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him.”
    “In curing his cough?” She nodded. “Tell me the name, and I will send out for a supply.”
    Finally, she smiled a little. “Anne said you would have London ransacked for it.”
    “Of course.” Now she looked startled again, and he couldn’t fathom why. It seemed she was odd. Of course, she would have to be, to have married Henry Wylde.
    Silence fell over the table. Alec missed Anne more than ever. Even when they didn’t talk, their morning silences were companionable, not stiff and empty like this one. He examined Charlotte Wylde. She hunched over her plate, head down, eyes on her breakfast. She wore a shapeless black thing that he thought he’d seen before. Her coppery hair was pulled up too tight. She was pale, the very definition of subdued.
    Alec was suddenly reminded of a thoroughbred he’d come across in a neighbor’s stable, a roan with exquisite lines and a lovely delicacy of movement. The minute they approached, the mare had shied and cowered, backing as far away from them as she could and shivering at any touch. It was obvious she’d been mistreated, even ruined. Alec had bought her on the spot, paying the man’s exorbitant price because he could barely speak through his fury. It had taken long patient months to convince that mare that her high spirits were permissible, even welcome, and his opinion of that particular neighbor was forever changed.
    Alec caught himself. He was being ridiculous—probably offensive—comparing the girl to a horse. She looked up, caught him watching her, and dropped her eyes. Her cheeks reddened, and he felt his do the same as he looked away.
    “What is going on at my house?” she blurted out, as if she must say something, however random.
    Alec found he had to clear his throat. “As planned, I have two stout men stationed there. They will take it in turn to watch for intruders. Wycliffe is making a report to the authorities, at this moment, probably.”
    “But you can’t just leave these men there forever. Where am I to…?”
    “Exactly. That is why I think it best that we engage an investigator. You have heard of the Bow Street Runners?”
    “No.”
    “It is an organization that hunts down criminals, with a good record of success.”
    “Engage…?” She frowned. “For pay?” When he nodded, she added, “Are they very expensive?”
    “They are well worth the money, I understand.”
    “But where is it to come from?”
    “This is certainly a proper use of my uncle’s estate…”
    “Further reducing what I am left with. I should have some say in the decision.”
    “There is no reasonable alternative.” Her head was up now; back straight, her eyes glittered with emotion. It was an attractive change, even if she had no idea what she was talking about.
    “That’s not true. The… the burglar might come back, and be caught by your ‘men.’”
    “Highly unlikely.”
    “You can’t be so sure of…”
    “We are faced here with an extremely serious situation,” Alec pointed out. “First, my uncle is killed, and then his house is broken into. Surely, you would not wish to live there continually wondering if you are in danger?”
    “No! Of course not. That’s not what I…”
    “The Runners know the criminal underworld. You do not. I do not. Turning the matter over to them is the only sensible choice.”
    She glared at him, cheeks glowing, her pale complexion positively transformed by their exchange. She had no argument, of course, because there wasn’t one. His plan was the only sensible course of action. Satisfied that he had convinced her, Alec rose. “If you will excuse me, I have a good deal of work to get through this morning.”
    She merely shrugged, but Alec didn’t hold it against her. He knew it was difficult to be bested in a dispute. Lizzy would have tossed a slice of toast in his face.
    ***
    She could have said “Work?” in a sarcastic, disbelieving tone, Charlotte fumed. She hadn’t thought of it until he was gone. With