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“Are you mad?” she asked. Maybe he was. He wore another absurd waistcoat, a pink-and-green flowered monstrosity. Maybe in the ten years since she’d first met him something had happened to unhinge his mind. Maybe being the brother of a much younger sister had encouraged the autocratic tendency of his nature. “Your sister is with friends. The beadles are on duty everywhere.”

“You don’t know that she’s safe. You weren’t watching her.” He grabbed her by the hand and hauled her after him. There was no clear path forward, so they moved in jerks, with Wynford forcing his way through the crowd.

Harriet begged pardon of people who exclaimed at their rude progress. No harm was going to come to Octavia. Lord Wynford was going to feel very foolish when Octavia appeared with her friends and a new bonnet. Harriet hoped he would feel embarrassed from his lordly ears to his toes of his glossy, polished boots.

When the way was blocked for a moment, he turned to her. “Which shop were they headed for?”

“Duddell’s,” she said.

He nodded and pulled her forward again.

When they reached the shop, Harriet prepared to be vindicated, but the girls were not there. In a flash Harriet knew where they had gone.

“Try Parson’s,” she said. “Number twenty-six.” Parson’s sold Paris-made hats for a guinea apiece.

Back they went against the tide of shoppers.

At Parson’s, Octavia sat on a cushioned bench, turning her head this way and that to see the effect of a close-fitting silk bonnet of the deepest rose with a delicate pink lining. Looking over her shoulder was the marchioness, and behind her stood Anne and Camille, looking anxious and guilty.

“Charles,” said Octavia, catching sight of her brother and coming to her feet. “Look who we met.”

Harriet felt the rapid alteration in him through their joined hands, a current of relief followed by guardedness.

“Marchioness,” he said. He dropped Harriet’s hand, but not before the other woman noted the connection.

“Your sister looks charming, does she not? How fortunate that I was able to intercept her before she made the fatal error of shopping somewhere dull and English. Do you go to Lady Throckmorton’s tonight?”

“I do.”

“I’ve invited your sister to come. Was that too forward of me?” She turned to Octavia.

“Oh Charles,” Octavia cried. “You must let me come. Cousin Isabelle says Lady Throckmorton has a daughter just my age, and I will meet more eligible gentlemen there in an evening than I ever will going to...” Octavia’s brow furrowed as some thought occurred to stop her speech. “Going elsewhere,” she finished.

Harriet did not need the touch of Wynford’s hand to know how wary he instantly became.

“Of course you may go,” he said. He turned to Harriet, and she could not mistake the appeal in his eyes. “Provided only that Miss Swanley is at liberty to accompany you.”

All the others turned her way. Harriet nodded. “Of course.” She could not fathom why a woman of the marchioness’s obvious worldliness wished to exercise her influence over a green girl like Octavia, but she did not like it.

“It is settled then. Au revoir, sweet cousin, until tonight.” The marchioness swept out of the little shop.

Octavia bounced with excitement, throwing her arms around her brother and thanking him.

“Let’s pay for your purchase, shall we?” he said.

Anne and Camille looked on helplessly. Harriet went and stood between them, taking their hands and drawing them out of the shop. “Thank you,” she said quietly, “for helping Octavia to find a becoming bonnet.”

“It does look well on her, doesn’t it?” said Anne.

Harriet nodded.

“But oh, Miss Swanley, we could not stop her from following her cousin to Parson’s shop,” said Camille.

“And we couldn’t tell her about Lady Throckmorton. Could we?” Anne took over. “Even if Mama says Lady Throckmorton is...well, is...not quite genteel. Don’t you always say to let people discredit themselves?”

“I do, and I’m proud of you both for staying with Octavia and for your tact and reserve. Do not worry about her tonight. I’ll be there with her.”

There was a moment of silence.