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The elderly lady moved closer and peered at him through her round spectacles. “Are you quite well, my lord? You appear to have a stain on your face.”

“I daresay there is more than one.” Adam dug deep for what little patience remained to him. “I am on my way to wash right now. What can I do for you, Miss Glover?”

“That lady who came to visit Miss Norton today—Miss Hadford was her name—I have my concerns about her, my lord. I thought you should know.”

Grateful that Emily had disappeared, he nodded politely. “What worries you, Miss Glover?”

“Well.” The elderly lady took a deep breath, and Adam braced himself. “Miss Norton is such a good, sensible girl. She has no time for frivolity. And she most certainly has no need of a flighty young lady who will fill her head with nonsense. The two of them were talking and laughing and looking at pictures in magazines half the afternoon.” Miss Glover looked as though she’d eaten something sour.

“Magazines, you say?”

“Yes, my lord. Full of fashion plates.”

The absurdity of his current situation was not lost on Adam. Only moments ago, Emily had been urging him to think the best of Miss Hadford. Now Miss Glover was attempting to convince him to think the worst of the lady. He rubbed his right temple in an effort to erase the ache developing there. An image of Emily walking the house with her head in a book about elephants entered Adam’s mind. Surely such reading material was no less questionable for his sister than a lady’s magazine.

“I believe my sister was needing suggestions for some gowns she is having made,” he said. “Perhaps Miss Hadford thought the magazines would be helpful.”

“If you don’t mind my saying so, my lord, Miss Selfridge is perfectly capable of helping Miss Norton with her gowns without any of the silliness I witnessed today.”

Miss Selfridge was probably only five years younger than Miss Glover, and Adam doubted that the practical seamstress had giggled once since she was sixteen. The thought struck him like a blow. Emily was sixteen. When was the last time he’d heard her truly giggle? Was depriving her of young female companions yet another way in which he had failed her? After spending every day with a crotchety old governess and a dunderheaded older brother, it was no wonder she had enjoyed Miss Hadford’s visit so much.

“I appreciate your concern, Miss Glover,” he said. “Be assured, I shall consider the matter of Miss Hadford’s influence on Emily most carefully.” A satisfied smile appeared on the old lady’s face, and Adam experienced an overwhelming desire to erase it. “In the meantime, however,” he continued, “might I suggest that you spend the afternoon in your chambers tomorrow, as I believe Miss Hadford will be returning to Dunsbourne Manor for another visit.”

Miss Glover’s eyes widened. “You wish me to leave Miss Norton alone with the lady?”

“She will not be alone. Miss Selfridge will be here. And by your own admission, the seamstress is a model of respectability.”

“Why, yes, but—”

“I would not wish the young ladies to offend your sensibilities,” he said, speaking more firmly now. “Especially as I have every intention of checking on Miss Norton and Miss Hadford myself.”

If anything, Miss Glover’s eyes widened still further. They both knew that gentlemen customarily made themselves scarce on such occasions as a dress fitting.

“Very well, my lord. If you are sure I cannot be of assistance.”

“Enjoy having a quiet afternoon to yourself, Miss Glover,” he said, even more sure of his suggestion now than he had been when he’d made it. “Miss Norton will be well attended.” He inclined his head. “And now if you will excuse me, I must clean up before dinner.”

“Cherries ripe-ripe-ripe!” The street vendor’s familiar call reached Freddie through the window of the small room he’d leased on Marylebone Street. “Come buy! Fresh today!”

Freddie’s gaze moved across the table at which he sat. The remains of his meal—a mediocre eel pie and two-day-old bread—littered the wooden surface. He frowned. The landlady would need to provide better fare if she expected him to keep paying for meals. Supplementing her poor-tasting offerings with cherries from the street vendor every day was not good enough. He deserved better.

He rose to his feet and jangled the coin purse at his side. The money he’d acquired through his trickery at the grocery shop on Piccadilly had been a good start. But it would not last long. If he wished to live in London with the same level of comfort he had enjoyed whilst in Amsterdam, he would need a far larger income. And the sooner he set about securing it, the better.

Crossing the room, he took a seat at the small writing desk beneath the window. He set a fresh piece of paper before him, took up his quill, and gazed unseeingly at the faded painting of the Thames hanging above the fireplace. His letter must be worded carefully. It must appear urgent enough to elicit a rapid response while requiring the recipient to pen at least half a dozen lines of prose. Six lines of clear script was all it would take for Freddie to duplicate the handwriting well enough to forge a letter. He smiled smugly. Counterfeiting another man’s hand was becoming easier and easier.

He dipped the quill into the inkwell and began to write.

26 Marylebone Street, London

15 September 1788

My Dear Mr. den Haan,

Word of the high quality cotton chintz being produced at your facility in Amsterdam has reached London, as have rumors of your interest in procuring investors for the new printing process you are developing.

One of my merchant ships recently arrived in London a full month ahead of schedule. The successful sale of its cargo finds me with an unexpected surplus of funds and the need to make a swift yet sound investment. If you are interested in receiving additional financial backing for your fabric-printing enterprise, please reply with a detailed proposal by return of post.

Yours sincerely,