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‘It means there’s no way to link this letter to Clarence Thurston.

That’s what it means. Nor does it help us investigate the Devil’s Sons.

’ Edward needed to think. He stood up and began pacing.

‘If the Devil’s Sons are behind the boy breaking into the orphanage, the danger to Ivy and all the children just increased tenfold. ’ Fear kicked along his nerves.

Reading nodded.

‘The baron will claim the note was never in his son’s pocket.’

‘True.’

‘But without a chance to question Clarence, we can’t determine the Devil’s Sons’ plan.’

Shrugging, Reading heaved out a sigh. ‘Quite the conundrum, sir.’

Edward shook his head. ‘Not helpful, Reading.’

‘I did find the letter.’

‘Yes, well done, you. Now, if you could tell me what the hell it means, that would be marvellous,’ Edward muttered.

He was missing something. A piece to the puzzle that would take him one step closer to hunting down these bastards.

‘I need to speak to Philippa. And then get back to the orphanage.’ He thought Ivy would be safe after catching the intruder, but if the Devil’s Sons were involved, she was in more danger now than ever before.

He grabbed his coat from the rack and reached for the door, but Reading stopped him.

His long fingers wrapped around Edward’s wrist in a surprisingly strong grip.

‘It’s six in the morning, sir. I doubt the duchess would welcome such an early visit. May I recommend you get some sleep. Change your clothes. Perhaps have a bath.’

‘I don’t have time for a bloody bath, Reading. She could be in danger right now.’ Panic, raw and frantic, rose in his chest.

‘Isn’t her friend with her right now? Lady Drake? And I’m sure Major General Drake is there. No one is going to attack her with those two as protectors. And, sir, she did a fine job last night of defending not just herself, but you as well.’

‘Thank you for reminding me of my ineptitude,’ Edward growled, yanking free of Reading’s grip.

‘I’m merely suggesting you might be more effective in your role with some sleep. Maybe something to eat. And definitely a bath, unless you wish Lady Ivy to associate you with the scent of sweat, damp wool, and mud.’ He sniffed pointedly and took a step back.

Edward tentatively sniffed near his armpit.

Reading might have a point.

‘Send a note to Lady Ivy. Tell her Major General Drake must stay with her until I can return this evening.’

Reading nodded.

‘Send another note to Philippa. Let her know I will be coming round this afternoon to update her on the case.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And Reading.’ Edward twisted the handle of the door, pausing in its threshold.

Reading raised his brow, waiting.

‘Smug doesn’t look good on you.’

Reading’s words followed Edward out the door. ‘Everything looks good on me, sir.’

* * *

A week passed since Ivy and Edward’s encounter with the man she now knew was Lord Clarence Thurston. During that time, things had been rather dull. She should be grateful for the peace, but instead, she found herself twitching with restless energy.

Edward continued to spend his nights at the orphanage, though she was often abed before he came from Scotland Yard, and he left each morning before she’d come down to break her fast. They had precious little time together.

What time they did have was focused on new developments in Edward’s investigation, but frustratingly little progress was being made.

It would seem he’d all but forgotten their conversation at Widow Lovemore’s.

This was another thing she should be grateful for, but again, she found herself unaccountably agitated.

I was given an opportunity. One I wanted. And I froze. Because of old fears. I’m still letting Father control me from the grave.

She hated that he held sway over her choices even in death.

The bastard deserves to be forgotten. Forever.

Her fears weren’t just confined to the burgeoning desires she had for Edward.

When he told her about the missive he found in Clarence Thurston’s pocket, she had initially been horrified, but as time passed, even that emotion dissolved into an edgy impatience for something to happen.

An outright attack would be far preferable to the interminable waiting.

Millie, Hannah, and Penny had all dealt with members of the Devil’s Sons but Ivy thought she would be far too frightened.

Yet now, the very idea of those loathsome men – so like her father – coming anywhere near the orphans she protected created a fire in her belly to sharpen her knives, oil her gun, and stand guard at the gates.

Maddeningly, no direct attack was imminent so she focused on the things she could control.

Settling into her routine as headmistress and gaining confidence in her skills at corralling a herd of young people distracted her from the interminable waiting.

Her favourite time was reading stories to the children before bedtime in a room that had once hosted grand balls.

Now, it echoed with the adventures of Edmond Dantès, the mad passion of Victor Frankenstein, and the gothic glory of Jane Eyre’s frightening discoveries.

It was a new routine she started at the request of Sarah, though she was certain if the Committee of Concerned Ladies for Community Betterment caught wind of the stories Ivy read to the children, there would be much frothing and fussing over appropriate subject matters.

They can all hang. The children love the stories and have likely seen far worse in their short lives than anything written on these pages.

When she wasn’t engaged in such pleasurable activities, her time was spent chiefly in determining ways to stretch their meagre funds far enough to feed seven and twenty hungry bellies.

One of the local orphanages in St Giles had sent her an inquiry about whether there were any more beds at her location as they were full to overflowing.

The western wing could easily be converted for more children, but there was no point in taking them.

She could barely manage the needs of her current wards without adding any more.

It was all rather frustrating and provided ample worries to take up her time, making it easy to put much more troubling problems like her growing restlessness to act on any number of ill-advised ventures – tracking down Clarence and forcing him to reveal his secrets or sneaking into Edward’s room in the middle of the night and confronting her fears about kissing him – to the back corner of her mind.

Which was why the invitation she received from Olivia two days prior to meet her at Gunter’s on this day for an ice while the children were busy with their studies was such a welcome distraction.

Ivy’s tight personal budget didn’t extend to such extravagances, but Olivia assured Ivy in her note this would be her treat.

She had a brilliant idea to raise funds for the orphanage and needed to discuss the plans.

Ivy was certain Edward would not want her traipsing across London on her own, even for the temptation of a delicious ice and the hope of much-needed funds for the orphanage. Thankfully, she was under no obligation to ask his permission.

Dressed in a sprigged muslin gown three seasons old, her reticule heavy with a muff pistol and dagger, and a straw bonnet she’d just redone with new ribbons plunked on her head, Ivy stepped out into a bright day and took a deep breath of the summer air, fragrant with dog rose and honeysuckle.

She made her way along Upper Street where hackneys were plentiful.

Soon, she was tucked away in a carriage smelling faintly of onions, the summer breeze tickling against her neck as she trundled toward Berkeley Square.

The last time she was in the same neighbourhood, she had been chasing a man with a gun.

‘Ivy Cavendale, who have you become?’

It was a worthy question, and one she couldn’t yet answer.

Gunter’s was packed with young ladies grouped together like brightly coloured bouquets, gentlemen in summer suits of white linen or taupe smoking cheroots and laughing too loudly, and young children running to and fro with dripping fingers and sticky faces.

Sitting at a table in the corner of the crowded tea shop was Olivia, like a fairy queen in a bubble of solitude amongst so much chaos.

Ivy wove her way through the crowd.

‘Ivy. How wonderful to see you. You look beautiful.’ Olivia rose and pulled Ivy into a hug, placing a soft kiss on each of her cheeks.

‘Please, sit. I ordered us two ices. Elderflower and cherry. You choose.’ She gestured to two small tasse á glace cups with a scoop of white ice in one and bright red in the other.

‘Thank you so much for the invitation, Olivia.’ Ivy smiled at her friend.

Looking at both ices, her mouth began to water.

‘Elderflower, I think. Less chance of staining my dress.’ She sat down and pulled the glass of white ice toward her, scooped a spoonful into her mouth, and closed her eyes, savouring the creamy, sweet treat. ‘Divine.’

Olivia’s blonde ringlets were expertly twisted into an intricate knot with tendrils framing her face.

A lavender gown highlighted her full figure while bringing out the pink hues in her cheeks and lips.

She looked lovely, but there was fatigue in the lines around her mouth and the carefully concealed bruising beneath her eyes that pearl powder couldn’t hide.

Ivy leaned forward, lowering her voice in the loud tea room. ‘Are you quite well?’

Olivia stretched her lips wide. She scooped up her own spoonful of cherry ice. ‘Of course. I’m splendid and so excited to discuss my new plan with you.’

Ivy was familiar with not wanting to share private affairs, even with close friends, so she did not press Olivia. ‘What mischief are you hatching?’