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Theo’s eyebrows shot up. “Now just why is Harold proving more popular with our fellow artists than us?” she asked archly.

Lil snorted. “They’re hoping he can write them a couple of numbers so they can go solo and snatch the spotlight, that’s why.”

“Well, I suppose I can’t really blame them for envying our maestro.”

“Pity he can’t write a racy lyric to save his life!” Lil remarked. “Come along Harold,” she called in a louder voice. “You’ve plenty of time for flirtation in your own time.” Poor Harold almost dropped his sheet music as the dancing girls giggled and made themselves scarce. “Daft mares,” Lil observed mildly.

That night, Mrs. Cherwell interrupted them at the dinner table, barreling in with a look of self-importance on her face. “There’s some hulking great ruffian at the door asking for you, Miss Theodora,” she huffed.

Theo lowered her soup spoon. “Did he give a name?” she asked, dragging back her chair and ignoring Clem’s frown.

“Said as to tell you Vincent needed to speak with you,” Mrs. Cherwell said disapprovingly. “I told him you was at dinner—”

“Vincent the doorman?” Felix echoed in surprise. “What the deuce does that fellow mean by showing up here at this hour?”

Theo was already out of her seat. “Did you show him into the parlor?” she asked, tossing down her napkin.

“No, I did not!” Mrs. Cherwell huffed, clearly outraged at the notion. “The very idea!”

Seeing Clem had come to his feet, Theo turned to him impulsively. “Clem, could I receive him in our sitting room?” she asked beseechingly. “He would probably be terribly ill at ease in the formal parlor.”

He paused a moment before making a reply. “By all means.” His tone was cool, and Theo could see he was not entirely happy about having an outsider in the space they had made their own. She could even understand his sentiments.

“Thank you, Clem,” Theo said placatingly. “And will you let me speak with him alone first? She lay her hand on his sleeve in quiet appeal. She thought she saw some strong emotion flash across his face, but it was gone before she could register what it was.

For an instant he did not speak, but then he inclined his head. “If that’s what you want.”

“Thank you,” she said gratefully and hurried out to the hall in Mrs. Cherwell’s wake. “Vincent!” she hailed, spotting him stood on the hall rug with his hat in his hands, looking uncomfortable and strained. “Please come up to the private sitting room with me.”

He started forward at her words, and she hurried up the stairs, hearing the steady thud of his feet behind her. Mrs. Cherwell’s outraged gaze followed their progress through the banister, but Theo did not care a rush for convention. She needed to speak frankly with Vincent and learn the truth.

As soon as they crossed the sitting room threshold, Vincent walked over to the fireplace and turned to face her. He looked rather as though he was about to face a firing squad. It suddenly hit her that the now sumptuous sitting room was likely even more alien to Vincent than the stuffy parlor would have been.

“Please take a seat, Vincent; you look fit to drop.” He had a grayish hue to his skin, and she wondered how many hours this week he had spent trudging about the area.

“I found ‘er, Miss Theodora,” Vincent said quietly, ignoring her words.

Theo’s heart leapt into her mouth. “You did?” Her legs suddenly shaky, she dropped onto the nearest couch. “Where? Please tell me, she is well?”

Vincent’s face tightened. “I can’t tell you that, miss,” he said hoarsely.

“Oh God.” She covered her mouth with her hand. “She is sick?” Her voice rose with concern.

If anything, Vincent turned an even more sickly shade. Seeing his acute discomfort helped Theo get her own fears under control. If it was a straightforward fever or decline, he would not be acting thus. She took a deep breath. “Has he ruined her?” she asked quietly.

Vincent’s whole face flinched. “Please don’t speak of her like that,” he said, his throat closing on his words.

Theo contemplated him gravely. “You know what I am speaking of Vincent.”

“It ain’t a subject ladies like you should ever be addressing,” he said avoiding her eye.

“Very well, then,” Theo said, getting swiftly to her feet. “Take me to her. I will speak to her myself.”

“You don’t understand!” Vincent burst out rawly. “You’ll break her if you do that!”

Theo sat back down in alarm. Her cool and collected sister? “What do you mean?” she asked carefully.

“She—she just needs to come ‘ome, and for none of you to ask questions,” he said gruffly. At her wide eyes, he added impassioned, “If anyone can swing it, it’s you, Miss Theodora.” He looked rather like a dog in that moment, his trust in her implicit.