A sound broke from Deena, half laugh, half sob. Wendy clasped her shoulder. Alfie cleared his throat like a man blinking back grit. Raphi tilted his face toward the ceiling, muttering something about dust, though his sleeve brushed quickly across his eyes. Rachel only smiled, quiet and immovable as stone.
Maisie laughed softly, astonished, a tear slipping free. “Yes,” she whispered, answering the question he hadn’t managed to form.
And Felix, at last, let himself breathe.
Chapter Thirty
An hour laterat the Pearlers’, Maisie couldn’t stop fiddling with the new ring on her finger. The diamond was already on her hand. Raphi had set it quickly in the band, his craftsman’s touch sure and steady, and Rachel’s carriage carried them back to the Pearlers in silence. Felix’s palm had rested against hers the whole way. By the time they stepped down at the gate, men were already watching, their stillness too practiced to mistake. Maisie had felt the brunt of it—but this time, she did not hide her hand. There was no longer any point in denying the bond between Felix, the Klonimuses, and the Pearlers. List would strike. Let him. They were ready.
Maisie didn’t leave the window after. From the upstairs front room she could see the narrow gate that opened onto the Pearlers’ garden, ivy-framed and usually quiet. But today, a man leaned too long against the lamppost across the street. Earlier that day, it had been another—shorter, with his hat tugged low and a cigar that never quite burned down.
She had stopped believing in coincidence as soon as she’d noticed them. And for hers and Deena’s safety, Rachel had asked them to stay. The household of the little marquess wasn’t ready for an ambush by List’s men. The Pearlers lived ready.
Behind her, Deena shifted on the settee. The girl’s breathing stayed slow, and Maisie forced herself to turn. The shawl had slipped fromher shoulders; Maisie tucked it back and smoothed a hand over her curls. Her sister hadn’t asked for this upheaval. Neither had John. Yet here we are, she thought—hiding behind lavender curtains while men with sharp shoes and sharper eyes wait for one of us to slip.
She pressed a kiss to Deena’s brow.
On the desk lay a letter, half-finished. Addressed to John at Eton.Are you well? Have they asked questions? Are you safe?She had not yet chosen how to close it. “Your aunt” felt like a lie. “Your Maisie” felt too much like a vow. And Eleanor… Eleanor was gone.Perhaps I am no one now,she thought—just a shadow with a pen.
A knock startled her.
She crossed quickly, heart tight. Rachel Pearler’s voice came softly through the door. “It’s Dr. Fernando and his fiancée. The princess.”
Maisie opened. Rachel stood with a tray and a faint smile. “He claims it’s a patient call. I say he’s carrying a message from Faivish… ahem, Felix.”
Maisie followed her into the parlor. Dr. Fernando rose at once—noble bearing, warm eyes—and bowed low. But it was the woman beside him who made Maisie falter.
Princess Theodora. Here, in Rachel Pearler’s parlor. Accepting tea in her gloved hand, speaking gently with Fave Pearler, as though such visits were routine.
Maisie’s mind reeled.
And yet—this was not the first. They had come in sequence, one after another, as if taking watch. Alfie with Lady Beatrice, leaving behind vials of oil for “the nerves, not the lungs.” Nick Folsham and Lady Penelope with their shortbread and stories of Faivish searching for her, their laughter carefully ordinary. And now this—royalty at Rachel’s table, her name spoken aloud by a princess.
Maisie’s breath caught. “You’re all… connected to him.”
Dr. Fernando smiled, kissing her hand. “Felix has more friends than enemies. To us, he is family.” He glanced toward Deena. “Which,I understand, now includes you both.”
The princess lifted her cup. “Felix never forgets a promise. Neither do we.”
Rachel lingered a moment at the threshold, her look saying what words did not:You are not alone here.
Later, when the parade of guests had gone and the rain thickened against the glass, Maisie sat by the fire while Deena read nearby. She unfolded the letter again; the ink had blurred slightly at the edges. She added a single line:I will never stop protecting you. No matter what happens next.
She didn’t sign it. Only folded it, pressed it once to her lips, and carried it to Rachel’s study to ask a footman to deliver it discreetly. The air itself felt tighter now, as if the city held its breath.
And beneath it all, a question pulsed with each tick of the clock:Where is Felix? Why has he sent everyone else—but not come himself?
The next time Rachel passed through, Maisie stopped her. “There’s a man outside. By the gate. He’s been there since morning.”
Rachel didn’t flinch. “We’ll send someone to check. Quietly.”
Maisie held her gaze. “If he’s out there, they’ve seen Felix. Or soon will.”
Rachel only nodded. “Whatever comes, we’ll be ready.”
Maisie’s throat tightened. “Thank you.”
Outside, the rain fell harder. Inside, she stood before the fire, arms folded tight, her breath shallow but steady.
