"Until you decide the weather is favorable?" Isolde asked. "No. I spoke once because silence was killing what remained of us. I will not speak recklessly. I will not be silent for your comfort."
Lady Harriet's hand found Isolde's arm, this time in solidarity. "My niece will call upon you tomorrow at an hour fit for daylight and witnesses. Mr. Oswald Croft, our solicitor, will accompany her. You will receive them."
Lucien inclined his head. It was not grace. It was the recognition of a trap that had already closed and the decision, at least for tonight, not to thrash in it.
"Tomorrow," he said. "Thornmere House. Eleven."
Isolde took the note back. Their fingers did not touch. She returned it to the chatelaine as if returning a blade to its sheath.
"My brother liked piquet," she said at the door, not looking at him. "He said it rewarded memory. He forgot the wrong things."
Then she left him with the lemon oil and the low fire and the first night of his adult life in which winning at cards would not be enough.
Lady Prudence Langford intercepted them in the corridor with the bright eyes of a woman who had heard enough to be dangerous and not enough to be accurate.
"My dear Isolde," she said, "if you meant to set the town alight, you have succeeded. Shall I say you accused him of murder, or merely of debt?"
Lady Harriet stepped between them with a smile that showed teeth. "You shall say that Miss Fenwick sought a private clarification regarding a family paper, and that His Grace agreed to provide it. If you say more, Prudence, I will remember who told Lady Millicent about your son's interest in the opera dancer, and I will remember it loudly."
Prudence's pearls trembled. For a moment the blue-grey gown looked less like elegance and more like armor with a crack. Then she laughed softly.
"Harriet. You always did play the long game." She glanced at Isolde. "Child, if you are going to war with a duke, use better powder than scandal alone. Scandal is cheap. Proof is dear. I have a brother on the Chancery bench who owes me a kindness. If you need a door opened that solicitors cannot open, you will send word."
Isolde blinked. She had expected curiosity. She had not expected an offer.
"Why?" she asked.