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“Is Pembroke actually meeting with a wine merchant?—Yes or no?”

Norman hemmed and hawed before replying uneasily. “Ma’am, in no way could I definitely say he wouldn’t be meeting with a wine merchant, or that a wine merchant might not possibly be involved. But I also wouldn’t refuse to confirm that he may be meeting with someone who might not technically count as a wine merchant—or any kind of merchant—but rather as someone who might, in theory, drink wine during a meeting. Although maybe not.”

Reina was strongly tempted to stab him with her propelling pencil. “Did he say when he would return?”

“No, ma’am,” Norman said, and fled before she could ask anything else.

“It appears we’ll start planning our move to Zurich in the morning,” Reina told the baby ruefully.

Benjamin gazed up at her with Tuppence’s solemn blue eyes, appearing to ponder the situation. Gently Reina smoothed the blond wisps of hair on his head. “Shall we read the evening news?” she suggested, leaning over to retrieve the paper. “We’ll start with any section you prefer—Books and Opinions, City Intelligence, or—” She drew in a sharp breath as she saw the leading story. “Oh God—already? The front page—”

In only a matter of hours, the first news about Farlow’s had already been published.

CLOSURE OF FARLOW’S BANK—RUMORS OF IRREGULARITY

Considerable excitement was occasioned in the City this morning by the unexpected closure of the private banking-house of Mr. William Farlow, whose principal office is situated in Lombard Street. At approximately ten o’clock, the entrance to the premises was observed to be guarded by constables, as clerks arriving for business were turned away. No formal notice has yet been issued by the firm, but reports suggest that the action was taken under authority. The suddenness of the event has led to widespread speculation on the Exchange—

“I can’t,” Reina muttered, tossing the newspaper to the table. Anxiety thumped all through her, making it hard to breathe. She pressed her lips to the baby’s head, trying to calm herself. “I’m going to tell you a story instead. About . . . a hedgehog. Hildburg, the youngest of five sisters, who’s always dreamed of being a hedge-trimmer . . .”

A peaceful feeling crept over her as she settled deeper into the settee cushions with Benjamin. The baby seemed to like the sound of her voice. Perhaps from now on, she would do better at separating her work time from her personal time. Evenings like this could be reserved just for her and Benjamin, and John.

The story went on for much longer than she’d intended, covering Hildburg’s early life in the meadow and progressing to her ambitions of taking part in the exclusive world on the other side of a tall, prickly hedge. A world run by a warren of disdainful bunnies, who wrinkled their whiskered noses at the idea of allowing a common meadow creature past the hedge. Hildburg faced many obstacles in her quest, including a bureaucratic weasel who required all travel-leaves to be filed in triplicate . . . a pompous squirrel who refused to let Hildburg store her acorns in his tree . . .

The afternoon deepened into evening, and Reina felt herself beginning to doze. She was vaguely aware of Ivonne coming to take the baby and drape a shawl over her legs, and Enid stirring up the coals in the grate. It was so warm and comfortable in the parlor, and she couldn’t help relaxing into a dream of aspiring hedgehogs, snobby bunnies, a parliament of owls debating whether butterflies should be taxed . . .

“Cariad.” A low, caressing voice lured her back to wakefulness. “It’s glad I am that you’ve rested. Let me help you sit up . . . I have news you’ll want to hear.”

Reina stirred and breathed and yawned, rubbing her eyes. “John . . .”

“Aye, love . . . and Mr. Goodluck is here as well.”

Frowning, she struggled upward.

John sat beside her, scented of cold outside air, damp leaves, horses, and leather . . . a nice, masculine smell. With a smile flickering in his dark eyes, and the glow of firelight on his face, he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen in her life. And he was hers.

“What have you been doing all day?” she demanded.

The corners of his mouth quirked. “I’ve been busy, love. I wanted to wait before telling you what I was trying to do, in case it didn’t work.”

He gave her a glass of water and stroked her tumbled hair as she took a few sips. When she had awakened sufficiently, he set the water on the low table. “I may as well put it bluntly,” he said. “To start with, Mr. Goodluck has had a relapse.”

Reina glanced at Norman, who occupied a nearby chair. “You’ve fallen into your old ways?” she asked gingerly.

Norman nodded gravely. “I’m afraid so, ma’am.”

“Pistols,” she muttered, and heaved a sigh. “Well. It has been that kind of day. How serious is it?”

John answered for him. “The result will be life-changing.”

Reina suppressed a groan. “Whatever it is,” she told Norman, “we’ll deal with it. Occasional setbacks are part of progress.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Was it a check, or . . .”

John drew a folded sheet of parchment from his pocket and gave it to her. “Take a look for yourself, cariad.”

She unfolded the parchment and saw with a little shock that it was written in Tuppence’s hand.