It was too good of an opportunity to resist so I, of course, accepted. Though that left me with no choice but to enter the Abbington's jewelry shop with her and pray I could find a way to explain all of this to Samuel.

Luckily for me, he wasn't working this evening and we, instead, met Mr. and Mrs. Abbington at the counter. They greeted Cecily Keene eagerly, looking over me entirely. That was a good thing. Though I highly doubted Mr. Abbington would remember me from the only other time we had met, when I'd been running errands with Elena, anyway. That was the thing about the servants. We faded into the background. It's what made us perfect for jobs like this.

I perused the shelves while Cecily Keene distracted herself with the Abbington's newest, undoubtedly most expensive, shipment and I wondered again how a shopkeep had seemingly endless amounts of money. When she was finished, we exited the shop. She hailed a cab and handed the driver her bags to load as we climbed in.

On the way to her family home, Cecily Keene talked about all manner of trivial things. For a woman so set against the airheaded elite, she sure acted like one, telling me all sorts of unverified gossip and giggling at her own tales. I went along with it as best I could, knowing Cecily Keene might be the best way for me to get close to her father, but it left a nasty taste in my mouth all the same.

As we pulled up to the Keene estate, however, I fought to school my features into something less surprised. Before me was one of the most opulent estates I had seen in London. It rivaled the Langley's own long standing ancestral home. I stepped out of the carriage, staring up at the mansion in poorly hidden wonder.

"This is your home?" I asked Cecily without bothering to glance at her. "Your father's shop must do very well."

She scoffed at that and I sensed my mistake immediately. I should know, better than anyone, how painful it could be for a merchant living among the elite to be reminded of their status. Even merchants as rich as the Keene's.

"My father is a man of many trades," she responded as she strode into her home. My eyes followed her at her words. So, maybe the superficial daughter knew something of her father's deeds after all.

It was this realization which spurned my feet onward, following Cecily Keene into her mansion. The moment I came through the doorway, I was greeted by an enormous painting of Cecily herself, lazing on an armchair as a man her age stood behind her, hand on the back of the chair, stoic expression. I was unable to look away from his portrait. The green eyes seemed to pierce through me and I remembered then where I'd seen them before.

Camden Keene. Elena's announcement ball, that was where I had seen him before. And he had been just as handsome then as he was in this portrait. Perhaps more so.

"Do you like it?" Cecily asked suddenly and I blinked back to reality, looking over to see her watching me with a smile. "My father commissioned it. The painter came all the way from Italy."

"It's beautiful," I told her and she took my compliment as the subject matter. "But I thought you had three brothers."

"Oh. Yes, well. Michael and William have family portraits of their own, don't they? Besides, it's Cam and I who are always jockeying for the position of father's favorite," she told me with a mischievous grin and then turned, heading through the massive foyer and into a hallway beyond. As I hurried to catch up, I heard voices for the first time. They were coming from the other side of the hall we had entered.

"I'd have thought you'd have that position well enough in hand," I teased her as we walked and she chuckled.

"I do. In everything but business. Father tells Camden absolutely everything about his business."

I paused. Did he now?

She strode through the threshold of an open room toward the start of the hall and I followed confidently after her. The voices I had heard were explained in a moment. The two women I had seen giggling in the shop before now sat on a loveseat, facing each other and doing the same. A toddler played with a set of blocks a few feet away. He glanced up at us as we entered, drool sliding down his chin.

"Cecily!" one of the women cooed and stood to hug her. This one must be Eloise, then, the mother of the boy, as Mary remained seated to accommodate her swelling stomach. "We wondered when you would return home. We've been hoping to have tea. Oh, and who's this you've brought with you?"

The woman turned her gaze on me and I smiled brightly back at her.

"Eloise, this is Gwendolyn Marlowe of Sussex. She's visiting the city, trying to convince her wealthy brother to purchase a manor here," Cecily introduced and I noticed how her eyes lit up at the words wealthy brother. Seems as though it was a tough habit to break.

They welcomed me with the appearance of open arms, though I noticed the distrustful suspicion in their eyes all the same. We headed for the veranda for tea and I fought the instinct to thank the maid as she poured. For a woman so set against female dependence, she fell into the idle prattle well enough. We discussed the weather and the husbands, even the progress of Mary's pregnancy, before finally landing upon their favorite topic of all: gossip. I heard quite a bit of news repeated that I had heard before but, as I was to be a lady of Sussex, I feigned surprise and forced myself to ask questions about names I already knew.

An hour or so later, as Eloise was in the midst of a deeply dramatic account of the Lockland's divorce, I heard the door open behind me and turned to see George Keene entering with his eldest two sons, Michael and William. They had been deep in conversation but, when Mary interrupted Eloise's story to call out a greeting, they fell apart and smiled as they approached.

Michael and William went straight for their wives, giving them a kiss and muttering a greeting, but George remained in the threshold, smiling despite his narrowed eyes upon me.

"Good evening, father," Cecily said kindly, standing from her seat and going to kiss him on the cheek where he stood. His eyes remained on me but softened slightly.

"Good evening, Cecily," he answered in that gruff voice of his. "Who is this?"

"My newest friend," she beamed as I stood to face him, hiding my shaking hands in my skirts as I curtsied in greeting, praying I hadn't understated the importance of my father's loans and they weren't enough for George Keene to know of personally. If he recognized me and if he were half the villain I expected him to be, there would be no leaving this house alive. But, as I rose from my curtsey and met his gaze with my own, I saw no recognition there. Only vague interest.

"This is Gwendolyn Marlowe," Cecily told him, "from Sussex."

"Sussex," he repeated and I forced a friendly smile. "You're quite a way from home."

"She's trying to convince her brother to buy a manor in the city."

"Is she now?" he raised a brow but I stood my ground, head held high. He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted.

"George, darling."

Mrs. Keene was entering from the gardens, a parade of elegant middle aged women falling in behind her. She approached her husband and gave him a strangely rigid kiss on the cheek before offering the same to her daughter. Cecily's mood, I noticed, seemed to diminish somewhat in the presence of her mother.

"I'm glad I caught you," Mrs. Keene continued to her husband, ignoring the rest of us entirely. "I had hoped to get your opinion on the new drapes for the dining room."

"Whatever you want, Katherine," he snapped, extricating himself from her and turning away. "The boys and I have business to attend to."

On command, Michael and William abandoned their own wives as well to follow after their father to his office down the hall. Mrs. Keene seemed relatively unphased by her husband's lack of affection, simply straightening her skirts and calling her friends into the parlor. Once they were all gone, we sat back down and resumed our gossip with Cecily's in-laws without speaking another word about the strange scene we had witnessed between Mr. and Mrs. Keene.

I chatted with the girls well into the night but I was, admittedly, far more interested in the quantity and variety of burly men making their way to and from Mr. Keene's office. It was as though the Keene manor had a revolving door open to the scariest looking men in London. I kept an eye out for any with a particular scar or a familiar lanky structure but, thankfully, saw no such men.

Finally, Cecily stifled a yawn and announced it time for bed. I snapped back to the conversation at hand, having just watched two of the largest men I had ever seen come from the direction of Mr. Keene's office and leave the house grumbling, as the other two bid me goodnight. Cecily called for a maid who escorted me to a lovely guest bedroom before excusing herself and leaving me alone. I locked the door tightly behind her.

I should have slept. I needed to keep my wits about me around these people but sleep did not come when you found yourself within a den of vipers and I found myself lying awake, keeping watch over the locked door.

In the morning, I did what I could to appear well rested, before leaving my room to find them all at breakfast. I made my way past the dining room, hoping to go unnoticed, but no such luck. I heard Cecily Keene call out my false name a moment before she emerged, facing me, in the foyer.

"Come, join us for breakfast," she offered.

"Thank you for asking me to stay the night. Your home is far nicer than a boarding house could ever be. And I enjoyed our shopping and conversation as well. I would love to join your wonderful family for breakfast but I'm afraid I'm scheduled to view a manor in the city that is for sale. For my brother, you know."

"Yes, of course," she said then, reminded of my true reason for being in the city. I smiled and turned to leave, headed for the door and stifling a yawn. As soon as I reached it, though, she called out from behind me, "Will you still be in the city in two days?"

I turned. "Perhaps. Why?"

"It's my birthday. Mine and Cam's. Mother always hosts a ridiculous ball that would be so much more fun if you were to attend."

I smiled. "I'd love to."

She beamed as I threw open the door and strode into the morning sun. I hailed a cab and gave them Harold's sister's address. Resigned to spend the rest of the day in a well-earned slumber, I opened the door to my temporary rooms only to find that I wasn't alone. Harold sat at the small table, hardly visible over the massive stack of clothes upon it. He smiled as I entered and raised a brow at the articles.

"Harold," I said in greeting. "What's all this?"

"Mr. Nathaniel Harrison made his way to the residence of Alexander Langley. Mrs. Langley was thrilled to see him, of course, welcoming him in for tea and whatever she manages to pass off as conversation. But he was actually there to see me. Turns out, a certain Langley Senior told him what you've been up to and how I've been recruited as your helper. Apparently, as households are combining to much smaller closets, the new Mrs. Harrison ordered her maids to make donations of some old dresses. You know, for charity."

I smiled, placing a hand upon the ornately beaded gown on top. So Mr. Harrison had trusted me enough to go to the Senior Langley rather than the junior. And these clothes, while needed, were more than just donated dresses. They were a sign of support from Nathaniel Harrison. I could breathe a little easier knowing someone else in this city was on my side.

"My sister told me you'd been out all night," Harold said suddenly and I looked up to find him still watching me. Though the smile was gone now, replaced by a thin line of worry. I ignored him, walking to the mirror on the opposite wall to remove my borrowed earrings. He sat silently for some time before he tried again. "Charlotte-"

"I told you, Harold," I interrupted, meeting his eyes in the reflective glass in front of me, "not to ask me those questions."