In addition to Elizabeth and shy artist Marjorie, there was clever pickpocket Chloe, acrobatic spy Graham, sweet animal trainer Jacob, and fearless master of disguise Tommy. After Bean’s death three years ago, the siblings’ bond only grew stronger… and their family grew bigger. Chloe married the Duke of Faircliffe and moved out. Bluestocking Philippa fell in love with their sister Tommy and moved in. Next came Graham’s wife, Balcovian warrioress Kuni—who was Elizabeth’s fencing partner and was also teaching her how to throw knives. And then just last summer, Marjorie had married Lord Adrian, bringing the total number of justice-seeking Wynchesters up to ten. Eleven, if you counted the baby.
Elizabeth did not count the baby.
“We’re all here,” she said in surprise.
It had been weeks since the whole family had filled the diningroom at the same time. They’d been busier than ever with clients and cases. More than that, four weddings in a row naturally meant that the newly married pairs would spend a fair portion of their time with their spouses rather than with their siblings. Chloe and Faircliffe only dropped by a few times per week to dineen famille.
Tommy piled a plate with kippers to share with Philippa. The lovebirds were always doing things like that. Little thoughtful, cozy gestures that Elizabeth would likely find deeply romantic if her heart weren’t forged of steel like the blade of her sword.
Oh, very well. She would never admit it aloud, but Elizabeth longed for a partner, too. Not a flirtation, or even a temporary affaire, but the full, true, sonnets-will-be-written-about-this whirlwind of romantic love.
You wouldn’t think a suitable companion would be this difficult to find. She was a woman of simple pleasures: scenic walks through pleasure gardens, wine-drenched candlelit dinners, impaling brigands through the gullet with a sharp blade. The usual.
She wasn’t even finicky! Elizabeth was open to accepting love in any form. Man… Woman… A lethal warrior or two… No,three, each of them larger and deadlier than the last… All right, yes, Elizabeth was finicky. She would settle for nothing less than a fearless soldier in shining armor who wanted her fighting at their side forevermore.
Andnobabies! Nothing dampened an afternoon of light bloodshed quite like the squalling of a helpless infant. Elizabeth would happily skip up to the altar with anyone who swashbuckled. Proficiency with a blade was her one and only obligatory criterion.
And likely the reason she was still a spinster at the age of one-and-thirty.
“You’ll never believe this,” Graham said from behind a stiff broadsheet. Each morning without fail, he read every newspaper and gossip rag in London from cover to cover.
Elizabeth took her place at the long dining table and glanced over at him with interest. “Is it an advertisement from a dashing knight in search of a bride?”
“You do not want to marrythispeacock.” Graham lowered the paper, revealing mischievous light brown eyes the same shade as his skin. A riot of black curls tumbled over his forehead, and he shook them out of his face. “I swear, the more money some of these noblemen acquire, the fewer brains in their heads. You remember Richard Reddington, of course?”
Elizabeth perked up. “Did he assassinate someone again?”
“Those rumors have yet to be proven.” Graham’s disgruntled expression indicated that even his formidable network of spies had thus far been unable to confirm the whispered tales.
“Who is Richard Reddington?” asked Tommy.
“He’s a viscount’s son with dubious associates in and out of polite society,” Graham answered. “He collects artifacts of war and struts around Dorset wearing replica military uniforms—despite the battles being long over and his never having fought in them.”
“He loves to be the center of attention,” Elizabeth explained. “When he’s not waltzing and carousing, Reddington leads a troupe of men who perform military reenactments.”
A troupe that wouldn’thaveto be exclusively comprised of male soldiers, if the men in question would accept the possibility of a woman wielding a weapon. Elizabeth would make just as good a leader as Reddington. Or at least a competent foot soldier.
Years ago, she’d applied to become part of his reenactment squadron—only to be laughed at for being a “useless jest.” Reddington and his followers had called herrotundandridiculousandas frightening as a mouse… despite refusing to take up arms against her in a nice, friendly duel to the death. Or at least until Elizabeth disproved their alleged male superiority.
With half a chance, she could also trounce him quite thoroughly in the enthusiastic debates on war strategies and past battles Reddington presided over in his various gentlemen’s clubs. If women weren’t barred from those, too.
Graham shook out the newspaper. “By day, Reddington parades through England with a flock of cronies flanking him, often in uniform. By night, he parades through ballrooms and humble homes alike, as the toast of the upwardly inclined.”
Philippa cringed in agreement. “My mother would have wedded me to him without blinking. And she’s far from the only society-adjacent hopeful for whom ‘heir to a title’ absolves any other sins.”
“But we mean real sins?” Tommy asked. “Crimes against something other than fashion and good breeding?”
Elizabeth stretched out her arms. “Just murder.”
Tommy swung her gaze toward Graham. “Is that true, or is Elizabeth being bloodthirsty again?”
“Again?” Elizabeth repeated in offense. “I neverstopbeing bloodthirsty.”
“You’re very sweet to Tickletums,” Jacob whispered, pointing to the hedgehog sleeping beneath her chair. “As you are to all my animals. As well as to everyone in this family. And our clients.”
“Never repeat such slander again,” Elizabeth whispered back. “You’ll ruin my reputation.”
Graham ignored them and lowered the paper to answer Tommy. “Possibly true. Reddington is not without enemies, a few of whom have conveniently vanished off the face of the earth after committing some perceived slight against him.”
