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He went around and sat at his desk. “Olive, there was no comet, was there?”

“It turns out I was mistaken about that.” She made a face of exaggerated concern. “And you’re such an early-to-bed sort. I hope your sleep patterns were not too much disturbed.”

He refrained from rolling his eyes but only just. “I have a rather unusual favor to ask of you.”

“Oh, good. I adore granting unusual favors.”

He told her the plan. She was delighted, but, as he predicted, unsurprised, and she agreed readily to assist. “I am all aflutter. But I’m curious, why me? Why not one of your earl friends?”

“Three reasons. One: There is a high probability they would muck things up. They would mean well, but in their heartfelt desire to see me happy, I can imagine them being entirely too heavy-handed. I require a lighter touch. Two, and please don’t allow this to offend: you are more believable as someone who might be sticking her nose—literally, in this case—into someone else’s business.”

“That’s true,” she said, unfussed at being deemed a busybody. “What’s the third reason?”

“I believe that you are, at heart, a romantic.”

That had surprised her. She looked at him for a long moment before saying, “Don’t tell anyone.”

He smiled. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“I understand my mission, but what am I to do if I find you alone?”

“I suppose you close the door and go back to the party as if nothing happened. Nothing will have happened.” He allowed himself, for a moment, to contemplate that outcome. “Except that I shall be dead inside. I shall appear animated, alive, but inside, I shall be dead. I shall be Frankenstein’s monster in reverse, a live man made dead.”

“My Heavens. Who is the one with the secret heart of a romantic?”

“I am beginning to think, Miss Morgan, that romance gets us all sooner or later, even the seemingly impervious among us.”

Simon greeted his guests wearing his party face and his party clothes. The latter made quite an impression. Most people didn’t remark directly on it, but he clocked brows raising and, later, observed people whispering amongst themselves.

Of course, some people did comment.

“Simon!” Effie did not bother hiding how agog he was. “What has happened to you?”

“I have undergone somewhat of a makeover.”

“Somewhat!” Effie exclaimed.

Simon shrugged. “I am endeavoring to look a bit less … church-mousey.”

Effie continued to exclaim, and Simon turned to greet Julianna, who said, “What my husband has failed to say is he thinks you look very smart, as do I.”

That stopped Effie. “Well, of course. I ought to have led with that.” His eyes narrowed. “Is something afoot?”

“No,” Simon said, and he heard how unconvincing he was.

Effie murmured something Simon couldn’t hear and started looking around. Most of the guests had arrived and were standing in the ballroom that had been set up for the concert, conversing in small groups. “Where is Archie?”

“Archie’s household is running a little late.”

Because he’d written on their invitation a start time thirty minutes later than he had on everyone else’s.

He slipped away just as the music started.

Simon took a chair by the fireplace. Just over two months ago, he had been sitting in this library waiting for Miss Brown, only he hadn’t known it. She had appeared on the scene like an unexpected comet, crashing into his house and his life.

Today, he was again waiting for her in his library.

The difference between the two instances was knowledge. He knew what—and whom—he was waiting for this time. He was Eve, having eaten of the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, except it was more like the tree of the knowledge of love and acceptance.