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Why was he here? It was hard to say. It wasn’t as if he had plans to see Diantha again anytime soon.

But they would all be in London for at least a little while—Archie’s coach was taking the ladies there. So Simon could call. As he always did. As if everything was the same as it always was.

He almost laughed out loud. Everything was so absurd.

Everything was so fraught.

A bell on the door summoned a shopkeeper, a plump, flaxen-haired woman in a very pretty dress that suggested she was the titular Miss Dewey. If she was surprised to see three unfamiliar gentlemen in her modest shop, she didn’t show it, merely offered a welcoming smile. “May I help you, sirs?”

“I would like to buy some ribbon,” Simon said, relieved when the boys said nothing. “I see you have a sign in your window advertising such.”

“Of course, sir. What kind of ribbon?”

Hmm. “What … kinds do you have?”

“Oh, all kinds. Velvet, satin, grosgrain, silk.”

They should not have come. Here he had thought a ribbon was a ribbon, but of course it made sense they came in different fabrics, as clothing did. Plucking a scrap of ribbon off the ground was entirely different from making a purchase.

“Perhaps you can tell me what you intend to do with the ribbon you want to buy?” Miss Dewey asked.

He couldn’t tell her that.

When he didn’t answer, she compounded his regret over having come by asking, “Is it to become a watch fob? A mourning band?” Miss Dewey narrowed her eyes, searching Simon’s face. “Or perhaps it is a gift for a lady? Will it become trim for a hat? A sash for a dress?”

She was getting warmer, but he could hardly say, It is indeed a gift for a lady, but it is for her to put into a drawer.

“Why don’t I show you some of my favorites?” Miss Dewey suggested when he still didn’t speak.

He nodded his agreement, again thankful for the boys’ silence, though wary of it, too.

“Here are a few.” Miss Dewey reappeared from the back room with an armful of spools she set on the counter. “I’ve more in back if you’ll allow me—”

“That one.” Simon pointed.

“You don’t want to see any more?”

“No. That one is …” Perfect. “Sufficient.”

“One-inch, satin,” Miss Dewey observed. “Lemon yellow.”

“Yes,” Simon said. The color was exactly why he’d chosen it: a clear, cheery yellow the exact color of lemons.

“An excellent choice, sir.” Miss Dewey produced a pair of shears. “How much would you like?”

He had no idea. Was he not meant to purchase the whole spool?

“How about two yards?” Miss Dewey suggested. Ah. Of course, he was meant to buy a certain length.

Miss Dewey, who seemed to have grasped that the only way this transaction was going to conclude was for her to steer it through to the end, said, “Two yards should be more than enough for a sash, say.”

More than enough for a sash, and way too much for a lady to add to a collection she kept in a drawer, but it was easier to simply agree.

Soon, they were remounting their horses, Simon in possession of two yards of lemon-yellow ribbon that the boys were still not saying anything about. Their silence made him nervous.

He had to get over himself. Act like he normally did.

How, though? What the hell was he going to do when he got back to Town? When he next saw Diantha?