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“Perhaps this is a good thing,” Jenny said in a gentle voice. “It will save you from yourself. You should not go back to Montague Club.”

Eliza’s heart sank. If the one sister who generally condoned her every impulsive thought believed returning to Montague Club to track down the brawler would be a bad idea, then perhaps Eliza should accept that it was a bad idea.

The door knocker sounded and Sampson, Camille’s butler, shuffled from the back of the house and across the front hall to open the door.

Eliza took in a calming breath. Perhaps fate was saving her from herself.

Lord Mainwaring could do as he liked and she simply didn’t have that luxury.

She would resume the role of a gently brought up young woman whose only dream in life was to marry well and rear children.

Who cared that she wished to attend college?

Lord Mainwaring certainly didn’t. She’d mentioned the idea of women in higher education to him once and the corner of his mouth had turned up in what could only be described as a sneer.

This was for the best. It would clip her wings before she could do any real damage.

The butler greeted the men, and there was a fair bit of a clamor as they handed off their outerwear.

Devonworth’s voice came to them in the drawing room, clear and crisp, accustomed to being heard above the din of Parliament.

Another voice answered him, a low baritone that vibrated through the walls, vibrated inside her.

A quick glance to Jenny confirmed that it hadn’t had a similar effect on her sister.

She pushed it from her mind and tried to make out the words he spoke, but she couldn’t.

It didn’t matter. This man would be her jailer whether he knew it or not.

She despised him already.

Devonworth stepped into the room and offered them a cursory smile.

“Jenny. Eliza.” He kissed them both on the cheek in turn.

He still treated them formally—he was a blue-blooded aristocrat, after all—but the kisses were his one concession to familiarity.

“Cora told me that you’re none too pleased with this arrangement. Thank you for humoring me.”

Jenny muttered a polite reply, but Eliza stayed silent.

She couldn’t very well go on about how she hated this idea without raising suspicion, so she didn’t say anything.

Her brother-in-law took a step back and turned to the man he’d brought with him.

She nearly gasped when she saw him. Unfashionably long dark hair tamed with pomade, deep blue eyes that scoped out the room as if an assailant might very well be lurking in a corner, and a nose that had been broken at least once.

It was Simon. He wore a three-piece suit similar in style to Devonworth’s own suit, but there was no mistaking it was him.

He still sported a bruise on his cheekbone, though it had faded to a greenish yellow.

He was the man she’d seen in the service corridor at Montague Club and the man she’d glimpsed at Cora’s house assisting Devonworth.

“This is Mr. Simon Cavell,” Devonworth finished the introduction.

Simon Cavell. Simon.

Eliza couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face. Fate had brought him to her. It wasn’t trying to rein her in, nor did it want to clip her wings. Fate had delivered Simon to her all but tied up with a bow.

“Good morning, Mr. Cavell.” Eliza’s smile did not dim as she held out her hand to him.

Cavell glanced from her to Devonworth and back again, undoubtedly confused by her warmth after being told she was cold to the whole idea of him.

Left with no alternative, he took her hand.

His fingers were strong beneath hers. He did not bring her hand to his lips as a gentleman might have done.

Instead, one dark brow rose as he met her gaze head-on, a questioning intensity simmering in his eyes.

“Miss Eliza,” he said.

“Mr. Cavell,” Jenny cut in and offered her own hand.

He hesitated only a moment before letting go of Eliza to take her sister’s hand, finally breaking their stare. “Good morning, Miss Dove,” he said.

Devonworth was either too relieved that they weren’t fighting him on this or too concerned about the minuscule threat of danger to notice.

Introductions made, he sat them all down and briefly went through how their lives would change, which was to say that he didn’t intend for them to.

He explained that they would go about their day and Mr. Cavell would be there lurking in the shadows somewhere.

When he wasn’t there, his associate Mr. Cox, who also worked at Montague Club and was now outside taking in the perimeter of the house, would work in his place.

While in the house, the Doves would hardly know the men existed after this little introduction.

They only needed to give Mr. Cavell their schedule for the next day every evening when he came to lock the doors and windows down for the night.

Finally, Devonworth said, “If you’ll excuse us, I’ll take Cavell on a tour of the house. We won’t be long.”

“Of course,” Eliza said, and watched them walk away.

Mr. Cavell glanced over his shoulder once, his brow furrowed as if he was trying to figure her out, as he followed Devonworth.

She couldn’t wait to get him alone.