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Madame Voisin ran an eye down it and looked up, one eyebrow lifting. “It is for the ball?”

“It is for the ball. But the Duchess is not to know, and she is not to see it until the night before.” He hesitated. “She says she has gowns enough but I think that a new one would be good.”

“Tell me of her,” said Madame, and began to pin a swatch of the silk to a scrap of muslin. “What would she like?”

“I know that she wouldn’t like something that appears too extravagant,” he said quickly. “Her taste is simple, but timeless.”

Madame closed her book, and smiled, “Then we shall make it so that she cannot refuse it,” she said. “A simple cut. She has the height for it, and the neck, and she will not want fuss. Something that lets the silk do the talking.”

“Yes,” said Gregory. “That is exactly right.”

“Don’t worry, Your Grace. I shall make you a dress that your Duchess will not say no to. If anything, she will come back for more.”

He was still smiling when he stepped out into the street, and it took him a moment to notice the figure on the opposite pavement.

She was small, in a plain gray cloak, a basket over one arm. She was walking quickly, head bowed. There was nothing to mark her among the hundred other women on the street.

But he knew the set of those shoulders, and it dawned on him who it was.

“Miss Clara!”

She looked up. Her eyes went wide and she quickly picked up her pace.

He chased her down, though she had the head start, and the sense to dive into the thick of the morning market, where the stalls narrowed. But he was a great deal taller, and caught her at the corner by the fishmonger’s. He put a hand on her arm, only enough to stop her.

“Please,” he said. “I mean you no harm.”

She spun around, trembling so hard he could feel it through the wool. Her face was gray, and for a moment she looked at him as though she might just faint on the spot.

“Your Grace,” she whispered. “I did not mean any of it, I swear before God, I did not know what else to do...”

“You are not in any trouble. I promise you.” He kept his voice low, as to not startle her. He wasn’t in the mood to chase her down again, and cause a scene. “I have looked for you for weeks and I only want to talk.”

“You will be angry,” she shook her head.

“I will not.”

“You cannot guarantee me that,” she said, and her eyes filled. “You will be angry when I tell you. It will be me that has to stand there, and I’m not sure if I can take it. Please, I don’t want any sort of trouble.”

Something cold turned over in his chest.

“Come with me.”

He didn’t give her a chance to argue further, and simply steered her out of the market. His eyes traced the location for a quiet spot to talk, which was a small tea room. He guided her into the place, and made an order for tea and bread.

Clara said nothing, once again looking as though she might faint. He knew that he had to be careful if he was going to get any information out of her.

And Lord knows he was desperate for any sort of indication about the whereabouts of his sister.

“Eat,” he said. “Please.”

She took a piece, and held it.

“I left him,” she said. “In your library. I am so sorry, Your Grace. You had gone to fetch someone, and I heard the music through the wall, and all those people, and I thought of what you would think of me, and what you might do, and I could not...” She pressed her lips together. “I told myself he was safe. That was all I could think.”

“He is safe. He is asleep in a warm room with a nursemaid who dotes on him, and my wife sings to him every night.” It surprised him how easily the words came. “You did right, Miss Clara. Whatever else. I want you to hear that first.”

She let out a breath that shook. And then, looking at the table and not at him, she said it.