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“Please show her to the drawing room,” she told Fergus as she began to clear up her books with a mind to lock them away in their drawer—the key to which always hung around her neck.

“I took the liberty of doing so already,” said Fergus. But instead of leaving, he cleared his throat. “There is a gentleman accompanying her.”

She paused. “That makes matters more interesting. What did he look like?”

“Like he’s spent altogether too much time outdoors,” said Fergus, sniffing.

She laughed at the butler’s snobbishness. “Thank you, Fergus. I will join them presently.”

When the notebooks were all locked away, she made her way out of the morning room, but before she could get far, the doorbell rang again. She heard the scrape of the locks being turned, and Lavinia’s voice drifted up to her.

“Is Mrs. Sullivan home? It’s a matter of great importance,” the dressmaker was saying.

“She’s currently with visitors.” Fergus’s voice was muffled by distance.

“I must see her. Please,” said Lavinia.

Moira popped her head over the banister. “Is everything all right, Lavinia?”

The woman looked up, distress clearly etched on her face. “It’s Caleb.”

Lavinia’s charming but wastrel brother. Moira knew that Caleb Malcolm had a reputation for being an easy mark whom a card shark could ply with drink while steadily bleeding him of money over the course of a night. And if her informants were right, which they usually were, he’d recently been seen at higher and higher stakes games. Private games where there were no club rules to maintain order and respectability.

“I have callers in the drawing room, but I imagine you’d like to keep this a private affair,” said Moira.

Lavinia bit her lip and nodded.

“If you’ll wait in the morning room, I’ll be with you in a moment,” said Moira, knowing that Fergus would dutifully serve Lavinia a bracing cup of tea while she waited. Tea always went a long way to making things right.

When Moira stepped into the drawing room, she saw that Miss Gibson was accompanied by a man who had indeed spent many days outside, but he wasn’t the stranger Fergus had believed him to be. She’d met him in Lavinia’s shop just the day before.

“Miss Gibson, how kind of you to call. And you’ve brought a companion,” she said.

“Mrs. Sullivan, may I present Captain Andrew Colter, formerly of the Endeavor?” Miss Gibson said.

He bowed respectfully, but for all his good manners, he carried himself like a man who knew to look for the exits. Another one of Miss Gibson’s spies.

“A pleasure, Captain Colter, but we’ve already met.”

“We have,” he said, his tone clipped. He was no longer the pleasant, easy man in the dressmaker’s shop, instead he examined her shrewdly with a pair of piercing blue eyes. He was something of a chameleon, she suspected, trained to slip into whatever situation he found himself in.

“How may I help you both today?” she asked.

Miss Gibson glanced at Captain Colter. “We’re attempting to recruit an asset who is somewhat resistant to the idea.”

“Is that so?” she asked, her interest piqued. Miss Gibson had never come to her for help with a reluctant recruit before. “What is it that you need this person to do?”

“Stop a plot to cause bodily harm to the Prince of Wales or members of the public who will be celebrating during his visit,” said Captain Colter.

She blinked. “He’s visiting for five days.”

“Yes,” said Captain Colter.

“And he arrives in just under three weeks,” she added.

“You can understand the need to move quickly,” said Miss Gibson.

“Do I know the person you’re trying to recruit?” she asked.