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He’s dead now. Gone forever.

But it didn’t ease the bubbling hatred simmering in the centre of her soul. It didn’t stop the impotent anger that only found teeth and claws when she sparred with Philippa. It didn’t dispel the terror of a little girl trapped in her father’s twisted fantasies.

She pulled her focus back to Olivia. She was talking about something, her expressive eyes flashing in the early-afternoon sunlight as they sipped tea in the one room of the orphanage forbidden to the children.

The front parlour. A space designed to entertain wealthy matrons interested in donating large sums of money or offer a reprieve to the tutors engaged in educating the children so they might enjoy their morning and afternoon tea on the well-padded, if not slightly faded, settee.

She wondered what the parlour might think, knowing it was also perfectly designed for conducting interviews with the Commissioner of Scotland Yard when a certain headmistress was accused of either shooting an intruder or simply being mad.

If rooms had thoughts about such things.

Wondering about the opinions of a parlour is probably not the best way to prove I am sane.

‘Did you hear me, Ivy? Are you well? You’ve gone quite pallid.’ Olivia’s shell-pink morning dress was hemmed with seed pearls along the neckline, drawing attention to her alabaster skin. Ivy could easily imagine Olivia as a carved statue of some Greek goddess were she not so animated.

First the parlour has opinions, now my friend is a stone statue. Evidence of my mental acuity is not exactly running abundant.

Ivy tried to smile and failed. ‘I’m sorry, Olivia. I must have been lost in thought.’

‘Are you worried, dear? Don’t trouble yourself about the commissioner. I know how to handle men like that. I’m only sorry you had to?—’

Before she could finish her sentence, the Duchess of Dorsett swept into the room.

Oh dear.

Philippa was resplendent in a blackberry gown overlaid with ebony lace.

Rubies and onyx gemstones dangled from her ears and more wrapped around her neck.

Her hair was piled into a complicated twist of curls and braids.

She did not hesitate at the door but instead strode forth as proud and terrifying as an avenging angel to stand directly in front of Olivia.

The contrast of Philippa’s dark magnificence against Olivia’s ivory perfection was breathtaking.

Commissioner Worthington won’t have time to interview me while investigating the double homicide that is sure to take place between Philippa and Olivia. This is all my fault.

Ivy never told Philippa she had taken the position Olivia offered to her. In part, because Philippa had expressly forbidden her to do so, and in part because it was thrilling to make a decision completely on her own with no one’s permission or approval.

Philippa strongly disliked Lady Olivia, though her reasons for such vehement emotions were opaque.

She only alluded that she had suspicions about the woman.

When Ivy had pressed her on the matter, Philippa refused to elaborate.

While Ivy trusted Philippa implicitly and the duchess’ intuition was rarely wrong, in this instance, Ivy knew Philippa’s judgement was flawed.

Olivia had been nothing but kind and thoughtful in her interactions with Ivy.

She sought her out at the few social events Ivy attended and sent her an express invitation to join the Committee of Concerned Ladies for Community Betterment, an organisation Olivia presided over as chairwoman and whose commitment to charitable acts on behalf of children was gaining notice within the beau monde and parliament.

While the idea of helping others, especially the most vulnerable and needy members of society, drew her with a magnetic force difficult to resist, Ivy had initially declined Lady Olivia’s invitation.

She had been shunned by the beau monde when her father, in a fit of apparent insanity, had murdered her brother.

Society believed he then killed himself, although Ivy knew the truth of the story.

Still, the peerage wanted nothing to do with a young lady tainted by such evil blood.

Ivy feared any assistance she could offer Olivia and the Committee would be outweighed by the negative impact of Ivy’s reputation.

Olivia would not accept Ivy’s written refusal and effusive apology, instead paying her an unannounced visit at Aunt Gertrude’s modest townhouse in Paddington.

Ivy had tried to explain everything. Painful as it was to speak about, Ivy put forth in no uncertain terms that including her in any venture would only invite gossip and speculation.

But Olivia waved a gloved hand and flashed her white teeth in a brilliant smile.

‘We can’t choose our family, Lady Ivy. We certainly can’t control their choices.

I don’t care what your father did, what your brother did, or how low you have sunk in the eyes of the beau monde.

I need a kind, brave, courageous woman to help me protect London’s most vulnerable citizens.

You are the perfect candidate. If your only objection is fear your reputation might damage our success, let me assure you, the beau monde has plenty of fodder from my own actions and that hasn’t hindered our endeavours a whit.

Put your mind at ease on that score. Won’t you please help? ’

How could Ivy refuse such an offer of friendship and a chance to do something useful with her life?

And how could a woman of Olivia’s altruistic conviction be guilty of any serious crimes?

It was the only time Ivy disagreed with the duchess.

The true measure of their friendship would be whether Philippa embraced Ivy even after she went against her wishes.

I suppose today is the moment I find out the strength of Philippa’s regard for me.

Though Ivy certainly hadn’t planned for Philippa to discover her partnership with Olivia like this. She was going to explain it all to Philippa at their next training session. After she had spent a few days at the orphanage and gained some confidence in her new post.

So much for careful planning. And now my subterfuge will end in murder.

‘I should have known I would find you here.’ Philippa’s cobalt eyes flashed like a blade in sunlight. ‘Exactly what do you think you are doing subjecting Lady Ivy Cavendale to such danger?’ She held a jewelled fan in her hand and leaned over Olivia, pointing the fan like a sparkling dagger.

Olivia’s eyes widened for a fraction before her mouth curled in a cold smile.

She stood, forcing Philippa to take a step backwards.

‘I’m sorry. I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced.

I am Lady Olivia Smithwick, Marchioness of Brightmore.

’ She inclined her head in the most infinitesimal bow, a direct insult to the duchess who outranked Olivia and deserved a curtsey at the very least. ‘You must be the Duchess of Dorsett. I’ve heard so much about you, although I must admit, I thought you were younger, Your Grace. ’

Oh. My. Lord. Olivia has a death wish.

Philippa raised a single black brow as a rare blush washed over her cheeks. ‘And I expected you to be far more intelligent. Pity. So rarely do I meet an adversary worthy of my time and energy. I had such high hopes for you, but I find myself disappointed.’

Olivia was almost eye level with Philippa. She leaned closer, her full lips pursed in a scowl. ‘Give it time. Grand ladies such as yourself often overestimate their skills and underestimate the prowess of their opponents. I shall enjoy proving you wrong, Lady Winterbourne.’

‘And I shall enjoy crushing you beneath my heel, Lady Smithwick.’

‘Lovely. I’m so glad you both finally get to meet.

Perhaps we can put away our threats long enough to discuss the intruder who visited last night and devise a solution to ensure the children are safe from further threat.

’ Ivy tried very hard to keep her voice from wavering.

‘Or I can let the two of you battle to the death, and I shall sort things out on my own,’ she murmured.

Philippa swung her head around to face Ivy. ‘You should have told me.’

Damnation.

The disappointment in Philippa’s gaze was enough to level Ivy. She hated disappointing people. Especially those she respected and cared about.

‘I know. I should have told you I was taking a position as headmistress. I knew you would disapprove, and so I stayed silent. I was a coward.’

‘Don’t bully her,’ Olivia hissed, stepping away from Philippa to reclaim her seat.

‘A duchess does not bully. She expresses her opinions with conviction, and those who disagree eventually realise they are wrong,’ Philippa threw back.

Looking at her seating options in the small but cheerful parlour, she took a wing-back chair near the low table, as far from Olivia as she could sit without leaving the room entirely.

‘Of course I would have supported you in finding useful work, Ivy. I just would have insisted you do so with reputable partners.’ Her gaze cut across to Olivia.

Ivy jumped in before Olivia could offer a rejoinder. ‘Philippa, how did you know I was here?’ Ivy knew Philippa had informants everywhere, but she doubted any of them would waste time keeping tabs on Ivy.

A knock sounded on the parlour door, saving Philippa from having to answer. The young lady they hired to help with daily chores poked her head into the room.

‘There’s a gentleman at the door. He says he’s here to speak with you, Mum. Looks like a right tight-arse if you ask me.’

Ivy’s cheeks coloured as a large hand pushed the door further open. Commissioner Worthington spared a withering glare at the scruffy maid. A tall, thin man with an almost invisible moustache and beautifully pressed jacket trailed behind the commissioner. He carried with him a smart leather satchel.