“You don’t say?” Tobias picked up the knife and cut himself a hefty wedge of pie. “Now, there’s a stunning surprise.”

Anthony came to a halt and watched with a dark frown as Tobias took a bite of the savory pastry. “Are you mocking me?”

“I assure you, you have my complete sympathy,” Tobias said around the mouthful of pie.

“Bloody hell.” Anthony shoved his ringers through his hair. “I daresay you find my predicament vastly amusing, do you not? No doubt you believe that it is a fitting comeuppance for all the times that I have advised you not to behave in a dictatorial, overbearing manner toward Mrs. Lake.”

Tobias said nothing. He took another bite of pie. Whitby was an excellent cook. But, then, Whitby was good at almost everything. The man who served him as a combination of butler, cook, valet, and occasional doctor even managed to appear more elegant in his clothes than most gentlemen of the ton, including himself, Tobias reflected.

“If it’s any consolation,” Anthony muttered, “I confess that I now possess a much clearer appreciation of the depth of your own sensibilities on the matter of Mrs. Lake’s inclination to take risks.”

“Always nice to know that one’s sensibilities are understood and appreciated.”

“I don’t suppose you have any useful advice for me?”

“Certainly, I have some advice.” Tobias handed him the plate. “Have some more of Whitby’s salmon pie. It is very good. The leeks add a nice touch, I think.

When you have finished you can go back to the business of tracking down Banks’s valet and chatting with streetwalkers.”

Anthony took the plate reluctantly. He looked down at the pie as though it were an alchemist’s crucible. “I’m doomed to be driven mad by Miss Emeline, am I not?”

“Most likely. But I’m certain that you will find it reassuring to know that you are not the only incipient crackbrain in the vicinity. I appear to be doomed to a similar fate, thanks to Mrs. Lake.”

“IS THERE SOMETHING WRONG, EMELINE?”

Lavinia put down her pen and studied her niece’s somber face. “I vow, we are accomplishing very little here. You have been in an exceedingly low mood since yesterday. Was it the incident with the carriage?”

Emeline put aside the paper on which she had been refining her impressions of the responses of the servants whom she and Anthony had interviewed at the Banks mansion. She gave Lavinia a troubled look.

“In a manner of speaking,” she admitted.

“I knew it. You did not sleep well, did you? I noticed at breakfast that you appeared a bit wan.”

Emeline’s mouth curved ruefully. “Is that a polite way of saying that I am not looking my best today?”

“I blame myself. I should have insisted that you take a drop or two of sherry before you went to bed.”

“Anthony called upon me while you and Mrs. Dove and Mr. March interviewed Lord Vale today.”

Lavinia frowned. “Anthony was here? He came into the house? I trust Mrs. Chilton was present?”

“She was here. But as it happens, Anthony did not come into the house. He invited me to walk with him in the park.”

Alarm shot through Lavinia. Visions of what happened on the occasions when Tobias took her for a walk in the park made her blanch.

“How dare that young man even suggest such a thing? What on earth does he think he is about? Is that what has upset you today? I shall demand that Tobias have a stern talk with him.”

Emeline made a face. “You need not concern yourself with the proprieties. We merely took a short stroll in a very public section of the park. We certainly did not disappear for an hour or more the way you and Mr. March are inclined to do when you two take your little walks in the park.”

Lavinia felt herself turning pink now. She cleared her throat. “Mr. March and I have discovered that long walks are extremely invigorating for persons of our age.”

“Indeed.”

Lavinia narrowed her eyes. “What was it about your conversation with Anthony that disturbed you?”

“He is starting to sound altogether too much like Mr. March, if you must know.”

“I beg your pardon? In what way?”

“He told me that, in his opinion, I should reconsider my decision to follow you into the private-inquiries business.”

“I see.” Lavinia pondered that information. “What on earth made him say that, do you suppose? He seems such a sensible, modern-thinking young man.”

“I believe he was somewhat shaken by the incident with the carriage.”

“Interesting. I would not have guessed that he possessed such delicate nerves. Judging from his demeanor yesterday afternoon when you both returned, I would have said that Anthony gave every appearance of being just as cool in a crisis as Tobias.”

“It was not his own brush with danger that unsettled him, although it certainly gave me a terrible jolt,” Emeline said. “Last night he evidently allowed his imagination to get the better of his common sense. He managed to convince himself that I had been in the path of danger and that were it not for a bit of luck I might have been hurt.”

“I see.”

“The entire affair has rattled his nerves and he has concluded that I should, therefore, pursue another career.”

“I see,” Lavinia said again, very neutrally this time.

“I was obliged to endure an extremely tiresome lecture on the subject of how I ought not to put my person in danger. There was also a good bit of boring twaddle on the nature of suitable careers for ladies. In the end I fear I lost my patience and told him exactly what I thought of his overbearing manner. I bid him good afternoon and left him standing there in the middle of the park.”

“I see.” Lavinia planted her hands on the desk and pushed herself to her feet. “What do you say we have a little nip of sherry?”

Emeline frowned. “I expected something more inspirational from such a clever and resourceful lady. You are a woman of the world, after all. You have had some experience of men. Is this the best you can do? A drop of sherry?”

“If it is inspiration you seek, I suggest you consult Shakespeare, Wollstonecraft, or a religious tract. I fear that when it comes to advice on the subject of gentlemen such as Mr. March and Mr. Sinclair, a drop of sherry is the most I can offer.”

“Oh.”

Lavinia opened the sherry cupboard. She removed the decanter, poured two small measures, and handed one of the glasses to Emeline. “They mean well, you know.”

“Yes.” Emeline took a tiny sip of the sherry and immediately assumed a more philosophical air. “Yes, I suppose they do.”

Lavinia sampled the contents of her own glass and sought to organize her thoughts on the subject of men.

“In my experience,” she said slowly, “gentlemen are inclined to become tense and occasionally extremely overwrought whenever they feel that they are not in full control of a situation. This is especially so if the situation involves a lady toward whom they feel a certain responsibility.”

“I understand.”

“They compensate for these attacks of nerves by giving stern lectures, issuing orders, and generally making nuisances of themselves.”

Emeline took a little more sherry and nodded wisely. “It is a most irritating habit.”

“Indeed, but I fear it is the nature of the beast. Perhaps you can now see why I find Mr. March so exasperating on occasion.”

“I confess my eyes have been opened.” Emeline shook her head. “No wonder you are given to frequent quarrels with him. I can already foresee any number of rows with Anthony on the horizon.”

Lavinia raised her glass. “A toast.”

“To what?”

“To exasperating gentlemen. You must admit that they are, at the very least, quite stimulating.”