The wide staircase curved in a long, graceful arc toward the black-and-white-tiled entry hall. It was as grand as any house in Mayfair could be, but Annabel couldn’t help comparing it to her family’s country home.

She hoped the tenants were enjoying the rivers in Chilworth. They were always best in the spring.

The final step left her aligned with the library door. Her knock echoed through the hall, making it sound less like a polite rap and more like a demanding hammer.

“Enter.”

It was unkind to compare this library with the one in Chilworth. The latter was a family library, overstuffed with favorites read until their spines were creased and their covers were tattered at the corners. Not even Father’s library here in London could compare with that.

However, even Father’s London library smelled of read books. Sir Reginald Spencer’s smelled of new leather and tobacco, and the spines glinted in the sunshine like soldiers lined up for review.

“Miss Pearce.” Spencer motioned to the chairs in front of his desk. “Sit.”

Annabel bristled at the command that made her feel like a prized terrier. At least her employer didn’t call her by her Christian name.

She took the chair that claimed the most shadow and waited for Spencer to sit. As he emerged from the sun’s glare, his features formed.

As a young man, he’d likely garnered a great deal of attention due to his height. As an older man, everything about him—from his fair skin to his white-blond hair—stretched too thinly over his large bones. He would have been terrifying looming down from a pulpit. Best that he’d given up his parish for a position in the royal household.

“How is Bitty this morning?”

“Elizabeth is well.” Annabel emphasized the girl’s first name. The unfortunate family nickname sounded too much like “Biddy” to be complimentary. Besides that, the girl had inherited her father’s height. “She was beginning her art lesson when I left her.”

The man nodded, his smile as thin as his eyebrows. His lined face seemed to fight the effort. “She shows some aptitude for it, I believe.”

“She does.” In truth, Elizabeth sat still for little else. “I would like to challenge her by taking her to the National Museum, where she can study and copy the masters. There are several young ladies who do the same, and it would be good for Elizabeth to try her hand at something unfamiliar.”

“Perhaps she should carry her supplies to Wiltshire for new scenery,” Spencer said.

Annabel’s hopes fell. “She thought she saw an invitation.”

“She did, and I have already answered. Elizabeth will leave in four days’ time with you as her companion.”

“Four days will barely give us time to gather wardrobes, sir.”

“She should need no new dresses. Many of the ones purchased for the Season have yet to be worn.”

It was true. Elizabeth had all she needed, but Annabel needed…

Nothing. She was a paid companion, hired to step in due to Mrs. Spencer’s illness. Two day dresses and something for evening meals were the only requirements. Her days of croquet and ballrooms were over.

But that didn’t mean she had no say. She had a job and, to her, part of that was bringing Elizabeth out properly. That meant using her own experiences about which events were better suited to find quality husbands.

The last house party she had attended with Jasper Warren had ended prematurely in a drunken display that left all the ladies in tears and one young man—not a gentleman, despite his upbringing—with a broken nose.

“With respect, sir, are you certain of this? Lord Ramsbury’s reputation for bacchanals is no secret, and Elizabeth, frankly, is too impulsive. The environment will most likely—”

“Elizabeth will have the month to grow accustomed to the crowd she will likely mingle with for the rest of her life. As for her impulses, that is why she has you.”

“A month?”

A month at the sort of party where Annabel would have been a guest only a year ago. A month with ton ladies she knew from ballrooms and rides in the park. They could be horrid to each other in the best of circumstances, and this was not Annabel’s best circumstance.

It likely wouldn’t be Elizabeth’s either. She was better in shorter events where there was little chance for her manners and temper to wear thin.

“Sir, since we will be near Bath, perhaps a visit to Elizabeth’s mother would be in order. Maybe a fortnight there would ease Elizabeth’s mind over Mrs. Spencer’s health.”

The lie was a gamble. Elizabeth was no more worried about her mother than anyone else in the household, including the lady’s husband. Annabel wrote to her of Elizabeth’s successes in the Season, detailing everything she was missing, but she rarely saw any other letters in the outgoing post.

Spencer looked at her from under his brows. “At month’s end, if Elizabeth wishes to see her mother, she may visit for a week, no more. Her mother will not bear the upheaval for a fortnight. But you will spend the month at Kennet Hall. That is plenty of time to accomplish my goal.”

His goal? Surely he wasn’t title-hunting for his daughter amongst Warren’s set. “Sir, Elizabeth has many well-situated suitors in London.” Annabel scoured her memory for the standouts amongst Elizabeth’s recent dance partners. “Mr. Cameron is heir to the Earl of Whitestone, and Mr.—”

“I do not care to send my daughter husband-hunting more than she already is,” Spencer said. “I want to know what goes on in that house.”

“You want a scandal.” Annabel wasn’t a fool. She’d investigated Spencer before entering his employment. The reports had been good, though there were a few whispers of his ability to sniff out secrets and use them to his benefit. There were suspicions that he’d helped bring down Viscount Stratford just a few months earlier.

Spencer shook his head. “I have a well-founded suspicion that Jasper Warren is plotting some sort of upheaval in Wales.”

“Surely not.” It was one thing for a man to care little for his reputation and his title. It was another thing altogether to hang because of it.

“His man, Yarwood, is a Welsh-born, British-trained soldier. With his connections both in trade and in the military, and Ramsbury’s wealth and political sway, they could create havoc. If Ramsbury includes his French mistress, some bit of fluff with a diplomat father, the interference could cripple London.”

The connections were difficult to overlook, but the plan had one flaw. “Sir, Elizabeth will never be able to discover this secret.” The girl could barely keep a secret.

“Not Elizabeth.” Spencer’s sharp stare scraped Annabel’s skin. “You.”

No. Annabel’s lot in life had changed, but she would not stoop to sneaking through someone else’s house and listening at keyholes. She shook her head. “Sir, this is unwise.”

She was risking dismissal, but no one else would speak for her. Learning that had been a bitter lesson. Besides, the Season provided a bit of courage. Elizabeth couldn’t go into Society without a chaperone, and unemployed candidates were thin on the ground.

Spencer’s eyes narrowed. “It is not. Dressed as you are, with the role you have, no one will notice your moving through the house. Chaperones are unnecessary for rides and games, even balls at the house. You will have time on your hands and fewer eyes on your activity. Plus, you are bright enough to realize what will, or won’t, be important.”

It was clear from his smile that he’d intended the last to stroke her pride. Bright enough.

Enough.

Annabel wanted to throw something at him. Better yet, she could leave his employ altogether. While he might not dismiss her, she could still resign.

But the lack of available chaperones also meant there were no suitable open positions. This job was all that kept Annabel from begging. Or worse.

At least Spencer had a good reputation. His older brother was the Earl of Denton, and his sister was married to the Duke of Somerset. Even his middle brother had retired from the navy as a hero and a wealthy man. Rumor had it that Spencer himself was being considered for a promotion that would give him the ear of the queen.

Perhaps this mission, while distasteful, was valid.

“Find the truth and return with Elizabeth,” she said, confirming their agreement.

He nodded. “And to my gratitude.”