Miss Smidley had stumbled upon exiting the Chapel Royal, tripping the prettiest of last year’s débutantes and breaking the girl’s ankle. No one who’d seen the look of triumph on Miss Smidley’s face would ever think it an accident.
Adam reread what he’d written. The Parnells’ ball. Hyde Park. The Chapel Royal. Too many different places for one servant to be.
Tom was a member of the ton.
It was an astonishing conclusion. It was . . .
Adam tried to identify the sensation he was feeling. Exhilaration. It was exhilarating to think that Tom was a member of the ton, someone he’d spoken to, perhaps played cards with. He felt a hunter’s flare of excitement. I’ll find out who you are.
He heard his father’s voice again: I expect better behavior of you than this. You’re a St. Just!
Adam pushed t
