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chest. Carter had looked up from where his lips grazed Lady Godown’s hair to see Crowden’s approach.
    He gave his head a mighty shake. “Almost as great an error as that fiasco at Waterloo,” he chastised. The missive he held in his hand would only add to the chaos of late. It was from his assistant at the Home Office: Rumors of “Shepherd’s” leaving his post sooner than expected had spread quickly among Lord Sid mouth’s staff. Carter frowned. Unlike many of those not of the “inner circle,” he was well aware of Shepherd’s, whose real name was Aristotle Pennington, interest in the Marquis of Godown’s Aunt Bel: Rosabel Murdoch, the Dowager Duchess of Granville. He even held hopes that those in power might consider him for Pennington’s replacement. Carter wondered how Pennington’s leaving would affect the Realm. If he did not earn the post, he was not certain he wished to follow another’s orders. “How would someone else know as much as Shepherd?” he murmured. “Shepherd has knowledge beyond the field. He has defined the Realm’s role in the world.”
    He stared out the window at the harbor. Carter had been in Liverpool since before Twelfth Night, and he was exhausted by the tedium. It was odd: he was the youngest of their band, but it was he who had assumed the duties of King and country. The remainder of his group had sought relief in home and family, while he had looked to his occupation to fill the long hours. “Somehow, Kerrington, Fowler, and Wellston have proved more successful than I,” he told the empty room. “I thought I had the right of it…”
    The sound of the explosion sent Carter diving for protection. The smell of gunpowder filled the air. Splinters of wood flew past as he instinctively covered the back of his head with his hands. He landed face down on the dirt floor of the warehouse, which the Realm had procured as his headquarters while in Liverpool. A whish of hot air brushed his scalp.
    “Sir Carter!” Symington Henderson called as he rushed into the room. Carter did not move, mentally checking each of his limbs for injury. The young lord knelt beside him. “Sir Carter?” Henderson said anxiously. “Are you injured, Sir?”
    Carter slowly lowered his hands and pushed upward to sit on his knees. His ears still rang from the impact, and the smell of heated smoke brought back images he had worked hard to squelch. He retrieved his handkerchief to wipe his face and hands. Over his shoulder was a gaping hole in the side of the building, which looked out upon the busy dock. “I appear to be in one piece.” Carter’s voice trembled, and his breath came in short bursts. A crowd had gathered on the other side of the opening to peer into the small office.
    Henderson supported Carter to his feet. He swatted away the dust on Carter’s shoulders. “I have sent agents to investigate,” Henderson assured.
    Carter nodded his gratitude. “Have them ask if anyone saw a stranger in the area.” His voice held more authority than he expected.
    “I will see to everything, Sir.” Henderson began to gather the papers strewn about the room. “Perhaps you should call in at the Golden Apple and refresh your things,” Henderson suggested cautiously.
    Carter raised an eyebrow in dissatisfaction. “I do not require a nurse,” he said adamantly, but a small voice in his head said,
But my mother’s presence would be soothing. Why is it
, he thought,
we wish our mother’s comfort when the world sends us its worst?
He had heard more than one soldier, while lying wounded upon the battlefield, calling out for his mother.
    Henderson halted his efforts. “But, Sir. You must feel the ticking clock,” he declared. “After all, this is your third encounter with death in a little more than six weeks. You cannot think to remain invincible forever.”

    Lucinda had permitted the boy to choose two new books at the makeshift lending library. It was an expense she tolerated. Although but five