Arch felt the pieces settle into a shape he did not like. “And Miss Vale believes in reform,” he said.
“Or at least she believes she is funding improvement,” Stuart murmured.
Fielding tilted his head. “She may be,” he said, “which is what makes the matter delicate. Not every reformer is a villain.”
Arch’s gaze drifted to the fire. He thought of Francesca’s expression when she spoke of betterment, and he remembered the quick stutter of silence that had followed, the way the table’s rhythm had faltered, as if truth were an impertinence. “She believes in reform,” he said. “She believes men dismiss women who think beyond the drawing room.”
Renforth regarded Arch. “How did she seem?” he asked, and there was no mockery in the question now. It was the tone he used when assessing a wounded soldier: clinical and careful.
Arch hesitated, then answered with reluctance. “She is intelligent,” he said. “She is proud. She is wary of anyone who presumes to protect her, and she will interpret protection as control.”
Baines nodded approvingly. “She sounds exhausting.”
“She sounds as if she has been hunted,” Stuart said quietly.
Arch snapped his head around to look at him.
Stuart held his stare. “Not by men with knives,” Stuart added, “but by men with smiles.”
Arch felt an uncomfortable agreement take root. “She detests soldiers,” he said, reminding himself that sympathy was dangerous. “A regiment stationed near her home attempted to coerce her father into unhappy dealings. She saw corruption first hand.”
Fielding leaned forward slightly. “Then Kendall will position himself as the opposite,” he said. “As the civilian friend, the safe man; the man who does not carry a sword and therefore must be honest.”
Baines laughed. “As if swords were the only weapons.”
Renforth’s gaze remained fixed on Arch. “And you,” he said, “are the soldier placed in her path.”
Arch did not like the way that sounded. “I am not placed,” he said. “I am coerced.”
Renforth almost smiled. “Call it what you like. You are there,” he said. “You will be her escort, and therefore her inconvenience.”
Arch took up his glass again. “It will be insufferable,” he said.
Fielding lifted his own glass. “It will be instructive,” he corrected.
Baines added, “It will be entertaining.”
Stuart’s voice was quieter. “It may be dangerous,” he said.
Arch looked at Stuart, and the weight of it settled. He had lived with danger of the obvious kind: gunfire, blades, ambushes, the crack of a shot in the dark. This was a different sort of danger, dressed in silk and spoken in compliments; the sort that ruined a woman without drawing a single weapon. “What is our plan?” Arch asked.
Renforth spoke as if he had been waiting for the question. “We look into Kendall’s associations,” he said. “We trace the Friends of Liberty, and any other groups he frequents. We find whether he has debts, and to whom. We discover whether he hascorrespondence that would compromise him, or whether he is the one compromising others.”
Baines’s grin returned. “We also discover his vices, because that is often the easiest means.”
Fielding sighed. “You always begin with vice.”
Baines spread his hands. “Vice is the most reliable currency.”
Stuart continued, “We do so quietly,” he said. “No public accusation. No alarm. Miss Vale is already suspicious of being managed. If she suspects an investigation, she may bolt straight towards the very men we would keep her from.”
Renforth regarded Arch for a long moment. “You will maintain the appearance of social duty,” he said. “You will escort her to these salons when required. You will observe her solicitor when possible. You will not threaten, and you will not lecture. If you lecture, she will oppose you out of principle.”
Arch exhaled. “She will be suspicious of capitulation.”
Renforth’s tone was dry. “Are you capable of such?”
“She is not foolish,” Arch said.
