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“Such as not terrifying her before we've even begun the cover story.” I glanced at Garrick, who looked like he was trying not to laugh. “She's already suspicious of me. If you come at her with accusations and hostility⁠—”

“I'll be perfectly civil,” Adeline said coolly, though her smile suggested otherwise. “Assuming she gives me reason to be.”

This was going to be a disaster.

I led them upstairs, Adeline's footsteps sharp and purposeful behind me. At the guest chamber door, I paused.

“Let me go in first. Prepare her.”

“For what? My devastating charm?” But Adeline stepped back, arms crossed.

I knocked once, knuckles against wood sounding too loud in the quiet hallway. “Miss Whitmore? Are you awake?”

A pause. “Yes.”

I opened the door to find Lily standing by the window, already dressed in the blue gown I’d left last night. Mrs. Hartley must have helped her—the buttons were fastened properly—but she looked distinctly uncomfortable in the high collar and fitted bodice, like a wild thing forced into civility.

She turned as I entered, and her expression shifted immediately to wariness. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong. But there are some people I'd like you to meet.” I stepped aside, and Garrick entered first, all charm and practiced smiles.

He gave Lily an easy smile—the one that had gotten him out of trouble more times than I could count. “Miss Whitmore. Garrick Wolfe. Technically we met when you were unconscious in the woods, but I'll forgive you for not remembering my dashing rescue.”

“You didn't rescue her,” I said flatly. “I did.”

“I provided moral support. That counts.” Garrick's grin widened as he turned back to Lily. “And I must say, you look considerably better now than you did covered in leaves and mud. Though I have to admit, those were trousers, weren't they? Fascinating choice for a midnight woodland adventure.”

“I didn't choose—” Lily started, then stopped, seeming to recognize he was baiting her.

“Relax, Miss Whitmore. I'm on your side. Mostly.” His smile turned more genuine, warmer.

Then Adeline swept in, and the temperature in the room dropped several degrees.

She stopped a few feet from Lily, studying her with the kind of intense scrutiny usually reserved for suspected Weavers.

Lily, to her credit, didn't flinch. Just stood there, chin lifted, meeting Adeline's gaze with equal measure.

“So,” Adeline said finally. “You're the woman supposedly from the future.”

“And you're the one who's supposed to be my cousin.” Lily met her gaze without flinching. “I'm guessing you're not thrilled about the arrangement.”

A ghost of a smile touched Adeline's lips. “That depends. Are you from the future, or is this an elaborate Weaver trick to infiltrate Oxford society?”

“I'm from 2025. I'm a PhD student researching Victorian history. And until two days ago, I didn't even know Weavers existed.” Lily gestured at her dress with something close to exasperation. “Does this look like someone who planned to infiltrate anything? I can barely move in this thing.”

Adeline's smile widened fractionally. “At least you're honest about your incompetence. That's refreshing.” She circled Lily slowly, examining her from every angle. “Your posture is terrible. You walk like a man. And that accent—where are you supposed to be from?”

“We haven't established that yet,” I interjected.

“Well, we'd better establish it quickly, because she sounds nothing like any of my actual cousins.” Adeline stopped in front of Lily again. “Can you dance?”

“What?”

“Dance. Waltz, quadrille, cotillion. Basic requirements for any respectable young woman.”

Lily's expression suggested she'd rather face a firing squad. “I can. . . sort of waltz. Badly.”

“Lovely. So I'm meant to pass off a woman who cannot dance, cannot walk properly, and speaks with an accent I cannot place?”