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The carriage turned into Chester Street and stopped at one of the looming columned houses, where a portico hunched protectively over a black entrance door.

Reina had visited William’s house only three times before to attend large events with many guests. According to social rules, a woman could receive a male visitor at her house for tea or dinner if there were servants or chaperones. If their positions were reversed, however, that same woman couldn’t visit an unmarried man’s house. She would be stepping into his private domain, where something scandalous might happen.

John left the carriage first and pulled down the folding step. Before he helped Reina out, he said, “You don’t have to go in there. I could break the news to Farlow while you wait in the carriage.”

“Thank you, but . . . I think he should hear it from me. I owe him that much.”

“He won’t take it well.”

“I know.” Men of William’s stature considered themselves above having to answer for their actions. “Whatever his reaction is,” she said, “I need to hear what he says. It may help to make it all seem real.”

He looked sardonic. “It’s going to be very real for everyone, in approximately an hour.”

Reina’s stomach lurched uneasily. She took John’s hand as he reached into the carriage for her. It wasn’t easy to climb out with the weight of her skirts in tow. She was wearing a dress William always especially liked: a yellow-ochre-colored velvet that was fashionably tight and heavily bustled, styled to make her body a slim column in front with abundant cascades in back.

An elderly butler had emerged to wait beside the front door. He’d served the Farlow family for decades—what was his name? Godwin? Glenton? She felt a stab of panic.

“John,” she whispered, her hand biting into his arm.

“Aye?” He moved to block her from the view of the household. “What is it?”

“I can’t remember the butler’s name.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll ask him.”

“No—I should know it—I’ve met him before—William’s mentioned him many times—why can’t I remember? Something’s wrong with my brain.”

His face relaxed. “Your brain is tired, cariad.”

“It always works best when it’s tired. Confound it, what is his name? Granger, Granville—”

“It’s not important. You’ll remember later. There’s nothing to worry about—we’re going to talk to Farlow, and I’ll be at your side. Come, let’s have done with this.”

They went to the front door, where the butler patiently awaited, all expression folded inward until only the pleasant envelope was visible.

“Good morning, Miss Martin. And sir.”

“Good morning,” John said. “May I ask your name?”

“Yes, sir, it’s—”

“Glencross,” Reina burst out triumphantly. Seeing the butler’s mildly startled expression, she moderated her tone. “Mr. Pembroke, this is Glencross.”

John’s lips twitched, but he addressed the butler in a serious tone. “Glencross, will you inform Mr. Farlow that Miss Martin and Mr. Pembroke are here to see him on an urgent matter?”

“Mr. Farlow is still at his breakfast, sir. May I ask the nature of the urgency?”

Reina replied quietly. “We’ve come to prepare him for a difficult situation he’s about to face.”

Glencross brought them into the entrance hall while he went to speak to William.

Reina waited with her head bowed, wondering how in the world she would start the conversation. “There’s no easy way to say this, William . . .” or “We must speak plainly about a recent turn of events . . .” Nothing sounded right. Her emotions were in a tumult. She was furious with William. She was heartbroken at the loss of a friendship that had meant so much to her. She was grieving for the people who’d put everything into the bank, the tradesmen who would lose their businesses, the elderly or infirm who had no other support, the husbands and wives who wouldn’t be able to pay their families’ bills. At this moment, thousands of people had no idea of the disaster awaiting them.

The butler returned. “If Miss Martin pleases, Mr. Pembroke may wait in the servants’ hall while I show you through to the breakfast room.”

Reina realized William must have told him John was a manservant. Before John could reply, she said firmly, “Mr. Pembroke will accompany me.”

Glencross was too well-trained to argue. “Very good, miss.”