Lily’s throat tightened. She reached across the space between their chairs and took her aunt’s hand. “I will be fine, Aunt.”
“You will be extraordinary.” Margaret squeezed her fingers. “You always are. But promise me you will be careful with this man. His reputation exists for a reason, and charm is not the same as character.”
“I am aware.”
“Are you?” Margaret’s gaze sharpened. “Because charm is precisely the kind of thing that feels like character when you are standing close enough to smell the sandalwood.”
Lily’s cheeks warmed. She released her aunt’s hand and reached for her own teacup with what she hoped was a casual gesture.
“I have no intention of standing close enough to smell anything.”
Margaret studied her for a moment longer than was comfortable, then let the subject drop with the practiced restraint of a woman who knew when to push and when to wait.
That evening, Sophia’s carriage arrived at half-past eight.
Lily climbed in to find her sister already inside, dressed in a dark pelisse with the hood drawn up, looking like a woman who had done this sort of thing before.
Which, Lily supposed, she had.
“Mr. Colborne’s offices,” Sophia told the driver. “The side entrance, please.”
They rode in silence through streets that had emptied with the fading light. The carriage turned off Fleet Street and into a narrow lane lined with printing houses and booksellers, their windows dark, their signs creaking in the evening breeze. Sophia led Lily through a side door and up a flight of stairs that smelled of ink and turpentine.
Mr. Colborne’s office was small, crowded with stacked papers and leather-bound ledgers, and lit by a pair of oil lamps that cast uneven shadows across the walls. Colborne himself stood behind his desk, a wiry man with ink-stained fingers and spectacles perched on the end of a long nose. He looked as though he had not slept.
The Duke of Thornwaite and Edward were already there.
Edward leaned against the wall near the window, his arms crossed, his expression set in the quiet intensity that Lily associated with her brother-in-law when he was working through a problem. The Duke of Thornwaite stood near the fireplace with one hand resting on the mantel. His coat was unbuttoned and his posture carried the deceptive ease of a man who was paying far more attention than he appeared to be.
His gaze found Lily the moment she entered. He inclined his head. She returned the gesture and looked away before the eye contact could settle into anything that required examination.
“Good. We are all here.” Colborne adjusted his spectacles and spread the forged pamphlet across his desk beside one of Sophia’s genuine Lady Fairhart columns. “I have spent the better part of two days examining this forgery, and I am not pleased.”
“Nor should you be,” Sophia said. She moved to the desk and stood beside Colborne. “Someone has replicated Lady Fairhart’s masthead with enough accuracy to fool a casual reader. That suggests they have studied the original publications.”
“The masthead is close but not exact.” Colborne tapped the forged version with a stained fingertip. “The letterforms are slightly compressed, and the rosette beneath the title is missing. Anyone familiar with the genuine article would spot the differences, but most readers would not look twice.”
“And the paper?” Hugo stepped forward. “Is the stock identifiable?”
Colborne shook his head. “Common rag paper. Available from any number of suppliers. The ink is standard lampblack. I checked with every printer I know along Fleet Street and Paternoster Row. None of them produced this.”
“Could it have been printed outside London?” Edward asked.
“Possible, but unlikely. The distribution was targeted and swift. Whoever produced this had access to the Fenwick guest list and the means to deliver copies to three hundred people in a matter of hours. That suggests someone local, with resources and connections.”
Silence settled over the room. Lily watched the men process this information, each in his own way. Edward’s jaw tightened. Colborne polished his spectacles with a handkerchief.
And the Duke stood with his hand still resting on the mantel, his gaze fixed on the forged pamphlet as though he could compel it to surrender its secrets through sheer force of will.
“I will hire Bow Street Runners,” he said. “Discreetly. They will investigate the printing and distribution without drawing attention to the inquiry.” He glanced at Sophia. “And without revealing Lady Fairhart’s true identity. That is non-negotiable.”
Sophia met his gaze and held it. Something passed between them, an understanding, a mutual recognition of what was at stake. Sophia’s anonymity was not merely a preference. It was the foundation upon which her entire livelihood rested.
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Sophia’s voice carried a warmth that Lily had not heard her extend to the Duke of Thornwaite before. “I appreciate your discretion.”
“The forgery is an attack on your work as much as it is an attack on your sister.” He straightened. “Whoever did this knew that using Lady Fairhart’s name would lend the accusations credibility. They understood the column’s influence and weaponized it. That is not the work of a casual troublemaker. This was calculated.”
“Agreed,” Edward said. He pushed off from the wall. “Which means someone with knowledge of theton’sinner workings is behind this mess. Someone who knew Lily’s movements, my friendship with Hugo, and Sophia’s connection to Lady Fairhart.”
