Sirena hurried into the tiny room they used as a kitchen, greeted Molly, their maid of all work, and dropped her basket. Her heart galloped like Bakeley’s horse must have done that morning before his master stopped her on the street.

She’d not lost her gift after all. She’d not lost it, and Bakeley’s horse proved it. That dappled nose had drawn calm from her and stirred up a memory of Pooka. Perhaps that gelding was her issue, though in truth, that sort of coloring was common enough.

Her breath hitched. And how was Pooka? Bakeley had made his poor lathered fellow stand waiting in the morning’s cold air. Was he careless of his cattle?

Or was he just that taken with her?

“What happened, my lady?” Molly asked. “Ye’re pale about the gills.”

She forced a laugh. “’Tis the stench of this city, Molly. Will I ever get used to it?”

“Nay, nor will I.” Molly reached for the basket. “A turnip. How ever did you know I was wanting one for the stew? A fey one you are, my lady.”

Sirena laughed and shooed her away. “A lucky guess.”

It hadn’t been lucky at all, drawing a rich lord’s attention, in the street, of all places. She went about the preparations for Lady Jane’s breakfast, letting her overcharged heart cool.

How far had he followed her? How much had he seen?

Jamie, her brother, was lost to the world, but not to her. She’d never truly believed it before, and she didn’t believe it now.

She lifted the heavy tray and went down the short corridor to the drawing room.

Lady Jane sat at the small table in her dressing gown, a frilly white cap hiding her still-dark hair, a scandal sheet spread before her.

“Good morning.” Sirena infused the greeting with cheer. “What news then? Did they report on our appearance at Lady Hackwell’s ball?”

“Not so far,” Lady Jane said. “You went out again early.”

“Yes. And you’ll be ever so happy I did when you taste what I’ve brought you.” She set out the plates, cups and steaming pot.

“I don’t like to think of you walking the streets of this town without one of us. I don’t like you going out alone.”

Lady Jane had a sharp look about her. Perhaps the run-in with Shaldon had unsettled her also.

“Well, and I’m not alone. There’s the baker’s boy I chat with each morning, and the street sweeper who walks ahead of me chattering for a farthing. And the grocer’s wife whose rheumy knee tells the weather each day. I inquire about the forecast with her.”

And making other inquiries, she was.

“You know what I mean,” the lady grumbled, flipping a page of newsprint. “I feel a responsibility for you.”

Sirena steadied her hand and poured Lady Jane a cup of tea. Six and twenty she was, as much a spinster as Lady Jane. And though she hated dissembling with the lady who was her only friend, the O’Brian boys were in town. It was Brighid’s own luck that she’d run into them. Like her, they’d hied themselves out of the new earl’s grasp, working here and there, wherever a strong back was needed.

“It’s grateful I am too, ma’am. But you mustn’t worry.”

“The streets are teeming with people up from the country. Of course I worry.”

“This is out of the norm, then?” Sirena asked. “Are they here for the coronation? It’s months away.”

’Twas also the old king’s death that had brought the O’Brians to town—as if that would stay the executioner’s blade for an Irishman fallen out of favor. They’d come not for pomp and glitter but for work and food. Meeting the boys had seemed a miracle to her.

“Yes, but the preparations have begun, and there’s work here,” Lady Jane said.

Sirena had hired the boys. A strong back she didn’t need, but open ears on the docks and seedy places where a girl alone would find only trouble, yes, for that she’d offered every bit of her savings, and they’d agreed. Gossip, news, any loose word about the shipwreck so many years past—what better place than the docks of London, where sailors from all over the world passed in and out?

She must know if anyone survived the wreck of the Honey Bee. If Jamie lived, she must know the truth. A chat with the first mate on the packet from Ireland had stirred him back to life in her heart. If he lived, she would find him.

She felt certain the English government would know. Shaldon would know.

Lady Jane stabbed a finger at the paper. “Here it is.” She cast Sirena a grim look and went back to the newssheet. “Wealthy Lord S was seen frowning as his heir danced with a golden-haired lady reputed to be of a noble family fallen from favor.”

Blast the man, Bakeley. For certain, she’d found a way into Shaldon’s home through Lady Perpetua’s kindness, but she’d hoped she’d be merely another speck-on-the-wall genteel companion, unseen, unheard, invisible. Not prey to a randy lord who’d never be anything but above her, and in all the worst ways.

Bakeley found his brother Bink alone in the breakfast room of the townhouse he shared with his wife, Paulette, their infant son, her uncle Kincaid, and a handful of servants.

None of them footmen, unfortunately. Bakeley walked straight to the sideboard and poured himself coffee.

Bink looked up from where he was scanning the morning news sheets and raised a bushy red eyebrow, in much the same irritating way as their father. “Went home to shave, I see.”

“Just had a jaunt in the park with one of the Connemara geldings.”

Bink grunted. He didn’t share the Everly passion for horses.

“He’s a spirited fellow. Where’s Paulette this morning? Still abed?”

“She’s in the nursery. Our son is always hungry. Do you want breakfast?”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“Ring the bell.”

He laughed. Only at Bink’s home would the heir to an earldom be required to summon his own breakfast. “Anyone else would have the food on the sideboard.”

“And footmen fetching and carrying, but this here is a commoner’s home.” A maid appeared and he looked up from his paper. “Fanny, bring a plate for his lordship. Some of everything will be fine—no, make that plenty of everything.”

Bakeley plopped into a chair, feeling envious. Bink could breakfast at his leisure without being harped upon. But of course—his marrying according to the old man’s wishes hadn’t been easy either. “What a difference marriage lines make.”

He had Bink’s full attention now. “Feeling sorry for yourself, your lordship? The old man pairing you up with some white-clad lass?”

His stomach rumbled. “Denholm’s daughter.”

“And? Let me guess, she’s a pretty young chit who can discuss the weather in twenty different ways without offending anyone, and can execute a perfect country dance as well as sing The Yellow Hair’d Laddie. Will she be performing at Perry’s musical evening?”

Lord, but he hoped not. “I have not yet met her.”

“Ah, well, I’ll hover nearby and watch the fireworks as love strikes.”

The maid entered carrying a steaming plate. Silence reigned until the door closed on her.

“I don’t plan to marry on Father’s whim.”

Bink sent him a quizzical look. “Like I did, you mean?”

He sighed. “I’ve already apologized for my part in that.”

“Yes, well, as it turned out, Paulette and I do suit, quite well.” He grinned. “I would never say it to his face but he was right about this match.”

“Well, he is not right about the Denholm chit.”

“After the musicale, you might wish to eat those words as avidly as you’re plowing through that bacon.”

He took a bite of toast. Bink might be right. Perhaps he should keep his options open, at least until after he’d met Shaldon’s intended candidate.

“I did hear that you were quite taken with a young lady last night.”

That got his ears twitching. It was the same sly tone their father used when he was up to something. “She was quite stunning,” he drawled.

“An Irish lass.” Bink watched with an amused intensity that left him feeling confused. Bink had an Irish mother, a girl Shaldon had met on some government mission, when he was still the younger son, before he’d inherited. Shaldon hadn’t been able to marry her, of course. He’d been called back to England by his brother’s death, and anyway, Bink’s mother had been too low socially.

Unlike Lady Sirena, an earl’s daughter. She’d be within Bakeley’s reach, if he were so inclined.

Bink laughed.

And Bakeley knew—his brother knew more. Perhaps this time Bink was the one in on Father’s manipulations. Well, turn-about was fair play, wasn’t it?

And forewarned was forearmed.

“What do you know about her?” Bakeley asked.

“Besides her bonny looks?” Bink leaned back and cocked a foot across his knee.

“You are baiting me, just like Shaldon would do.”

Bink grimaced and threw the papers aside. “Her brother, Roland James Hollister, was lost at sea escaping the Crown. He was much older than her. Word was he fought under Corcoran and was connected to Emmet before the nationalist movement was finally stopped.”

“He was a traitor.”

“Aye. The father disavowed him and hung onto the title.”

His hair rose on his neck. “Glenmorrow.” He sliced through a sausage and chewed calmly while inside his nerves danced, remembering. The sudden mission to visit and buy up Glenmorrow’s best stock. The bedraggled estate.

The stable lad he’d argued with, who was no lad.

He carefully swallowed. “That business would have been years ago. Ancient history.”

Bink grunted. “The worst of the rebellion was years ago. He was lost sometime after that.”

She was unsuitable, Father had said. “Even then, she would have been a child.”

Bink harrumphed. “In war, who suffers more than the women and children?”

The thought of Sirena suffering disturbed him. Her shadowed, defiant face as she’d proudly stated her horse’s lineage and challenged him to a race, reared up at him.

He pushed away from the table and began to pace. “Might Shaldon have been in Ireland then?”

“Who knows? Quite possibly.”

“What are you not telling me, Bink?”

“I haven’t been drawn into any conspiracy, if that’s what you’re asking. I learned all of this from Hackwell, who learned it from his lady, who learned it from Lady Jane Monthorpe.” Bink stood also. “And I made the inquiry because, from the look of you last night, I assumed you’d want to know.”

“Funny. Father dared me to investigate. Said it would bring her background to light and ruin her reputation.”

“Well then, see that you don’t blab this among those fools at your club.”

“Or that fool brother of ours.”

Bink laughed. “He’s the perfect sort of spy, shagging his way through every foreign delegate’s wife’s bedchamber. He won’t ruin her reputation if you tell him not to.” He quirked an eyebrow. “But what about you, Bakeley?”

Heat rose in him. Bink always suspected the worst of his brothers, as if being born on the right side of an aristocratic bed lowered a man’s character. “What do you suppose Father had to do with her brother’s downfall? He told me most emphatically that she’s unsuitable, and that I’m to stay away from her.”

“I imagine Shaldon has a file tucked away somewhere with the name Hollister on it. Whether he has one for her, I don’t know. She’s a young woman with only a spinster to protect her. She deserves the benefit of discretion, and to be safe from bored aristocrats tired of their mistresses.”

That was pointed enough to spike his anger, but he bit back a retort and picked a spot of lint off his coat, counting to ten. Shaldon’s return to England had driven Bakeley from sole management of the Shaldon empire into this noble boredom, much more frustrating than either Bink or Charley could imagine.

He forced a laugh. “Did you know Father is scheming to get you a barony?”

“Bull. He wants me in the Commons where he thinks he can control my vote. And you’re changing the subject.”

“I don’t ruin young ladies of any class or rank.”

Bink’s shoulders lowered on a deep exhale. “My faith is restored. Now you must come and see what can result from a quick trip to Gretna Green. Your nephew is sprouting a new tooth.”

He rolled his eyes, but it was only a pretense, one his older brother would expect. His nephew was crawling now and starting to be interesting. “Lead on.”

Besides, if he went home, he would only encounter Father at breakfast. By late morning, the old man would be gone, making the rounds of his cronies, and lining up his chess pieces for Parliament, where Bink and Charley had entered the lower house.

While his heir twiddled his thumbs and pursued Shaldon’s choice of a bride.

No. After Shaldon went out, he would peruse the files Father had locked in the study. And then he would accompany Perry when she made her call on the ladies.