Chapter One
Mayfair
1817
Does this man think he’s invisible?
Isobel Tinker stared out the window of her Mayfair travel shop. On the sidewalk outside, looming with his face to the glass, a tall man stared back.
The window was several yards away and the man’s features were obscured by a hat, but she could see the shadowy outline of his eyes through theaandnthat spelled “Everland Travel” across the pane.
She raised her brows in an expression of,Yes?
No reaction.
She gestured to the door.Come in?
Nothing.
She gave an elegant, two-finger wave.
He remained expressionless, as if he couldn’t see her at all.
“Samantha?” Isobel called to her clerk. “There’s a man standing at the window. Can you see him?”
“A man?” Samantha asked, sorting folios behind the counter.
“There. To the left. Purplish greatcoat, high collar, highwayman’s hat.”
“Oh yes, I see him,” said Samantha, cocking her head. “Shall I get the saber?”
Isobel swallowed a laugh. “The saber, I hope, would be precipitous in this moment. He appears simply to be—”
“Stalking,” Samantha said knowingly. “Or is he more... casing? Calculating?”
“I was going to say ‘standing,’ ” said Isobel. “He has the look of a man who wishes to come inside but for some reason... cannot. Perhaps he has a diametrical opposition to...”
“Rule of law?”
“Travel agents,” finished Isobel.
“Well, I’ve set the locks on the windows and he’s far too broad for the chimney. So if he will not use the door, never you fear—”
“I’m notafraid, Samantha. I simply wished to confirm that he isn’t an apparition. Ifyousee him, andIsee him, then he must be there.”
“Oh, he’s there, to be sure,” said Samantha. “And I don’t mind saying, I don’t like the look of him. Too tall by half. I cannot abide tall men. Never have done.”
“And why is that?” Isobel learned a new thing that Samantha could not abide nearly every day.
“They can see over the heads of crowds.”
“And this is a problem because...?”
“Stampedes,” said Samantha. “Started by tall men, one and all.” Samantha’s fierceness was matched only by her deeply held suspicions. Never had a spectacled vicar’s daughter indulged such robust bloodlust.
“Right,” said Isobel, looking again to the window.
And now the man was gone. Of course.
