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“Not a bad plan,” Oates-Plagitt allowed.

Without waiting for Joshua’s response, Frederick began scratching out a letter, speaking aloud as he went. “Dear Lady, I am your humble servant. What next?”

“Ask her if we can meet,” Joshua said.

“I do heartily wish that you would honor me with a command to be your own, despite your father’s wishes.”

“We didn’t speak to each other that way. Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“You know nothing of ladies, and I know everything,” Frederick retorted. “If I ever need to lead a battle, I shall come to you.” He cleared his throat, continuing. “The passion which carrieth me to your service proves as unprofitable as extreme.”

“What does that mean?” Joshua asked.

His brother ignored him. “Which forceth me to have recourse to entreaties, beseeching you to honor me with your commands. What do you think, Oates-Plagitt?”

The butler stared thoughtfully into the distance. “Following ‘your commands’—so that, other means failing, my obedience may oblige you to believe that I am your most affectionate servant. Add brackets around ‘other means failing.’ Close: With a most earnest entreaty that we meet again. No, wait!”

Frederick raised an eyebrow, quill in the air.

“With a most earnest entreaty that you grace me once more with the flower of your presence.”

“She’s going to think I’m a fool,” Joshua said.

“She’ll eat it up,” Frederick promised. He sifted sand over the sheet. “Don’t fold it until you’re in the kitchen, Oates-Plagitt. I don’t want our radiant prose smeared.”

Joshua watched the butler leave, then reached out, snatched Frederick’s glass, and took a deep swallow of brandy. “I hope you’re right.”

“I’m right,” his brother said comfortably. “You command a battalion. I command a ballroom—or at least, a lady’s chamber.” He grinned at Joshua’s scornful glance. “To each his own!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

A REVELATION THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING

“I wish Mother would return home,” Daisy said idly.

Livie looked up from her half-hearted perusal of her father’s latest letter. Why hadn’t she ever noticed how critical they were? How much they assumed that she was licentious, if not worse?

“Are you missing her?” Livie asked.

“I am bored, and I am always enlivened by a good battle with my mother. I don’t mean to be critical, darling, but you have been so melancholy since your visit to the Tower that the whole house is sunk in gloom.”

“I am sorry,” Livie said.

Daisy leaned forward and snatched the captain’s letter, tossing it to the floor. “You must stop moping about your father. Lord Devin will make sure the trial goes well. He’s frightfully powerful, you know. The Times wrote this morning that Devin is ‘intrinsic to the nation,’ whatever that means.”

While her cousin chattered on, Livie reached down to pick up her father’s letter. Guilt nagged at her heart.

Perhaps she was licentious. If not, she would never have kissed a stranger. The captain’s new letter had dropped the question of her stained garments and moved to harping on her stupidity in entering the Tower of London, where ladies ought never to be seen: “You put yourself in danger of ravishing.”

What would her father do if he knew of the Rothingale masquerade?

Wincing at the thought, she put Captain Sir Tyron’s letter aside. For most of her life, she had always written him back the same day that a letter arrived, but now two letters lay unanswered on her desk. Normally, she skimmed his admonishments without much interest, but also without shame, judging them a sign of his affection for her.

Now?

She felt ashamed. She had kissed a man in public, knowing full well that she was flouting society’s rules. She could hardly assure her father of her modesty when she had so easily discarded that attribute. Not only that, but she had written a letter to that same man.

And he had responded: the major’s unopened letter was tucked away in her hatbox. She ought to toss it in the fire.