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She gives a short, disbelieving laugh, angry now at his audacity, his arrogance, his assumption that he has any right to question her on the matter at all.

“What is it to you?” she asks sharply.

His eyes widen slightly. For a moment Dora thinks he is impressed at her spark but then she notices Edward, his look of discomfort, of embarrassment, of shame, even, and all of a sudden Dora is weary. It will not do to bring herself down to Mr. Ashmole’s level. It will not do at all.

“Yes,” she answers, softening her tone, “of course I am. There was nothing. I’d have noticed, I’m sure.”

“Then,” Edward’s friend replies, “this may for ever remain a mystery.”

From the small table at his side Mr. Ashmole raises his drink, smiles into it. The afternoon sun streams like rods through the windows. One of the beams lights upon the liquid in Mr. Ashmole’s glass, and the crystal patterns amber diamonds against his chin.

Chapter Twenty-Six

“What is wrong with you?”

The door has barely shut on Dora’s skirts before Edward turns on Cornelius. He feels mortified, completely mortified that a woman he so admires can be treated in such a cold, unfeeling manner.

“How could you behave so rudely to Miss Blake?”

Cornelius lounges back in the armchair he did not deign to leave when Edward escorted Dora to the door.

“I was not rude.”

“You were. You know you were.”

“Was it not rude that she turned up at my home unannounced?” Cornelius shoots back, refilling his glass from the decanter at his elbow. “I have a mind to give Fingle an earful when I see him next. He had no right to divulge my address without my express permission.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Edward says, settling himself into the chair vacated by Dora. It is still warm. That faint perfume of lily. “It was very good of him to help her—she was clearly in need of me.”

“How flattering for you.”

The comment is posed as a sneer. Edward ignores it.

He hoped, he truly did, that Dora would be proven wrong, that Hezekiah Blake’s misdemeanors were limited only to forgeries and nothing more. But, it seems, there can be no denying the fact any longer. Gough, Edward thinks with a grimace, will be thrilled when he tells him. He can be thankful, at least, for Dora’s sake, that her own fortunes have turned. It eases his conscience somewhat.

“I cannot tell you how relieved I am that Lady Latimer has taken one of her designs,” Edward says to Cornelius now. “It is precisely the kind of endorsement Miss Blake needs. I hope more will come from it. But according to what Miss Blake has just told us she will need to secure her future as soon as possible in the event her uncle is exposed.” Edward frowns. “Allowing the pithos to be displayed so openly where it might be recognized is a bold move on his part. To risk so much...”

“Three hundred pounds. Many would risk more for less.”

Edward rubs his thumb thoughtfully against his chin. If Hezekiah is discovered as a result of the soirée, Dora will be in immediate danger.

“I still mean to help her, Cornelius.”

“I’m really not so sure she deserves it.”

That sneer again. Edward sucks in his breath in annoyance.

“I told you my plan. She agreed before to let me use her sketches of the pithos, even if she does not now know in what context I mean to use them.” His stomach twists again with the guilt of it. “But I am determined to keep the Blake name anonymous. I will not expose her. I will help her. And when I gain entrance into the Society she can sketch for me. We can form a partnership, one that will allow her to leave the shop. One that will keep her safe.”

A long pause that prickles. Then, “I see.”

Edward hears Cornelius’ disbelief, his disapproval, and he looks at his friend imploringly.

“Cornelius, if you had been with us... it was patent she knew nothing of what her uncle kept in that basement. Nothing at all.”

“Why are you so sure?”

“I just am.”