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“We won’t be exposed over tea,” he said. “Where do you go tomorrow?”

She stirred sugar into the cup she had poured. “No need for you to accompany me. I can manage on my own, thank you. Will you take this to her ladyship?”

He nodded, accepting the cup. “Should I worry about the safety of other unsuspecting gentlemen you might shoot?”

Her eyes flashed, and he lost himself briefly. From behind him came Lady Melforth’s voice. “How is her grace?”

He tore his gaze away from Viv.

“Why, well, ma’am.” Lark really had no idea, but he could not imagine that anything had befallen the Duchess of Wenlocke with Dav, that is the duke, at her side. “Your tea.”

Lady Melforth took the cup. Her voice turned wistful. “She was just a young girl when I met her, pretty spoken, fond of her ponies. Her family often called upon her to speak with English visitors, before the French came, of course.”

“You met her on your travels then?” Lark meant to turn the conversation away from dangerous territory.

“Yes. I was writing my first guide, my Letters from Florence, Rome, and Naples.”

“It’s your practice, then, ma’am, to write your guides about cities?”

“What else! The English traveler seeks the best elements of a culture—its art and history, its markets, and its architectural glories. All these things are to be found in the great cities.”

“And this is the method you’ve taught Miss Bradish?”

Lady Melforth glanced at Viv, as if she’d remembered her protégé’s presence. “Well, they are my methods, of course, but I’m sure in time Miss Bradish will…profit from my tutelage.”

“No doubt of it,” Newberry chimed in. He took a cup of tea and set it on the mantel, leaning casually against the stone and grinning at Viv.

“Why London?” Lark persisted. “Surely every Englishman of means knows London, and there are dozens of pocket guides to the city.”

“Ah, but my—this—book is for women, for the new woman of this new age.”

“The woman who is free to go anywhere in London? Without a companion?” Lark pressed. “That’s where Viv comes into it?”

The teacup rattled in Lady Melforth’s hands.

“Your tea, Mr. Larkin,” Viv said, calling his attention to her. He turned and took the cup she offered him.

Lady Melforth continued. “We women should be able to choose our companions, and not be saddled with nursemaids or chaperones. It’s absurd that a woman of sense must have a ninny at her side to be considered respectable.” Lady Melforth put down her cup and crossed her hands in her lap, burying the offending hand under the steadier one.

Newberry straightened away from the mantel. “We mustn’t tire her ladyship, Larkin.”

Lark returned his untouched cup to Viv, turned, and bowed to Lady Melforth. “Good evening, ma’am.” He followed Newberry to the door.

“Wait, Mr. Larkin,” Lady Melforth called, “one more thing. Have you placed an announcement in the papers?”

Lark glanced at Viv. “We agreed to tell our news to Viv’s family first.”

“Hmph.” Lady Melforth waved a dismissive hand. “They, of course, can do nothing for her. Much wiser to introduce her to your duke.”

“A good thought, ma’am.”

“And soon. The Strydes will wonder at it when they see no announcement in the papers. Trust me, young man, charm of manner will have no effect upon Mrs. Stryde.”

Lark bowed again. The footman opened the door, and Lark and Newberry descended the stairs in silence, accepted their coats and hats from Haxton, and stepped out into the night. Lark took a deep breath. The evening was not a complete disaster. He’d gained ground with Lady Melforth, but seemed to have lost it with Viv.

“How are those stitches?” Newberry asked.

“I hardly notice them. You did your work well.”

“Where did you say you had dinner?” Newberry asked.

“With school friends.”

“And what school was that?”

“In my aunt’s part of the country, Newberry, it’s common for boys to be schooled together by a local grinder. I regard those boys as my school friends.”

“You always have an answer, don’t you? One day, I suspect, you won’t. Good night.” Newberry strode off.