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Theodora Thornbury operates from a back parlor in Mayfair, where a painted sign—discreet, easily missed—reads Consultations by Appointment. Her clients come with the sort of trouble that cannot be spoken of in polite company: indiscreet letters, inconvenient entanglements, the occasional inheritance gone peculiarly sideways. Theodora handles all of it. She has been doing so for four years without scandal, without assistance, and without any particular desire to change either condition.

Robert Ashford, Earl of Briarcliffe, is not her usual client. He is too well-connected, too self-possessed, and entirely too aware of what he is asking when he sits down across from her and explains, in the most economical of terms, what he needs. His problem is not the kind Theodora normally touches. It involves a forgery, a dead man whose reputation needs protecting, and a set of letters that—if read by the wrong party—would ruin three families and embarrass the government.

Theodora takes the case. She is not certain why. The Earl offers a good fee, but that is not the reason. He has an interesting mind—she is reasonably sure that is not the reason either. She opens her ledger. She has a policy about working with rakes. Not a prohibition. A caution. She takes the case anyway, and writes his name in the column she keeps for complications.