Two days later, I was unsurprised to find an invitation to dinner at the Keene residence left on the bedside table in my apartment. I smiled to myself, thrilled to be moving forward with my plan after two days of inaction, wondering if I had made enough of an impression to warrant an association with one of the most influential families in London. If this latest invitation were any indication, I had.

I got to work on readying myself for the evening meal at once, grateful that Bernard's mail scheme had truly worked as planned. Of course, I could not afford the sort of accommodations that a woman of my pretended class would be staying in, but Harold's sister's apartments were not the sort that the likes of Gwendolyn Marlowe would ever be seen anywhere near. When this issue had arisen, Bernard had thought of an excellent scheme. He had a friend who served at one of the most reputable boarding houses on the West End and who had promised to reroute any mail coming in under my assumed name to the correct address and, as servants were the only ones deemed low enough to do such menial tasks as retrieving the mail, no one would ever know. I owed quite a bit to Bernard for his ruse and I would not forget to thank him properly when this was all over.

For now, I readied myself for dinner, choosing a pale-yellow dress of Elena's for the occasion and doing my hair in the way I had seen her arrange hers hundreds of times. I hoped she wouldn't mind my quite literally pilfering her style. Imitation was, after all, the highest form of flattery. Despite the fact that Elena was the only woman of means that I truly knew.

By evening, I arrived at the Keene residence, prepared to endure whatever passed for a dinner party amongst such villainy. The butler admitted me to the house and led me straight away to the dining room where I found this was no dinner party at all. Just dinner.

The Keene family sat arranged around the table, their chatter halting as I entered, the only outsider among them. Cecily beamed at me as her father greeted me with his booming voice and gestured for me to take the only remaining seat at the table. I did so without a word, surprised to find myself alone with the Keene's. Cecily reached out and gripped my hand, squeezing it in greeting and smiling as George Keene clapped for the first course to be served. Suddenly, a bowl of piping hot soup was in front of me and the family had devolved into groups of individual conversation.

"Cecily," I hissed quietly under my breath. "I thought you said this was a dinner party."

"Oh, no!" she said. "Not a party, just dinner. My brothers went on about my new friend once you had left so father said he'd like to meet you and that I should invite you to dinner at once."

My lips parted slightly as I glanced to George Keene who sat in conversation with his eldest son at the opposite end of the table.

"It's lovely to see you again, Miss Marlowe," someone spoke then, and I turned to see Camden Keene smiling over the table at me. "You look wonderful, as always."

I opened my mouth to retort but was interrupted by Cecily's gasp.

"Oh, Gwen! You just have to come by the shop tomorrow. I've got something I want to show you," she told me, tucking into her soup and positively ignoring the hooded gaze of her brother's focused entirely on me. "And Lorelei and Winifred were asking about you. I told them we could all have lunch soon. So, whenever you aren't busy-"

"Are you very busy, Miss Marlowe?" Camden interjected, curiously.

"She's here to find a suitable property for her brother to purchase in the city," Cecily explained, beaming at me as she did. "And let's hope she can. I'd be thrilled to have a friend so close by."

"Yes," Camden agreed, allowing his gaze to roll slowly over me. "Let's hope she moves much closer."

The entrees were delivered and I busied myself with eating the delectable roasted duck on my plate while listening to Cecily and her brother's wives gossip about the guests at the party they'd hosted just days before. Camden made a comment or two to me here or there but I chose to engage only with the raise of a brow or a witty retort. He enjoyed it each time, smirking in my direction and taking up the challenge to get a rise out of me. More interesting, however, was the conversation taking place at the head of the table. George Keene seemed to be discussing something of a rather serious nature with his eldest two sons, all three of them with their heads bowed together, speaking in low tones unable to be heard from the distance I was at. I strained to hear them and nearly toppled over when George Keene looked suddenly up from his plate, cold steel eyes meeting my own. I held my breath as he held my gaze, wondering if I should smile or if I should speak. Before I could decide, however, he rose from the table, dropping his napkin onto on his plate.

"Miss Marlowe," he spoke in that gravelly voice of his. The rest of his family fell silent at once as they looked from their patriarch to their visitor and back again wondering, as I was, what was about to occur. "I'd like to speak with you. Join me in my office."

Without any further information, he walked swiftly from the room and down the hall toward his office. I watched him go, lips parted in surprise at having been summoned in such a way. I looked to Cecily who only nodded in encouragement. I rose slowly from my seat, feeling all eyes upon me as I turned and was escorted, by a gigantic man just outside the threshold of the dining room, into the depths of the Keene family mansion.

George Keene's office was in the back of a very long and very dark hallway. Two more men, sturdily built and dressed all in black, stood stoically on either side of his office door, hands folded together in front of them. They did not move as we approached but allowed my escort to reach out and give one swift knock on Mr. Keene's door. He bid us enter and the man pushed the door open for me but did not join me as I entered. Rather, he remained outside and closed the door behind me.

I turned back to face the older man who sat, peering over various documents behind a massive wooden desk. It was just as dark in here as the hallway beyond, lit with only a few dwindling candles. The entirety of the office was in a state that I could only qualify as organized chaos. Books were pulled from shelves and lay open in various positions around the room. Scraps of paper lay here and there, sometimes unfolded and read, sometimes still within the bounds of their envelopes, and sometimes crumpled up and tossed haphazardly onto the floor near the rubbish bin. I heard the creak of his chair as he leaned back to peer over the reading glasses he had donned since leaving the dinner table.

I felt intensely scrutinized at the same time that I realized how encased I was within this room with him. His men were just on the other side of this door, two of them, big and burly and trained to protect their master at all costs. George Keene, himself, was not unable to defend himself or to be the aggressor if the occasion warranted it. I had gotten this far by relying on my intellect but if I were to be forced into a physical altercation, I would be severely outmatched. Suddenly, I was reminded of a similar feeling of terror I once experienced in a dark alley as a thug hired by this very man slid his rusty blade against the smooth skin of my stomach. My hands went subconsciously to the scar hidden beneath my gown.

"Miss Marlowe," he spoke, finally, and I felt my abdomen tightening in my fear of him. In that moment, I hated myself.

I needed to be stronger than this. Confidence was the only thing keeping me afloat, the only thing between me and the fate of so many men who had crossed George Keene before. If I were going to survive this, I needed to inject every bit of it I had into my demeanor. I pulled my hands away from my stomach and balled them into fists at my sides, awaiting whatever he had to say.

"I'm told that you and my daughter have become fast friends," he was saying, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers at his chest as he gazed at me. "You must understand, given our family's wealth and influence, that I must be careful of who my children associate with."

I gave him a rigid nod of understanding and he narrowed his gaze.

"If you were another vapid, air-headed young lady gossiping and spending your family's wealth, I may have let this pass without need of a conversation with you," he told me. "But my son informs me you are no such woman."

"Which son?" I asked, though I was certain I knew the answer and was not surprised when he gave it.

"Camden."

"I do believe Mr. Camden Keene may be confusing intellect for a number of other favorable attributes," I chanced and was rewarded with the first hint of a smile in George Keene's expression. He regained his composure a moment later though, grave frown falling back into place.

"No," he disagreed, shaking his head. "I can see it as well. You aren't like the others. You're thoughtful, introspective. I can tell by the way you hold yourself, by the way you speak more than the words you say. You understand why such a characteristic gives me far more pause than the average vanity of the young elite?"

"I do."

"So, you understand that I must ensure my family's reputation has nothing to fear from your involvement with it?"

"Of course," I nodded coolly but wondered how, precisely, he intended to verify that I was an acceptable companion for his daughter and, perhaps even in a much more intimate sense, for his son.

"Does Cecily know of Camden's interest in you?" he asked first.

"If she's been paying any attention at all," I answered, knowing that she hadn't. He seemed to know it as well for he raised a brow at me at my response. "We haven't discussed it outright if that's what you are asking."

He nodded, leaning forward in consideration.

"You said you were from Sussex?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"What part?"

"Our estate lies just outside Brighton."

"And yet your brother wishes to obtain a residence in London?"

"Well, he isn't keen on leaving our home but I've managed to convince him that there are better opportunities for trade here. Our family has ships out of Eastbourne but there is far more trade to be done in the Port of London, more routes available."

"And what is it your family trades?"

"Domestically, the crops produced on our ancestral lands, but I've pushed my brother to get more involved in certain industries outside of agriculture. Investments are the way of the future, are they not, Mr. Keene?"

His eyes narrowed in suspicion at that. I needed to tread carefully here.

"What sort of investments, Miss Marlowe?" he asked, curiously.

"Whiskey," I told him.

"Whiskey?" he asked, genuinely surprised.

"It's been individually produced and sold locally for decades but there are labels out of Ireland and America which are having a surprising amount of success in distribution outside of their localities. But they are looking for a shipping partner."

"And that's where your brother comes in."

"Or so we hope."

He watched me with more interest than he had ever shown in me before. I wasn't certain, yet, whether or not that was a good thing but I had to go along with whatever direction he took this in if I were to have any hope of infiltrating his family like I planned.

"But he's proving difficult to convince, your brother," George Keene mentioned.

"He isn't fond of the investment industry," I confessed.

"Why not?"

"He's never had the skill nor the interest."

"But you do?"

I hesitated before I answered him.

"No one takes notice of a woman's skills or interests," I told him, being honest, perhaps, for the first time throughout the entirety of our conversation. "Sir."

I watched him as he listened to my answer. He sat silent for a moment, considering my words, and then his lips slowly spread into a smile. He stood from his desk and reached out a hand. With a raised brow, I took it and received a handshake from George Keene himself as he chuckled and rounded the desk to meet me on the other side.

"I like you, Miss Marlowe," he told me with a tone much lighter than anything I had ever heard from him before. It caught me off guard so much that I had to force my own feet to move as he led me back to the door of his office, still shaking his head in amusement. "You're welcome in my home at any time."

"Thank you, sir," I blinked at him, stunned, as I approached the door. He swung it open and the two men beyond did not so much as turn to look at us.

"Be a good friend to my daughter, Miss Marlowe," he told me, still smiling though I heard the warning in his tone all the same. I nodded and took a step through the threshold as he added, "and take it easy on my son."

With that, he shut the door between us and I found myself staring, open mouthed, at the lacquered wood in front of me. I took a moment to regain my composure before I became intensely aware of the guards watching me. I cleared my throat and held my head high as I turned and made my way back down the hall, mind lost in thought of the inquisition I had just endured.

George Keene had called me to his office to better get to know the woman who had forced her way into the lives of his beloved twins. But he had given away some information of his own in doing so. For the past two days, I had been wondering which of his children I had the best in with and, though he had invited me to his office under the guise of getting to know more about his daughter's new friend, he had divulged the fact that he had spoken to his son about me. And he had further indicated the importance of his son's feelings and his concern for them upon my departure when he had requested I treat him with care.

Perhaps, I thought as I reentered the foyer, I should turn my attentions to the son.

I found the women seated in the parlor nearest the front door. They were gossiping and giggling into their teacups when I arrived. Even Mrs. Keene seemed to be in a good humor though she idled on the outskirts of their tight knit group. Cecily turned to me as I entered and did her best to discern what had occurred between her father and I while I was gone. I gave her a smile to ease her mind and saw her shoulder's relax in response. George Keene would not have costed her a friend today.

"Thank you very much for dinner, Mrs. Keene," I gushed in my best impression of a grateful guest. "Cecily, it's been lovely. I'll stop in at the shop tomorrow as you requested?"

"You're leaving?" she asked, reaching up and grasping my hand in her sorrow. I smiled down at her.

"Yes, I'm afraid it's getting late," I told her, nodding at the clock on the mantle. She didn't even glance at the time, merely stuck her lip out in a pout and shrugged, releasing me.

"Very well," she sighed. "I'll see you tomorrow, Gwendolyn."

"Goodnight, Cecily," I said, giving her shoulder a squeeze and turning for the door. Her sisters-in-law called out their goodbyes to me as well as I exited the parlor to find their butler awaiting me with my coat and gloves. I allowed him to help me into my coat before heading for the door. Just before I reached it, however, Camden Keene slid in front of me, blocking my exit.

"I trust all went well with my father," he spoke, crossing his arms and leaning back against the door behind him.

"He's a very kind man," I answered politely. Camden's smile widened and he snorted at that.

"He wasn't himself then, I see," he chuckled. "I'm glad he was on his best behavior with you, though. He can be quite a wicked man when he chooses."

I knew more of George Keene's wickedness than Camden could possibly know. It was that knowledge which gave me the confidence to lean in close to the youngest son and stare into his eyes as I answered.

"Perhaps we all have a bit of wickedness within us," I spoke in a low, seductive tone.

Camden Keene's eyes went wide and he stumbled back a step just long enough for me to grasp the doorknob and wrench it open to the chill night air beyond. My flirtatious smile fell away the moment my back was to him. This was working. I should be happy about that. But all I could think, as I climbed into my rented carriage on that cold lonely winter night, was of a night that felt so long ago now. A night in which I had attended an auction with Mr. Alexander Langley, had flirted with the treasurer of the auction so that he could locate much needed evidence, and of what he had said of my seductive prowess just after the incident. Tears stung the corners of my eyes as I leaned my head back on the bumpy carriage ride back to a dark studio apartment and remembered everything about that night that I could. I almost heard his voice calling to me through the falling snow.

I imagine if you truly intended to seduce me, I wouldn't stand a chance.