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Lavinia’s heart skipped. Andrew hadn’t mentioned that Wark was on the committee.

“How very fortunate. How did it come about?” Douglas asked.

Wark cleared his throat. “A vacancy arose and the chairman, who is a close business associate, nominated me to the position.”

Her skin prickled all over. Good Lord, it was as though the man were trying his very best to sound sinister.

“It was outrageous that they didn’t invite you from the beginning. Just think of all that this family’s business has done for Scotland,” said his mother.

“And of all the money I’ve contributed to the celebrations,” said Wark with a grunt.

“It’s a great honor. Harold will be with the prince during some of his ceremonial duties as well as the private ones. The schedule is much more extensive than the public one released to the newspapers,” said Mrs. Wark.

“I’ll be going with him all around the bloody city,” said Wark.

“Harold, your language,” said Mrs. Wark sternly.

He kissed his mother on the cheek. “Only a jest, Mother. Who wouldn’t want to hobnob with the Prince of Wales?”

“I imagine all this fuss is beneficial for your business, Mrs. Parkem,” said Douglas.

“Yes. We’ve seen almost as many orders as we see around the Caledonian Hunt Ball,” she said. And I have no idea how on earth I’m going to fill them while trying to spend time with this woman’s loutish son.

“Perhaps I should raise the rent even higher then.” Wark bellowed a laugh.

Lavinia forced herself to smile even though what she wanted to do was jab Wark in the eye with all of the pins in her pincushion. This was why Andrew wanted her unarmed.

“Harold, if you’ll show Mr. Douglas to the library, I’ll make myself presentable and we can take tea,” said Mrs. Wark.

“No tea for me, Mother. Royal duties call.”

“Then you’ll make sure Mr. Douglas has not forgotten the way,” said Mrs. Wark, clearly not wishing to leave any possibility that Wark and Lavinia might end up in the same room alone together.

“Excellent,” said Douglas amiably, yet Lavinia couldn’t help but notice the little smirk on the man’s face, as though he found Wark as ridiculous as she did.

Stern-faced, Mrs. Wark slanted her a look. “That’s all for today, Mrs. Parkem. I’ll send my maid down with the dress.”

As soon as the door was shut and Lavinia was alone, she let out a steady breath. She was already tense enough in this house, but the added challenge of trying to be a spy at the same time meant she’d probably hit the ceiling if someone so much as dropped a book in her general proximity.

As she packed up her sewing box, her mind raced. If Wark was on the prince’s committee, that meant he would be uniquely positioned to have access to the future monarch. She would send word to Andrew and Miss Gibson as soon as she returned to the shop.

The prince would be in Edinburgh for five days on a whirlwind of private and public events, and the public events would be very, very public. She knew from the papers that thousands of people would line the streets from Waverley Station to Holyrood Palace to try to capture a glimpse of the Prince of Wales and the princess, and that five hundred invitations had been issued for the royal ball. Then there were school openings, inspections of shipyards—the list went on and on.

She needed more information if she were to help Andrew.

She was just snapping closed her box of supplies when Wark reappeared in the doorway.

“Good, you’re still here,” said the man.

She glanced up again, immediately on the alert. She made sure she was never alone with the man if she could help it. At her shop, Siobhan and Kelsie were never far away, and his mother usually loomed over them whenever he appeared at a fitting. Still, this was her chance to try to wheedle more information out of him.

She pulled her shoulders back and painted on a smile. “Mr. Wark, what a pleasant surprise. I hope I’m not keeping you from your business. Or perhaps you decided to take tea with your mother and Mr. Douglas after all.”

“That windbag. He thinks owning a few factories makes him a titan of business.”

“What does he manufacture?” she asked.

“He’s a trumped-up ironmonger. Door handles, knockers, that sort of thing, although he keeps talking about diversifying. He bought a metalworks that supplies some of Glasgow’s shipyards six months ago, and since then he’s been snapping up factories so quickly it’s hard to believe he’ll remain profitable,” said Wark, the disdain easy to read in his voice. “If it were up to me, we wouldn’t know him.”