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Lord Devin brushed a fleck of juice from his velvet sleeve and looked at Livie. “I suppose that this fruit was intended as a gift for your father.” He nudged a bit of apple with the toe of his shoe. “They’re not even good for pies now.”

She nodded.

Lord Devin’s gaze moved to her cousin. “Miss Wharton.”

Daisy had been brushing stray bits of fruit from her pelisse. She looked up at him, eyebrow raised.

“Are you, by any chance, responsible for the destruction of Miss Tyron’s gift to her father?”

“I suppose you could see it that way,” Daisy said, a note of caution in her voice. Then she added, with a toss of her head: “I’m quite certain that you will see it that way!”

“Your marked delight in the outcome spoke for itself. Even given my low opinion of your intelligence and manners,” Lord Devin remarked, “I am surprised by your complete lack of consideration for your cousin’s feelings.”

Daisy gasped, red flushing her cheeks. “How dare you?”

“Lord Devin, will you please escort me to my father’s chamber?” Livie begged.

His lordship nodded. “Certainly.” He turned to the yeomen. “Clean up this mess and return to the gate. Your post may appear a sinecure, but you do have responsibility.”

Daisy stopped scowling at Lord Devin and gave the yeomen a warm smile. “I want to commend you both on the thoroughness with which you carried out your duties! It has been a pleasure to see His Majesty’s guards at work.”

“I’ll take you over to the Lions’ Tower, miss,” the elder yeoman said, hoisting his ax over his shoulder. “We can’t have a young lady like yourself wandering around unaccompanied.”

“Do take her away,” Lord Devin said, his tone sour enough to curdle milk.

They all strolled through the gates, Daisy and her ancient escort following slowly.

“I must say goodbye to my cousin,” Daisy caroled when they reached the courtyard. She caught up and gave Livie a hug, dropping something heavy into her pocket.

“A present for Uncle,” she breathed, and then, more loudly: “Margery and I shall meet you in the barouche after your visit.”

When Livie and Lord Devin reached the middle of the courtyard, he asked, “What did she give you?”

Livie stuck her hand in her pocket and brought out a curious object, like a folded knife.

“A file,” Lord Devin said, his tone disgusted. “Didn’t the yeomen search your pockets?”

Livie pried it open and stared down at the iron tool. “They were distracted by the fruit, which must have been what Daisy had in mind all along. I can’t imagine where she found a file.”

“I expect she sent a footman to buy one.”

“Peter,” Livie said, nodding. “He would do anything for her.”

“So she imagines Captain Sir Tyron filing through the bars, rappelling down the walls, swimming the moat, and escaping?”

“She just wanted to help.” Livie couldn’t stop a shaky smile. It was so like Daisy to offer an audacious—if illegal—solution to her father’s imprisonment.

“If he’s discovered in possession of that file, he may be thrown into the darkest dungeon they have on the premises,” Lord Devin said bitingly. “If you’ll forgive me, your cousin is a bird-witted fool!”

“She is merely trying to help, just as you are, Lord Devin. Her methods may be unorthodox, but perhaps the gift would lift his spirits.”

“Captain Sir Tyron is not a man to find humor in a dishonorable action.”

Livie had to nod. “I suspect he won’t be happy with my visit either, but I’m so worried about him. I can’t not see him. I’m so grateful to have chanced on you once again, Lord Devin.”

“Chanced? On the way home from the park, I realized that stubbornness likely breeds true in your family. The guard at his cell wouldn’t allow you to visit without me, and even so I’m not certain I can manage to get you into his chamber.”

“Then I am doubly grateful,” Livie said, smiling at him.