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“She is also considered exceedingly sensible.”

“That settles it. We shall dislike one another immediately.”

Renforth’s eyes rested upon him with maddening calm. “Most assuredly.”

“And she is northern,” Baines added, unable to keep the distrust from his voice.

“I believe so.”

“Then she will probably think me soft before I have even crossed the threshold.”

“No one ever mistook you for soft.” Even Renforth surrendered briefly then, a low reluctant laugh escaping him before composure returned.

Baines finished his brandy. “When do I leave?”

“At first light.”

“You are cruel, sir.”

“You require occupation.”

“I require amusement.”

“They can be one and the same.”

The Colonel gathered his papers neatly together. “You will attend as Major Baines, recently returned from the Peninsula and possessed of no occupation beyond horses, cards, and decorative conversation.”

Baines bowed slightly. “My most convincing character.”

“You will observe the guests, particularly engagements surrounding dressing rooms, supper arrangements, private conversations, etcetera.”

“When I discover how the information is exchanged?”

“Determine who is responsible before intervening.”

“Historically, that instruction has ended badly.”

“Yes,” Renforth agreed. “Nevertheless, I persist.”

Baines moved toward the decanter again. There were, he reflected, few pleasures equal to the beginning of an operation. Everything remained possible at the beginning. One had not yet been shot at, trapped underground, betrayed, or forced to impersonate a French attaché with digestive complaints. The future still retained allure.

“Miss Finch,” he said casually, “do we know her age?”

“Six-and-twenty.”

“An old maid,” he said sarcastically, as if someone a few years his junior was old.

“She is intelligent.”

“Terrifying.”

“She also dislikes disorder.”

Baines stared at him in horror. “You have selected me specifically to offend her.”

“She manages to keep Finch in line.”

“That is not necessarily a singular quality.”