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buy.”
    â€œBut I’m in mourning for my father!”
    â€œI understand. Black weeds aren’t very flirtatious, though, are they? They don’t send quite the right message. I’m afraid they would have to go.”
    Cassandra swallowed and clutched her hands together. “Mr. Quinn, you may find this hard to believe, but there is someone who I have reason to think wants to marry me. A gentleman.” Her chin lifted defiantly. “I haven’t decided yet whether to accept his offer. When I’ve made up my mind what to do, I will let you know. And now if you’ll excuse me, I’m not feeling very well.” It was true; her head throbbed as if twin hammers were beating at her temples.
    Quinn rubbed his chin and watched her through narrowed eyes. “Of course. I’ll say no more, except that we believe the men who failed to murder the king this time will try again, perhaps soon, and the need to infiltrate their numbers is urgent. This is the simple truth.” He walked to the door.
    â€œOne other thing,” he said offhandedly, as if as an afterthought. “This man, the one we would like you to …come to know. He secretly betrayed your father and his friends to us the day before their scheme was to be carried out. We don’t know why, but it appears he meant for them to hang.” Impassively he watched her face turn ashen. “I must have your answer early tomorrow; if you agree to help us, send a message to this address. I’ll arrange for you to meet our would-be assassin tomorrow night.” He laid a card on the small table by the door. “Oh, and Miss Merlin—I wouldn’t expect too much from Edward Frane. As to his being a gentleman, I’d venture to say you’ve been misinformed.”
    â€œWell, miss, it’s him this time.”
    Cassandra removed her gaze from the view of dreary, unkempt gardens outside her bedroom window and pressed the bridge of her nose between her fingers. “Who, Clara? What are you talking about?”
    â€œThat Mr. Frane. This time it’s him. I put him in the sittin’ room and give him the newspaper and told him ter wait. Said you’d be down when it suited you.”
    Cass closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the glass for a second, feeling as if she were floating in a viscous mixture of dread and inertia. She was no closer now to deciding what to say to Mr. Frane than ever, but here he was. Presumably she would say something to him when—or rather, if—he asked her to marry him, and it seemed they were both going to learn what it was at the same moment. Ah, well: That wouldn’t be very far from the way she’d made most of the major decisions in her life. With a weary sigh, she crossed to the bureau and peered into the glass.
    â€œDo I look all right?” she asked the maid, not really caring but patting her hair into place and smoothing the bodice of her dress.
    Clara gave an unladylike snort. “A witch on a broomstick would look like a flamin’ beauty next ter that one. Aye, yer look fine, but peaked as usual. Didn’t eat yer tea, I see.”
    Ignoring this, Cass shook out her skirts, straightened her spine, and moved toward the bedroom door.
    â€œFigured out what he looks like,” Clara tossed after her.
    She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help pausing with her hand on the knob. “What, Clara?” she asked, with exaggerated patience.
    â€œA mouse wearin’ breeches.”
    â€œThat’s very unkind.” But she had to turn away to hide a trace of a smile. It was also unoriginal—the same thought had already occurred to her days ago. She opened the door and went out.
    Unkind, unoriginal—but true, she couldn’t help thinking as she met Edward Frane in the sitting room and gave him the tips of her fingers in greeting.
    â€œI vow, Miss Merlin, you look more beautiful today than ever. It seems misfortune