Mistress Culpepper maintained a strict schedule and required all of us, engaged or not, to eat breakfast at exactly the same time each day. I didn’t mind the early wakeup, if only because breakfast was a brief reprieve from our social whirl. The Thorns, able to eat at their leisure, strolled in near the end of our meal, as was typical. Mistress Culpepper quickly found them chairs, seating Cedric next to me. I didn’t dare look at him, but the proximity made our legs touch under the table. At first, I kept my leg tense, but then I let it relax against his. I felt him do the same. For the remainder of the meal, I had no idea what I ate or said. My entire world focused on that touch.
One of the men who guarded the door called out that we had a guest. Mistress Culpepper hurried out of the dining room to investigate, and none of us reacted with much interest. Servants and messengers came and went at all times. Men with more serious intentions were politely told to come back later if they didn’t have an appointment.
So, it was a surprise when a pale Mistress Culpepper returned to us with a tall man following her. He wore a cheap, ill-fitting suit in plain worsted wool, which had to be uncomfortable with the recent spring turn our weather had taken. Gray streaked his thinning hair, and hard lines were etched into his face. Clearly, this was no enterprising suitor. Everyone around the table looked puzzled—everyone except Mira, oddly enough. She straightened up in her chair, eyes sharp. I couldn’t entirely decipher her expression. Shocked? Calculating? Maybe a little of both.
Charles rose from the table, straightening his jacket. He was as clueless as the rest of us, but he knew there had to be a reason Mistress Culpepper had admitted a guest at this hour. “May I help you, sir?”
The stranger gave a curt nod. “My name is Silas Garrett. I’m with the McGraw Agency.”
If anyone had thought this would be a boring morning, those notions were quickly shut down. The McGraw Agency was a group based out of Osfro who investigated all sorts of matters for those who could pay well enough. Technically, they were an independent organization, but we all knew they had royal authority to enforce the law. Their agents were notoriously ruthless and determined in their missions, going to great lengths—covert or overt—to achieve their goals. They investigated everything from infidelity among minor nobles to espionage for the king. There had been rumors of them being active in the New World, but no one knew for what, or who had employed them.
Jasper strolled up beside his brother. “My goodness. We rarely entertain gentlemen of such standing. I don’t suppose you’re looking for a wife?”
Silas Garrett didn’t crack a smile. “No, but I’m here looking for a woman.”
I don’t know how I knew then, but suddenly, I just did. My whole body stiffened, and I felt Cedric’s hand clasp mine under the table. I didn’t dare look at him, but I understood the message: Stay calm.
“I’m here on undisclosed business of my own, but I have a colleague up in Archerwood who was hired last summer to investigate the possibility that a runaway noblewoman had fled here from Osfrid,” Silas explained. “He’s had little luck—not surprising since Adoria’s such a big place, and he had no real clues about which colony she might have gone to.”
“Understandable,” said Charles. “Forgive me, but what does that have to do with us?”
Silas glanced between Charles and Jasper with hard eyes. “Well, I was recently given a tip that the lady in question might very well be in Cape Triumph—and that your household might have information about her whereabouts.”
“Us?” asked Charles. “How in the world would we know anything about a missing woman?”
“A noblewoman,” corrected Silas. “Lady Witmore, Countess of Rothford.”
Cedric’s hand tightened its grip.
“Countess . . .” Jasper’s brow knitted into a frown. “You don’t mean that business that stopped us in Osfro that night?”
“What night?” demanded Silas.
“Cedric and I were bringing a group of girls out last spring. They were stopping everyone at the city gates. We were searched and sent on our way.” Jasper glanced at his son. “You remember that, don’t you?”
Cedric nodded, wearing the open expression of someone who was simply pleasantly curious. “I do. It was causing quite a stir. Why’s it coming up again?”
“As I said, we received a tip that there might be some lead on the lady here in your household.” Silas glanced around those of us gathered at the table. “You have a great many girls here—the same age as Lady Witmore.”
Jasper’s smile stiffened, but only a little. “Yes, we do. Just as we do every year. It’s our business, Mister Garrett. We bring girls of marriageable age here from Osfrid. I can’t help it if your countess is the same age.”
“How would you even expect to find her?” asked Charles. “Surely you aren’t going to go blindly accusing my girls.”
“No, sir. I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m merely following up on this lead and will send a letter to my colleague up north. All I know is that the lady has brown hair. He has a small portrait.” Silas’s manner was perfectly polite, but I saw his gaze linger briefly on every brown-haired girl at the table, including me. It was a relief that there were three others. “If he comes here, I’m sure he’ll bring it to confirm her identity. Can you verify that all of these girls come from the places they say?”