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The wealthy woolens merchant with a grand house on Drumsheugh Gardens in the most fashionable part of the New Town had any number of people he could send to collect the rent on her Victoria Street shop, but he insisted on doing it himself. When they’d first met as he inspected the property before he’d purchased it, he’d reassured her that he had no intentions of evicting her or raising the rent. She’d naively thought it was because she was a solid tenant and finally thriving after years of hard work. However, within months, it had become clear that he wanted far more from Lavinia—even if she had no intention of satisfying the brutish man. The only benefit of the entire annoying situation was that his mother, Mrs. Wark, had become one of her best clients, and it gave her a perverse satisfaction to send her invoices to Wark nearly every month.

Her head was still bent over her shop’s appointment book when she heard the heavy clatter of a man’s boots on the stairs. Only one man came to the upper floors of Mrs. Parkem’s. Caleb.

“Livy, dearest girl,” her brother announced in a booming voice as he threw open the door. He was handsome as ever, with floppy brown hair and all the height that she lacked.

She sighed and bracketed her right temple with her fingers, pushing on the pressure point. “Whatever it is, Caleb, I don’t have time today.”

“Not even for a wee bite of breakfast for your favorite brother?” he asked.

“Only brother,” she reminded him.

“They don’t have to be mutually exclusive. Come on, how about it?”

She swept her hand over the appointment book. “I have bookings. Find your own breakfast.”

“You wound me, darling sister,” he said, clutching at his chest for dramatic effect.

“Your rooms, which I’m supplementing at great expense, give you breakfast every morning.”

“I’m well aware of the great expense because I’m paying most of the rent,” he said, a touch of hurt entering into his voice. But then another of his infectious grins broke out over his face. “No one cooks a breakfast like you.”

“Thank you, I think, but no.”

Caleb shrugged. The world should bend and twist to his will, but if it didn’t, it was no bother. Eventually he’d get his way and all would be right again. He was a scoundrel who liked women, cards, and drink—in that order—but he was her brother, and she loved him to pieces.

“What’s on the books for today?” Caleb asked.

“Don’t you have your own work to attend to?” she asked.

He waved a hand. “Being the junior solicitor in chambers is dull as dirt.”

“And I suppose you find dressmaking fascinating?” she asked, laughing despite herself.

“Without you, how would I keep abreast of all the fascinating things ladies wear under their dresses?” he asked with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“You do just fine with that on your own,” she said. “Last week the New Town Tattler and the Thistle & Tittle implied that an engagement with Miss Withers could be imminent.”

Caleb shuddered. “Rumors and lies. I hardly know the girl.”

“Good,” said Lavinia. “I’ve been trying to poach Mrs. Withers away from Madame Hollande for years. She has five daughters, and three have yet to come out.”

Caleb tilted his head to consider this. “They could keep you in orders for years.”

“Precisely. So stay away from Miss Withers.”

“Noted.” He leaned over her desk to peer at her book. “Who are you seeing today?”

“The Fosters are coming in late this morning. I’ll see to Mrs. Foster and Miss Foster, and Siobhan will attend Miss Isla while Kelsie is in the workroom,” she said.

“How is Siobhan, the love of my life?” he asked.

“Touch her, and I will stab you with my sewing scissors,” she said.

“No you wouldn’t. That would dull them.”

She rolled her eyes, refusing to concede that he was right.

“Siobhan won’t suddenly become receptive to your amorous overtures if you call her the love of your life,” she said.