The streets of London were as restless as ever. Even in the late afternoon, when the winter sun cast its golden glow over the grand facades of Mayfair, the city pulsed with life—tradesmen calling their wares, carriages rattling over cobblestones, and gossip spilling from the lips of fashionable society. Yet, for all its noise, London had always offered Alexander a strange sort of anonymity. Amid the throng, a man of careful bearing could move unnoticed.

He stepped out of his hired carriage before a familiar townhouse on Brook Street. His own. The butler, ever efficient, had been alerted to his arrival and swung open the door before he had even reached the first step.

"Your Grace." The man bowed. "Welcome home."

Alexander handed him his greatcoat, scanning the entryway. Nothing seemed amiss. He had made certain of that, of course—his network ensured his home had remained undisturbed in his absence—but habit demanded he take stock. Only once he had assured himself that all was in order did he give a curt nod.

"Lord Ashbourne is waiting for you in the study, Your Grace."

Of course he was.

Suppressing a sigh, Alexander made his way through the familiar halls, past high windows and oil paintings, toward the room where he knew he would find his oldest friend.

Lord Thomas Everleigh, Earl of Ashbourne, had made himself quite at home. Seated in an armchair by the fire, his boots stretched out before him, he swirled a glass of brandy in one hand while perusing the volumes stacked on a nearby table. At Alexander's entrance, he glanced up with an easy grin.

"About time. I was beginning to think you meant to avoid me."

Alexander arched a brow. "Had I intended that, you would never have found me."

Ashbourne chuckled. "A fair point. But your butler was not as evasive as you. He informed me, rather begrudgingly, that you would be returning today. So here I am."

Alexander poured himself a measure of brandy and settled into the chair opposite his friend. "And here I am. Now, what is so pressing that it could not wait until I called upon you?"

Ashbourne gave an exaggerated sigh. "Nothing, really. Just the usual mayhem. My sister, as you well know, was thoroughly scandalized by your absence when she arrived at your townhouse last month. You should have seen her, Ravensworth—marching up and down my study, declaring that you had surely been murdered in some dreadful alley."

Alexander smirked. "Eleanor has always had a flair for the dramatic."

"You would say so, having escaped her wrath," Ashbourne muttered. "I, however, bore the brunt of her displeasure."

"And survived, I see."

Ashbourne rolled his eyes before continuing, "She demands you call upon her at once. She is convinced you are engaged in some great mischief."

Alexander leaned back in his chair, taking a slow sip of his drink. "She is not entirely wrong."

Ashbourne, who had been lounging with his usual careless ease, narrowed his gaze. "Ah. So thereissomething."

For a long moment, Alexander said nothing. He had been accustomed to keeping his affairs—especially those of a delicate nature—strictly to himself. His work, by its nature, was dangerous. The fewer who knew, the safer it was for all involved. And yet, Ashbourne was no fool. He would not have pressed unless he had noticed something amiss.

Setting his glass aside, Alexander steepled his fingers. "What I tell you now does not leave this room."

Ashbourne, suddenly serious, inclined his head. "Understood."

Alexander exhaled slowly. "There have been... rumblings. Intelligence suggests that certain parties sympathetic to the French cause may be stirring again. Nothing as grand as before, but there are whispers of a network operating within England."

Ashbourne sat forward. "And you have been investigating this?"

"A small part of it. There were reports of activity in Hertfordshire—coded correspondences, disappearances of men suspected of involvement in espionage. A name was mentioned, though it remains unclear whether he is truly a threat or merely a pawn." His expression darkened. "It was reason enough to take a closer look."

Ashbourne let out a low whistle. "And I take it your stay in the countryside was not merely for leisure?"

"Certainly not." Alexander's mouth quirked. "Though I will say, Longbourn offers its own brand of intrigue."

At this, Ashbourne smirked. "I did wonder. An unmarried man, lingering in a household full of women? Evenyouare not so impervious to gossip."

Alexander shook his head, though his thoughts strayed, if only for a moment, to a particular young woman with thoughtful brown eyes and quiet intelligence.

Mary.

Her name was a whisper in his mind, an unexpected presence that had lodged itself there.

But now was not the time to dwell on such things.

"I intend to remain in London long enough to see what I can uncover here," Alexander said briskly. "The Darcys are to visit Longbourn in a month's time. As I have met Mr. Darcy before, it is safer that I am absent when they arrive."

"A wise decision," Ashbourne agreed. "But I hope you realize that this isnota matter you can handle alone. If something is indeed stirring, you must have allies."

Alexander's gaze was unwavering. "I do."

For a long moment, the two men sat in the firelight, understanding passing between them without need for further words.

Ashbourne, for all his rakish ways and easy charm, was a man Alexander trusted. And though his investigation was far from complete, he knew, without question, that he would not face its conclusion alone.

The Worthingham townhouse was as stately as ever, its grand façade standing proud among the finest homes in Grosvenor Square. Though Alexander had visited countless times before, there was something uniquely troublesome about calling upon his elder sister when she was displeased with him.

And Eleanor was most certainly displeased.

The butler had barely announced his arrival before a voice rang out from the drawing room.

"Alexander James Ravensworth, if you have even the slightest sense of self-preservation, you will come inat once!"

Suppressing a sigh, Alexander handed his coat and hat to the servant before stepping into the drawing room with the air of a man facing a tribunal.

Eleanor Montmere, Viscountess Worthingham, stood in the center of the room, arms crossed, her sapphire-blue eyes—so like his own—glinting with indignation. Though married for seven years and mother to two children, she had lost none of the commanding presence she had wielded since childhood. A tall, striking woman with auburn hair swept into an elegant chignon, she was the very picture of a formidable lady of the ton.

Behind her, seated on a well-appointed sofa, was her husband, Viscount Worthingham. Charles Montmere was a composed, mild-tempered man, well accustomed to his wife's dramatic tendencies. He lifted his glass of sherry in silent greeting, wisely choosing to stay out of what was sure to be a tempestuous encounter.

In contrast, a young boy of six years sat beside him, wide-eyed with anticipation. Young Elliot Montmere—Eleanor's eldest—was always delighted by any scene that involved his mother in a passionate speech. At his feet, his four-year-old sister, Charlotte, played with her dolls, unbothered by the commotion.

Eleanor wasted no time.

"Three months,Alexander," she said sharply. "Three months without a word—save for one vague letter that saidabsolutely nothing! Do you have any idea how insufferable that was?"

Alexander clasped his hands behind his back, his expression schooled into mild patience. "I imagine it was quite difficult, given your flair for dramatics."

Eleanor scoffed. "Dramatics! My dear brother, when I arrived at your London house and found youvanished, I had half a mind to summon Bow Street Runners to search for your body in the Thames."

Alexander's lips twitched. "A bit excessive, do you not think?"

"No," she huffed. "Not when my own brother disappears without explanation." She narrowed her eyes. "Wherewereyou, Alexander?"

"I had business in the countryside," he said smoothly.

Eleanor gave him a long, scrutinizing look, her eyes narrowing further. "Business," she repeated.

"Yes."

"Where?"

"In Hertfordshire."

She let out an incredulous laugh. "Hertfordshire? You expect me to believe that you left London—without warning, I might add—to conductbusinessin Hertfordshire of all places?"

"That is precisely what I expect you to believe," he replied, unfazed.

Eleanor's gaze sharpened. "Are youengaged?"

Alexander blinked. "What?"

"That is the only reasonable explanation I can think of," she said, folding her arms. "You, a notorious recluse, absconding to the countryside for months on end—itmustbe a woman.Who is she?"

"There is no woman, Eleanor," Alexander said, exasperated.

Elliot , watching with keen interest, piped up, "Mama says when grown-ups say 'there is no woman,' it usually means there isdefinitelya woman."

Alexander shot his nephew an unimpressed look. "You are entirely too clever for your age."

Elliot grinned, delighted.

Eleanor, however, was relentless. "I see that you are determined to remain tight-lipped," she said with an air of resignation. "But mark my words, Alexander—Iwillfind out what you are hiding."

"And I look forward to your valiant efforts," he said dryly.

She sighed, rubbing her temple. "Well, if you will not tell mewhyyou have been absent, will you at least reassure me that you do not intend to vanish again?"

Alexander hesitated, then said, "I will remain in London for the next month."

Eleanor studied him, weighing his words. "And after that?"

He exhaled through his nose. "After that, I will see."

She pursed her lips but let it be—for now. "Very well. You must stay for dinner."

"I had not intended—"

"Oh,nonsense," she interrupted. "You have been gone for three months, Alexander. Youwillstay for dinner, and you will spend time with your niece and nephew before you return to whatever mysterious business you refuse to explain."

Alexander glanced toward Elliot , who beamed up at him. Charlotte, seemingly indifferent, was now attempting to balance a doll on one of her slippers.

He sighed. "Very well. Dinner it is."

Elliot cheered, and Eleanor, satisfied, finally uncrossed her arms.

Charles, who had remained a silent observer throughout the exchange, took a leisurely sip of his sherry and murmured, "Wise choice, Ravensworth."

Alexander merely shook his head.

It seemed that, in some battles, even a Duke could not win.