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“The gentleman,” said the stallholder, eyeing him with resignation that made Laura laugh, “would prefer the gentleman took his coconuts and had a very pleasant afternoon elsewhere, Your Grace.”

They found Everett and Kitty near the ribbon sellers.

Everett was in a coat of such violent russet that Laura spotted him from thirty feet away. Kitty held a paper bag of sugared almonds and popped them into her mouth.

“There you are.” Everett spread his arms. “We’ve been here since noon. Kitty insisted on seeing every single stall in order. It was like a military inspection.”

“I insisted on seeing the stalls because you insisted on entering a pie-eating contest, and I needed something to do while you disgraced yourself.”

“I came in third.”

“There were four participants,” Kitty said with a raised eyebrow that elicited laughter from their small group.

“I came third,” Everett repeated, with dignity. “And I would like that noted.”

Iris, who had discovered that the tin whistle produced an excruciating note when blown very hard, demonstrated this for everyone. Kitty winced. Everett plugged his ears.

Nathaniel removed it from her hand with a shake of his head. “Go and look at the puppet show with Miss Borden,” he told her, handing her to the governess. “It starts in a moment. We’ll come and find you.”

“Very well,” Iris said, turning to leave. “Though I must have some toffee later!” she called over her shoulder.

The four adults drifted toward a quieter stretch of the bank where a low wall looked out over the grey water.

“I had a letter,” Everett said as they sat on a bench. “From a fellow I know at the consulate in Lisbon.”

“Lisbon, eh?” Nathaniel asked.

“Yes. Cumberlea sailed in February and hasn’t left the Peninsula since. No intention of it either, by all accounts. He’s taken a house outside Cascais under an alias. The English there won’t receive him.”

Laura felt Nathaniel go still beside her.

“They won’t?”

“Not one of them.” Everett’s expression sobered. “Lady Marchmont was thorough, Nathaniel. She wrote to everyone. Pembridge wrote to everyone that Lady Marchmont missed. By Christmas, there wasn’t a household in England or a British community on the Continent that hadn’t heard the whole of it, in detail, from people whose word nobody was inclined to question.” He paused. “Two other families have come forward since. Quietly. Daughters, in both cases. They’d said nothing for years because they believed they were alone in it.”

“Are they all right?” Laura asked, her chest tight at the thought of more women having suffered because of that wretch.

“They’re being looked after, and they are well now. Rathbourne’s involved, along with Lady Marchmont. There’s talk of a fund to help them.” Everett shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. “It’s not justice, I know that. No court will touch him, and we all know why. But he’s finished. Good as gone. He’ll die somewhere hot with nobody calling on him, and everyone who matters knows exactly what he is.”

Nathaniel looked out at the river for a long moment. He picked up a rock and tossed it in.

“It’s more than I had this time last year,” he said. “I spent years believing the only ending worth having was the one where I destroyed him personally. I’m not certain that would have given me what this has.”

“Which is?”

“People knowing her name,” he sighed. “And knowing it wasn’t her fault.”

Kitty reached over and squeezed Laura’s hand where it lay between them on the bench, and said nothing, which was exactly right.

“Well.” Everett cleared his throat. “That’s quite enough of that for a public fairground, I should say. Now, Kitty, tell them your news before you burst.”

“It isn’t news yet.”

“She’s going to marry me,” he announced.

“I have not said yes.”

“She’s going to say yes.”