“So you don’t know if the plans as you designed them will work.”

“I’m not even certain the ship will float. Not anymore. Not since Sir Henry voiced his doubts. Sir Henry Stanford knows ships.”

Beside me, Blackford snorted. I dipped my head and shook it. This nightmare just got worse. Not only were we chasing after a set of plans the Admiralty hoped had been destroyed and the Germans would pay a ransom for, but the designer didn’t know whether the ship would even sail.

“How long will it take you to decide if Sir Henry was right or not?” Blackford asked.

Gattenger shrugged. “Two days at the most. Probably only a few hours.”

“Can you decide with only a full set of the plans to work from? No scale model tests?”

“The tests would just prove my suspicions. Yes, I should be able to check to make certain the ship will perform as designed.”

“I’ll try to have someone from the Admiralty bring you a set of plans and wait while you work on them. I’m not promising anything, but I’ll try.” The duke rose. “I need an answer to this question of the seaworthiness of your warship as badly as I suspect you do.”

“Thank you. I’ll do the best I can.” The two men shook hands.

“God bless you, Mr. Gattenger,” I said as I stood. As far as I was concerned, if the ship would sink, we ought to let the Germans steal the design.

I walked with the duke on the long trek down confining hallways, pleased when the last clank of a gate locking sounded behind me. The sun beat down on us mercilessly, but I was glad to be out in untainted air.

The duke helped me into the carriage and, once he was settled across from me, said, “Sir Henry doesn’t have the knowledge to tell if that ship will sink or not. Did the Germans or someone else put him up to it? Or did he use his doubts as a ruse to get Gattenger to take a set out of the Admiralty so he could steal them?”

“Either way, we need Gattenger to check his blueprints before five this afternoon. I have to tell Sir Henry something.”

“I need to talk to my contacts in the Admiralty and arrange for someone to take him a set of the blueprints and then wait. You’re going to have to lie to Sir Henry.”

“I don’t know anything about warships. How do I lie convincingly?”

“You’ll manage. I’m amazed at how competent you are, Georgia. Are you sure you don’t want me to show up a little after five?” He leaned forward in his seat and took my gloved hand in his.

Even through the fabric and leather, I felt his warmth and his strength. We exchanged smiles before I said, “No. I’ll be fine.”

“Then I’ll drop you off at the bookshop and stop by the town house at seven.”

“No chance of an early bedtime tonight?”

He shook his head. “You must learn to sleep through the morning. We have a dinner party to attend and then I’ll take you to my home. A few hours later, I’ll return you to your town house.”

“But people will think—” My drooping eyes flew open.

“Precisely.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

AFTER I gave final instructions on how to run the bookshop in my absence for the fifth time, I asked Frances, “Does your family have any problem with you leaving for the entire day every day?”

“Don’t worry, Georgia. My son is too busy to notice and his wife is happy I’m not there to interfere with running the hotel. She’s stopped mentioning how nice it would be if I moved to her family’s farm.” Frances patted my arm. “We’ll be fine.”

“Grace, any sign of Lord Barnwood returning soon?”

“My employer refuses to set foot in London until this heat wave ends. So hurry back. We’ll miss you, and we’re more than willing to share this weather. You know how misery loves company.” She laughed as she fanned herself with her hand and left to wait on a customer.

“Georgia, go. Sir Broderick is phoning us daily to make sure we have everything we need, and Archivist Society members are stopping by at odd moments to run errands and lift boxes. The shop will be fine.”

I gave her a brave smile, but inside, I didn’t want to leave. “Thank you. All of you.”

I tried to linger, but Emma dragged me out of the shop. She led me back yet another route to the town house for a cold lunch in the large, gloomy dining room. The furniture was dark wood and the walls were papered in a washed-out rose on a charcoal background. The lace curtains blocked any sunlight that might have cut through the dimness. The room matched my mood.

“More calls today?” I asked Phyllida.

“No one would be home. Along with the rest of what’s left of polite society in London, we’re going shopping on Regent Street and Piccadilly. And we’ll need to take Emma with us to carry packages.”

“And the money will come from where?” I couldn’t afford a shopping spree on Regent Street. Those shops were well out of the size of my purse. And I needed to question people, not look through store windows, so I could return to my own shop.

“The duke has set up an account in my name at various businesses. There will be no trouble about it.”

“Phyllida, he’s coming by tonight to take me to Blackford House. Alone. I suspect there’ll be trouble tomorrow.” I was tired, hot, and upset. I was not in the mood to pretend to have an affair. I would either leap into bed with him or scratch his eyes out. Possibly both.

“Georg—ina,” Phyllida said, stopping herself at the last moment from calling me by my real name, “the duke is a gentleman. Relax.”

I’d dealt with the duke before. I was not about to relax.

“We have lots of stops to make. Milliners, glovers, parasol makers, shoemakers, hosiers, jewelers, perfumers. All places where we will be seen, and where we can watch anyone we want to keep an eye on. All for the price of a pair of hose.”

She smiled, and I realized I had a lot to learn to play my role convincingly. For me, shopping was something I had to fit in quickly between other errands.

But not today. After lunch, Phyllida, Emma, and I climbed into a hired carriage and rode to Regent Street. We started at the top end where Regent Street crossed Oxford Street in a mad confusion of wagons, omnibuses, carriages, hansom cabs, and all their horses. Pedestrians had to look sharp to keep from being run over. We dismissed the carriage and walked downhill toward Piccadilly in the general direction of the Thames.

The small, tasteful displays in the windows and the number of maids and footmen trailing well-dressed women let me know this neighborhood was out of Georgia Fenchurch’s league. It was nice, for a day, to be Georgina Monthalf.

We walked two blocks on those crowded sidewalks before Phyllida met someone she recognized. “Lady Ormond,” she said as she curtsied to the sharp-faced woman who today was leading a girl still in the schoolroom and a footman in livery.

“Lady Monthalf,” the other replied. “I heard you were in the prime minister’s box at the Royal Albert Hall last night.”

“Actually, he was in ours. Or rather, the Duke of Blackford’s.”

“He’s a friend of your cousin, isn’t he?”

They reminded me of two dogs circling each other, sniffing.

“Yes, he is.” I gave her a decent curtsy.

Outranking me by title and age, she gave me a small nod. “How are you finding our unseasonable heat?”

Phyllida’s tone was aristocratic as she said, “Actually, we’re leaving for the country tomorrow. Lord Harwin’s invited us.”

Surprise and speculation shone in Lady Ormond’s eyes as she glanced at me. Her features kept their polite, distant expression. “Oh, we shall be neighbors, then. We’re going to Gloucestershire also, to the Marquis of Tewes’s estate. This is my granddaughter, Alicia, up from the country for a short visit. We’ve been doing a round of the shops.”