Glenmorrow, where truly she had never got out of the nursery.

The bed that graced this chamber was so high a staircase had been set to it. Once they arrived at the top, the bed would easily accommodate her and Bakeley.

That thought warmed her. “It is indeed grand,” she said. Too grand for me.

“Come, and we’ll see the rest, and then you may decide.” Perry led her through a door into a sitting room decked out with cabinets and wardrobes. “This room is rather dark, I think.”

Sirena viewed the heavy violet covering the one small window. “Lighter curtains would help.”

“You see, already you have ideas for making things better. Now come.” They continued through another door.

Dark green curtains and wallpaper, and dark, heavy furniture made clear that this was the man’s chamber in this suite. And this bed was even bigger and higher than the lady’s. “This one has been redecorated more recently, a few years ago when we added the bathing chamber and the water closet.”

Sirena’s head jerked up. “You have a water closet?” She had seen one at her neighbor’s estate, but that was a lowly affair stuck near the kitchen scullery.

“Come and see.” Perry’s eyes sparkled under her spectacles as she tugged Sirena to yet another door. “Bakeley put it in when he had repairs done to the house, before Father returned. Isn’t it marvelous?”

A monstrous wooden tub held center stage in the small room, with pipes leading to and from an enormous metal container.

“Isn’t it marvelous?” Perry asked again.

Perry’s raptures demanded a response, but she didn’t have one.

“Bakeley installed a cistern so the servants don’t have to haul up the water for bathing. You must agree it is marvelous.”

No water to heat and haul in buckets, and then to scoop and haul away again. Each time Lady Jane bathed, she, Barton, and Molly had been put through their paces. “Indeed. I’m awestruck.”

Perry detached herself and went to open a door. “Voila. The water closet.”

“Bakeley did this?”

“It was his idea, yes. He spent considerable time redesigning the piping and drainage, and pressing the Commission of Sewers for better maintenance in the street. He has plans to install these at Cransdall also, but Father said we must wait a bit.”

His father was a demanding, overbearing, interfering man. She must keep that fact in mind.

Perry turned a valve and water rushed into the tub.

Sirena put her hand under the flow of water. “It’s cold.”

“There’s a heater for the holding tank.” She closed the valve and the water stopped. “Is it not amazing? One of these in every building, and we will solve half the problems of the poor. Bakeley agrees with me on this, though the cost…well, he’s been after Father to take up the problems of the sewer works with the Lords, and now we have Bink and Charley in the Commons. Besides the disease and vermin, it is so demoralizing for people to be dirty, do you not think?”

She nodded. Perry had lofty and fine goals, but Sirena doubted she’d had much experience of true dirt. She couldn’t imagine the bespectacled girl in the Shaldon stables, where the grooms rubbed sweat with their charges, or on the track having dirt kicked up at her. And the rookeries, and alleys, and the docks? She couldn’t imagine Perry had any more knowledge than the testimony of others.

Still, Sirena counted her as a friend, one that she would learn a thing or two from.

“Do you think they’ll be back soon?”

Shaldon and his two sons had gone off to some government office. Bakeley had taken her aside, assuring her he would report back to her, and telling her to wait at home until he returned.

She had said yes, but only because she’d been stunned and flummoxed by the man who wished for her to call him Father.

Upon arrival that morning, they’d invaded the breakfast room where Shaldon had greeted her quite formally, looking down his noble beak at her hastily twisted up hair and dun colored dress. When he’d spoken, though, it had been with a kind reassurance that the O’Brians were safe.

And then they’d had, above all things, a family meal, James and his brother piling on the bacon and buttered toast, waited on by the spritely butler who looked to be one of Shaldon’s old spies. And wouldn’t there be a houseful of them here?

“Don’t worry, Sirena.” Perry turned another valve, and they watched the water drain away. “Father is not going to let any harm come to you. He is so happy to have you as a daughter.”

And how could that be? She didn’t believe it for a second. “The attack on Mr. Gibson was not so serious, was it? It was his lordship’s way of getting us to the house.”

When Perry pushed her glasses higher on her nose and smiled, she looked much younger, than her years, which couldn’t be many less than Sirena’s. “That sounds like Father. But you would not mind so much, would you? It wasn’t quite the crack of dawn when he sent Charley to you. In fact, Charley had even been abed, and he’s one to be out all night. I know because I’m an early riser. I heard him arrive this morning from a night spent carousing at one of his gaming hells.” She cocked her head and touched a finger to her chin. “Or perhaps he was with the contessa last night.”

“Who?”

“His latest lover,” she whispered. “She’s a dragon, but I imagine he doesn’t notice because he’s only trying to get her to reveal state secrets. Father took us to the opera once and I saw her watching us all night through her opera glasses.”

“Trying to get Charley’s attention?”

Perry shrugged. “Or Bakeley’s. Or Father’s. Or perhaps she was sneering at me and my spectacles.”

“Do you mind?”

“No of course not.”

She had spoken too quickly. “Can you see perfectly through them?”

“Yes.”

“And can you see at all without them?”

“Yes, of course. It’s just, er, much clearer, and I’m in the habit of wearing them.”

“So if a gentleman comes up to dance with you, you can see his face clearly?”

Perry led her back into the bedchamber. “The only gentlemen who ask me to dance are my brothers. I suppose I’m too tall for the others, or they fear I’ll tread on their toes.”

Sirena laughed. “Or they fear you’ll see too much—the spot of wine on their neck cloth, or the rip in their sleeve seam that their valet didn’t repair, or the bags under their eyes from swilling brandy all night.”

“Or the pustules on their chins.” Perry giggled.

Sirena followed her into the fawn-colored bedchamber. “Or the stalk of celery between their teeth.”

Perry laughed out loud and leaned against the bed post. “Oh, you must come live here, Sirena. You must. Who knows how long Father will be around? He’s just beginning to appreciate Bakeley and to listen to him. And he’s so looking forward to more grandchildren, especially an heir.”

“Will he be happy if I produce a girl?”

“Most assuredly, but he’ll tell you to keep trying for a boy.” She closed her mouth, colored brightly, and then burst into more giggles.

This was not the staid girl Sirena had seen the night of the musicale, and wasn’t it wonderful? “I’ll need to find a good dressmaker.”

“Why, the dress you married in yesterday was perfect.”

“Barton made that, Lady Jane’s abigail. I can’t impose upon her. Now with me gone, she’ll be fetching and hauling like never before.” She could not imagine how the ladies would cope. It was sad to think of Lady Jane reduced yet again.

“Was your work really so...so...”

“So servile? Yes, but no, because I didn’t mind it. It was like being a poor relation living with a kindly older sister.”

Perry’s brows drew together. “Who is also poor.”

“Well, yes. But very proud, so do not say I said it.”

“It’s a wonder Lord Cheswick doesn’t provide for her better.” Perry’s frown deepened. “This house is very large. Three times the size of most London townhouses.”

More plotting. The girl was as bad as her father. “No. I don’t think—”

“She’s almost a contemporary of Father’s.” Perry’s intense gaze fixed upon a spot above the fireplace. “It could be quite diverting for him.”

Perry turned that gaze on Sirena, her eyes bright behind the lenses. “Perhaps a diversion for him would benefit us all. And she could be of use. I know I’m to instruct you in managing this house, but truth to tell, I struggle with the task, and the thought of entertaining as Father wishes petrifies me. I spent more time in the stables at Cransdall, you see. As the daughter of an earl, surely you managed such things yourself and likely know more than I.”

So she’d been wrong about Lady Perry.

Sirena shook her head. “I grew up in the stables also. I was young when my mother died, and after that, we never had guests.”

“Ever?”

“Never. We…” We were pariahs, unwelcome by all of the quality. Sirena sighed. “My father simply withdrew. He and I, we took an occasional meal together, but that was it.”

“Not even the heir came to visit? He was a cousin, was he not?”

“He was, but I only met him after my father died.” And she didn’t want to speak of him now. “But I shall ponder the matter of Lady Jane. In truth, she thinks to persuade Barton to open up her own dressmaking enterprise. I can’t imagine how much capital would be required, can you? We’ve all discussed and debated it upon a rainy night, but we couldn’t work out the costs.”

“Bakeley would know. He’s a genius at business.”

“Ladies’ business?”

“Any business. Business is business, he says. And he’s rich in his own right.” She tapped a finger on her chin. “And we could tie this in with Lady Hackwell’s charity. The girls can work as seamstresses, the boys as porters.”

Perry was well on her way to arranging Lady Jane’s move and the establishment of Barton’s dress shop.

This was a very managing family.

And yet...did it not speak volumes that Perry would undertake such fearless planning? Her constraints were few, it seemed. Perhaps here, Sirena would also find some freedom, with access to the horses she’d seen earlier in the mews, and help with the duties of the lady of the house, and, if Lady Jane was welcomed, she’d have another ally, and most importantly of all, a foil for her new father’s scheming.

And there was still the matter of the Hollister files the man must have stashed away somewhere.

“Perry, I’m finding myself more and more persuaded. I wonder, while the gentlemen are away, would you finish the tour of the house?”

Perry clasped both of her hands, her fierce squeezing telling Sirena just how much she wanted her there.

“Truly, Sirena? You will be the mistress here? I’ll be more than happy to show you the rest of the house. What would you like to see?”

Your father’s study. She leaned in close. “Every chamber. Every nook and cranny. Every storage place. Everything.”

Bakeley pulled aside the curtain of the town carriage. They’d turned down a street in Knightsbridge lined with modest homes. “This is not the way to the Home Office, Father.”

“We’re not going to the Home Office. We’re meeting with Farnsworth at another location.”

So now, at least, he had a name.

Charley lifted his head from his doze. “Who is Farnsworth?”

“A colleague recently returned to town.”

“A former colleague.” Bakeley waited for his father to correct him, upbraid him, or otherwise reveal that he was in fact not at all the poor sick man who had retired from the spying business, that he was still quite actively employed, but with a better cover.

Shaldon smiled. “And as it happens, Farnsworth is your godfather, Charles, though I don’t wonder you don’t remember. And by the way, you look like the devil today.”

Charley grinned. “Thank you, Father.”

Bakeley fought the irritation rising. “He did not mean it to be a compliment.”

“I suppose you were with your lady friend last night,” Shaldon said.

Charley said nothing. He also had learned to wait out the paternal pauses.

And…of course, Bakeley was present and not supposed to know Charley’s affair was more spying.

“It will take its toll. Only compare how fresh your brother looks, and that after two sleepless days.”

Charley smirked. “And his wedding night.”

“And I did not shirk my duty last night. Perhaps it’s time we find you a bride, Charley.”

“By your schedule, I have a few more years before becoming leg-shackled. And I do believe it is I who spotted your bride and turned her over to you.”

Shaldon’s cane cracked. “You are bickering like a child, Charles.” The carriage came to a stop. “I don’t think we want you with us in your current state.”

Charley started to grin and swiped a hand across his mouth to hide it.

Shaldon climbed out of the carriage first.

“Curse you, Charley,” Bakeley said. “This is one of his traps. If I don’t return by nightfall, send runners to search for me.”

“I confess, I’m relieved. And after all, this concerns your lady, does it not?”

“So he says.”

“Bakeley,” Shaldon called.

Bakeley gritted his teeth. “There’s another matter of Sirena’s I’m looking into. Can you meet me later at White’s?”

Charley yawned.

“You did disrupt my wedding night.”

“It ran into the morning, did it? No wonder you’re looking so refreshed and pleased. You shall have to tell me all about it. Or...not.” He laughed. “Stop glowering. Yes. I’ll meet you there.”

The carriage drove off and the front door opened. A strapping footman greeted them, eying them up and down, and when they’d passed his examination, leading them up a set of stairs.

A man rose from an armchair near the front window. He was younger than Shaldon, shorter than his visitors, with a wiry physique and dark hair streaked with iron gray.

“Lord Shaldon.” He bowed. “Lord Bakeley.”

“Be seated.” Shaldon waved both of them into chairs, exactly as if he were the lord of this manor.

The room was a study or library, and from the disorderly arrangement of books and periodicals, clearly a gentlemen’s room.

Shaldon sat erect. “So what have you learned, Farnsworth?”

“As you expected, he’s disappeared again.”

Bakeley’s head spun. They’d been plotting behind his back for far longer than a few days.

A sense of betrayal gnawed at him. He shook it off and made himself concentrate.

“I received a report from my eldest. Gibson and his people were attacked on the way to Little Norwick.”

Silence stretched as though both men were reading each other’s thoughts.

Well, Bakeley was not a mind reader. “Mr. Farnsworth—”

“Lord Farnsworth, son. Farnsworth is a baron.”

“I see. So happy we’ve now been introduced, my lord. Who is the man you’re reporting on?”

“Donegal,” Shaldon said dryly.

As if Bakeley should have known that.

“Fineas Donegal, to be exact,” Farnsworth said, “of County Donegal.”

“Pseudonymous, in other words.”

“Indeed.” Farnsworth nodded his head in a way that Bakeley took to mean he was pleased.

The patronizing irritated him. “How can we be sure this was not just a random group of highwaymen? Bink was conveying new goods for his home, after all.”

Shaldon nodded. “It’s possible.”

Bakeley had reviewed Bink’s scribbled missive earlier that morning. Their four attackers had been injured, but all had managed to escape. “Father, how soon will the men you sent report back?”

“As soon as ever they can,” Farnsworth said. “And may I congratulate you, sir, on your marriage to Lady Sirena Hollister? We’ll do all we can to keep her safe.”

A hard knot formed in his chest. “From Donegal?”

“From any danger, Lord Bakeley.”

“And is she in danger from Donegal?”

Farnsworth looked to Shaldon.

Bakeley leaned back casually and crossed his leg. “It is she who wishes to speak to Donegal. She believes he has information about her brother. It’s what he told the men reporting to you, the O’Brians. Tell me, why would this dangerous radical Donegal lead her to believe he would have such information?”

“Do you know her brother’s reputation?” Shaldon eyed him in that supercilious manner that said he was too rash, too careless.

He brushed some dust off his boot. After his talk with Bink, he’d recollected the story he’d pieced together after his visit to Glenmorrow years ago. “Hollister turned on all that was British and became an Irish nationalist.”

“Roland James Hollister, yes,” Shaldon said. “That was the story. But Fitzgerald’s plotting soured him on the rebels. He found he didn’t wish to kill his own father. But once ensnared, there was no way out, except to counterspy. In the end, he worked for me.”

Red blazes clouded Bakeley’s vision. Of course. He had known it in his bones, all those years ago, sent to deliver a hefty purse to the Earl of Glenmorrow. He’d known then that Father had his hand and arm in this business all the way to his shoulder. “So Donegal wants—what? Revenge on Hollister through Sirena?” The thought sent chills through him. “That makes no sense if Hollister has been dead these, what? Fifteen years?”

The silence stretched long enough for his brain to reach across the short space and know what his father was thinking. Donegal believed Hollister would contact his sister.

It was up to him to keep her safe, because he did not want to lose her.

“I should like to hear this story from the beginning. Will you indulge me?”

His father sighed deeply, seeming to embrace every one of the lines on his face. “Pour us a brandy, Liam.”

The usual cloud of tobacco smoke enveloped Bakeley as he entered White’s. He spotted Charley seated with two young bucks whose names didn’t come readily to him, especially not now, not while his mind was clouded with the possibilities of danger to Sirena.

Father had dropped him, wondering aloud why Bakeley wasn’t returning directly to Shaldon House and his new wife, but promising to check on her.

“Bakeley.” Charley raised a hand in greeting. The other two men welcomed him and hastily took their leave.

“Fine fellows,” Charley said.

“Your school friends, are they not? I don’t remember their names.”

“They won’t notice. Foxed already, they are.”

“Indeed.”

“And you’ll be anxious to get back to your lady, eh? Too anxious to remember the names of a couple of nonpareils. From the grave scowl, I’ve hit it, haven’t I, Bakeley?”

He had the waiter bring him a brandy and settled into his chair. A robust card game was taking place at the nearest table. Otherwise they could talk in reasonable privacy.

“You’re right, of course.”

“Hah. I knew it. What part of her business did you want to discuss with me? You don’t need money, I know. Is it a government matter? I’m rather powerless but I do have a few friends in the foreign office and the treasury.”

“It’s a soldier I’m inquiring about, or rather a former soldier. Sterling Hollister.”

Charley sipped his drink. “A relation of hers?”

“Her cousin, the new Earl of Glenmorrow.”

“Have you spoken with Bink or Hackwell?”

“Not yet. But I don’t want too many snooping.”

“I have friends in Horse Guards who might know. Yet the name is familiar.” He tapped his chin. “I’ve heard it recently. British is he?”

“Or Anglo Irish. Sirena says he’s wanting to enter Parliament.”

“He will wait a good long time for an Irish opening in Lords.” He sat up. “Hold there. Is he the fellow entering the Commons? I’d heard there was a new Irish Earl wishing to lower himself for a foot in the door, as it were.” He rubbed his hands together. “You’re in luck. With Bink and I taking seats, we can snoop around without suspicion.”

“He’s in town then?”

“I don’t know.” Charley looked around the room. “If I ask one of these fools about him, the word will get out.” His eyes lit and he waved at a man who’d just entered. “Penderbrook will know. He knows everything.”

“Can he be discreet?”

“Trust me, Bakeley.”

“With your reputation?”

Charley laughed. “One that is carefully honed.”

Penderbrook joined them, his open face beaming. “Everly, did I not tell you your money was on the wrong horse?”

“Very well, yes. I must accede to your superior knowledge of horseflesh. Never mind that my family raised the horses the Conqueror rode when he crossed the Channel. Do you know my brother, Bakeley?”

Penderbrook bowed. “We met at a boxing match some time ago.”

“Did my man win?” Bakeley asked.

Penderbrook flushed. “I believe not, my lord.”

“Penderbrook thinks that he never errs, Bakeley, but don’t believe it. I can go through the betting book and show you all the wagers he’s lost.” He waved a waiter over and had him pour a third drink. “You must lift a glass with us. Bakeley has got himself leg shackled only yesterday to the very fetching Lady Sirena Hollister.”

A spark lit in Penderbrook’s eyes, guileless and eager. He was younger than Charley, one of his brother’s many friends making his way in society, wanting to be the man in the know with the first juicy piece of gossip. Bakeley dutifully lifted the glass and drank, swallowing a groan along with the liquor.

“The announcement will go out tomorrow,” Charley said, “so we’re counting on you, Penderbrook, to wait until then to spread the news far and wide. I know I can count on you.”

“Of course. I’m the soul of discretion.” The younger man’s eyes twinkled. “At least I can be.”

“Bakeley doesn’t wish to be entertaining curious callers for at least a few days, do you, brother? He’s fortunate the marriage was carried out with very little trouble, especially from the bride’s family. She’s an orphan, and Glenmorrow went to some distant Hollister cousin.”

Penderbrook frowned and gazed off for a moment. “Sterling Hollister? The new Earl of Glenmorrow? You have married his cousin, sir? But he’s also a member of White’s. He’s in town now. He’ll be disappointed to hear his cousin married without his presence, since he’s now head of the family.”

“Good heavens.” Charley looked around. “Is he here now? Will you introduce us?”

“I don’t see him, and I believe he said he was going to the country for a few days, visiting a friend in Lancashire. What ho, strange is it not, him going into the Commons when he’s a lord?”

Charley frowned. “He gives up his lordly privileges, does he not?”

Bakeley stared at his drink, his vision clearing, an idea taking shape. “A risky business. He can be tried for crimes just like a commoner.”

Penderbrook laughed. “Good thing he’s a gentleman. Capital fellow, they say, else he wouldn’t be a member here, eh?”

“Yes,” Charley said. “No rogues here. Perhaps you should call on him, Bakeley, when he returns to town. Do you know where he’s lodging, Pender?”

“The Oxford Arms, I believe. He hasn’t taken rooms or found a friend or relation to impose on yet.”

Charley grimaced. “You must tell him, Bakeley, he’s not welcome at Shaldon House until after your honeymoon.”

Sterling Hollister would never be welcome. “He had no residence here?” Bakeley asked. “Where did he live before coming here?”

Penderbrook shook his head. “At his estate in Ireland, I presume. Though before that, I don’t know. An army man. Telling stories about Waterloo, I hear.”

“Indeed.” Charley’s face clouded.

Charley had been at Waterloo, though to hear him talk he’d got only as far as the Duchess of Devonshire’s ball.

“You must introduce him to Bakeley and me the next time, Pender.”

Penderbrook promised to send round a note when he heard Hollister was back in town.

Which would not be necessary. Bakeley’s next stop would be that inn, and with enough coin he could know everything he wanted to know about his new cousin’s stay there.

He said his goodbyes and settled into a hackney. Nothing would proceed on the Donegal matter until his father’s men returned from up north.

His hair rose and a ripple went through his skin. Hollister had gone north, just as Bink was attacked. Could the two facts be related?

He shook his head. The description of Donegal, rough and hairy, was not the description of a gentleman. No, they were two different men, and two different threats to Sirena. One threat to her person, the other to her person and reputation.

Perhaps he shouldn’t bother seeking the man out. Perhaps shutting him out of society and influence was a better tactic.

Hollister would call Sirena a liar. That was a given, so any legal dispute was his word against hers. The Glenmorrow servants might testify, but only if they hadn’t been terrorized already, only if Bakeley could protect them from Hollister’s wrath.

And then what? A trial that would drag her name through the London gutters? He wouldn’t put her through it.

There must be another way. If he were on better terms with his father, he’d mention it to him, but then he’d have to share with him what the man did to her.

Or perhaps his father knew it already. Would Shaldon have declared himself happy with the marriage if that were the case? He didn’t know his father well enough to answer that question.

At the inn, he tracked down the proprietor and greased the wheels of his plan. Hollister had indeed kept rooms there for himself and two servants, and was expected to return on the morrow. Yes, the innkeeper would send a message when the Earl of Glenmorrow arrived, and most importantly, the man promised to keep Bakeley’s inquiry secret from everyone, including the man he was tracking.

A promise that could easily be bought by a higher bidder.

He must make one more stop on his journey home.

It was near dark when Bakeley returned to the Shaldon residence. He sought out his father and found him in the library with Perry.

“She’s safe,” Shaldon said. “I’ve not locked her in the dungeons.”

The dry humor caught him up. It was not like his father to joke. “Good to hear. Where is she then?”

Perry smiled. “In your chamber.”

He should send Perry away so he could talk to Shaldon in private. Or...he could talk to him after he’d checked on Sirena. Yes, that would be better.

He excused himself and ran up the stairs. His bedchamber door stood open and a maid was dusting. She bobbed a curtsey.

He blinked. All of his things were gone—books, bottles, newspapers, all of the paraphernalia that made the room comfortable. “What the devil?”

“Oh, sir.”

The housekeeper entered. “My lord, we’ve just got everything moved.”

“Moved?”

“Yes. Her ladyship ordered, er, instructed, that all of your things be moved to your new chambers. The bathing chamber was very appealing.”

The bathing chamber. “You’ve moved me to the state suite.”

“Yes.”

“Very well. Carry on.”

The bathing chamber was appealing. The great tub there could easily accommodate two.

He knocked on the door of the lady’s bedchamber and waited, hearing footsteps crossing the room, anticipation building in him.

Jenny opened the door and curtsied.

“Is Lady Sirena here?”

“Yes, milord.”

He pushed past the maid. Sirena’s single trunk stood lonely and dwarfed by the massive expanse of space, and another young maid was helping with the unpacking. Sirena was nowhere in sight.

She’s in your chamber.

He dismissed the maids, and hurried through the dressing room and into his chamber, clawing at his neck cloth.

His books were stacked neatly, his razor and brushes laid out in order. A side table held an assortment of liquor and glasses.

And the door to the bathing chamber was ajar. He flung off his coats.