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Livie had defended her father fiercely—as would any child—but what if her fervor was owed not to blood, but to her deep understanding of the captain’s character?

What if she was telling the truth? What if the captain was sent to the gallows for a crime committed by his first mate? Joshua had been so blinded by the thought that Livie wanted him to forsake his honor that he hadn’t stopped to consider that she may be right.

But did that make a difference? She had asked him to intervene, and whether her father was blameless or not, it would still be dishonest to try to influence his father. Joshua couldn’t ask the Lord High Steward to overlook the possibility of a man’s guilt, even if that man had the potential to be his son’s father-in-law.

Livie relied on instinct when deciding her father’s innocence, but the court would require a compelling argument to reverse the charges.

It seemed that Lord Devin suspected Cassio but had no evidence. Perhaps Joshua could help gather evidence of Cassio’s treachery. He pushed away the uncomfortable fact that he’d be happy to skewer the man, guilty or not.

“Our excellent Oates-Plagitt asked His Grace’s butler for this recipe,” Joshua’s father commented, though he couldn’t suppress a tiny shudder as he sipped. “Surely the recipe called for honey?”

Their butler stepped forward, honey spindle at the ready. “A glaring omission, but one easily amended.” He stirred a generous amount of honey into the bitter drink.

Joshua watched silently as his father forced himself to swallow the loathsome brew.

No appeal he could make would ever sway his father’s judgment—not without evidence. Lord Paget was punctilious in that respect; he would be influenced only by sound logic and documented facts.

Joshua would never hinder a fair trial—his honor wouldn’t allow it—but that same integrity wouldn’t let him sit by idly while the pursuit of true justice failed.

Which meant that he had work to do.

He waited until his father left the breakfast room before he said, “Oates-Plagitt, if you would please join me in the library.”

The butler had barely closed the library door before he said, “Your lady’s father, I gather?”

Joshua nodded. He’d learned years ago that there was no point in keeping secrets from Oates-Plagitt. The man ran the household—and the family. Joshua was fairly certain that their butler had somehow arranged for his father’s new title.

“A tricky proposition,” Oates-Plagitt said after Joshua explained. “Several methods of quickly clearing Captain Sir Tyron’s name come to mind, but most are a touch illegal.”

Joshua shook his head.

“Right. We’ll need to locate Cassio. The boot boy is quick and clever, so I’ll send him to the Tower to learn what he can.”

The butler’s brows drew together as he glanced at Joshua’s hand, clenched as if he had wrapped it around Cassio’s throat. “Not a good idea,” Oates-Plagitt remarked. “Your direct interference would be prejudicial to the defense.”

“It’s not interfering to persuade a suspect to tell the truth.”

“Killing a suspect is generally interpreted as meddling. You’d better leave it to me.”

* * *

Livie couldn’t remember ever feeling this tired or this sad. The night before, after she and Daisy returned home from the masquerade, they had pulled every letter out of her trunk and organized them by date.

Merely looking at the tall piles made her feel sadder than she had already felt: she was surrounded by men waiting for her to prove herself unworthy by one mistake or another.

At breakfast, Daisy seated herself opposite Livie, eyes shining, certain that they would find evidence to clear Captain Sir Tyron.

Livie was not hopeful. After all, she’d been reading her father’s missives for years. They were all the same: dispiritingly moralistic and accusatory. Even back when the captain’s ship was directly engaged in the war against Napoleon, he had scarcely mentioned it.

She was listlessly eating a piece of toast and marmalade when the door opened, and Frederick walked in.

“I told your excellent butler that I would announce myself,” he said. “Lord FitzRoy-Paget, future earl,” he said over his shoulder to their affronted butler.

“Good morning,” Livie said, summoning up a smile.

“I never drink tea,” Frederick remarked, waving away a footman.

“Why did you come to breakfast, if not for a cup of tea?” Daisy asked.