Botheration. I knew he was suspicious.
“I told you.” Fi flashed her winningest smile. “There was an urgent situation at the poorhouse. We were helping women in need.”
“Helping them or helping yourself?” Papa’s question was clearly rhetorical. “Are you certain this charity of yours is not just an excuse to have adventures?”
When one cannot defend,she thought determinedly,then one must attack.
“That is not fair.” She raised her chin. “Other parents would be overjoyed if their daughters were having the Season that I am having. Why am I being called to task for doing everything right? Furthermore, you never question what Max does.”
Max’s voice cut in. “What did I do?”
Pivoting, Fiona saw her brother enter the room. At seventeen, Max had sprouted up like a tree. Overnight, it seemed, he had lost his youthful pudginess. Beneath waves of unruly coffee-black hair, his face was now lean and taut. His eyes, though, were still the same: brown and hopelessly earnest.
“You shouldn’t sneak up on people, Max,” Fi retorted.
“I didn’t mean to, but I heard my name,” he said. “What are you talking about?”
“We are having a family discussion, dear,” Mama said.
“About me?” Max tilted his head. “Have I done something wrong?”
What an apple-polisher,Fi thought in exasperation. To her knowledge, her brother’s worst trespass was nabbing an extra piece of cake from the kitchen. Which he would gladly share if one asked, due to his good and generous heart.
“Of course not, darling,” Mama said quickly. “No one has done anything wrong. We were just having a chat about Fiona’s, um, schedule.”
At least Max was providing a useful distraction. By Fi’s calculations, Livy should be arriving at any moment, putting an end to the parental inquisition.
“Mama and I were reminding Fiona to pay attention to her future,” Papa said.
“Iampaying attention.”
Fi fought to keep the frustration out of her voice. Her parents hadno ideahow many balls she was keeping in the air, playing the parts of a successful debutante and secret agent. She could outperform the dashed jugglers at Astley’s Amphitheatre. The truth was she did feel a bit frayed at the edges...not that she would admit it.
I can handle everything. I always have.
“Then why haven’t you settled on a husband?” Papa raised his brows. “God knows you have a long enough list to choose from.”
“No one possesses all the qualities I seek in a husband. And you,” she said pointedly, “taught me never to settle.”
Papa’s gaze thinned. “Be that as it may, popularity is a fickle thing, my dear; you must not rely on it to last forever. Take too long closing the deal, and you may regret it.”
Hoping the lecture was over, she bit her tongue.
“Don’t be cross, Fiona,” Mama said. “We love you and wish to keep you safe.”
Whereas Papa’s sermon had fanned Fi’s defiance, Mama’s genuine concern dumped ashes on the flames. Truth be told, Fi felt guilty. She knew her parents wanted to protect her; she just wished they accepted her as well.
“I know,” she muttered.
The lines eased around Mama’s eyes. “With crime on the rise, it simply isn’t safe for you to be traipsing about London. Why, this morning the papers said there was another attack by the Sherwood Band. Lord and Lady Easton were held up in their carriage atgunpoint.”
“Until those criminals are captured,” Papa said, “Mama and I have decided that you must take a pair of footmen with you when you visit Lady Fayne’s.”
The decree felt like a noose tightening around Fi’s neck. To date, she’d gotten away with bringing along her lady’s maid Brigitte. She’d hired Brigitte on Charlie’s recommendation; her mentor had praised the maid’s skills, which included loyalty and discretion. While Brigitte could be depended upon to keep Fi’s secrets, footmen were another matter.
“I am perfectly safe at Charlie’s,” she protested. “Please trust me on this.”
“It is not about trust but safety,” Papa said firmly.
