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Meanwhile, the woman’s expression slid from disdain, through outrage, to a slow but very clear shock. In fact, her mouth opened and closed twice before she found her voice.
    “Client?” she finally asked.
    “A small legal matter. Miss Shoemaker hired me to help her sort it out.”
    “You’re working? You have a job, Samuel? Sweet heaven, that’s wonderful! Your brother is so pleased!”
    “My brother is nothing of the kind as he does not know. Now if you’ll excuse us—”
    “Wait! Wait!” She huffed out a breath and had the grace to look ashamed. “I am terribly sorry for misjudging you,” she said to Penny. But then she turned to her brother-in-law, and her eyes went cold. “Your brother is most vexed with you.”
    “That is hardly news—”
    “It’s about Maximilian.”
    Mr. Morrison froze and even Penny could see the sudden wariness in his expression. “Yes?” he said slowly.
    “You forgot!”
    “I could hardly forget I have a nephew, Georgette. I—”
    “Idiot! You forgot his birthday!”
    “I most certainly did not! His party is…It’s…” He frowned and looked at Penny. “Oh, bloody hell, what day is it today?”
    “It was yesterday!” his sister-in-law snapped. “Yesterday was the party and yesterday you were not there! Please, God, tell me you were busy obtaining work or abducted by pirates or something meaningful!”
    Both women looked at his face, hoping for a ready excuse, but he had none. The guilt was written plain as day, and all he could do was shake his head. “I was sure it was tomorrow.”
    “Harumph!” snorted his sister-in-law. “I cannot tell you how disappointed Gregory is in you.”
    Mr. Morrison rolled his eyes at his sister, and truly Penny was a half breath away from doing the same thing. It was clear the man felt guilty enough. The woman did not have to heap on more blame. And in the way of families, Mr. Morrison only made it worse.
    “Really, Georgette? Gregory is disappointed? One would think it would be the boy who expressed dismay. Or do you simply tell the boy what to think as you do everyone else?”
    “Max? Max is a boy. He doesn’t say anything but kicks furniture and mopes about! If you have a brain in your head—”
    “Oh, my God!” snapped Penny, her patience completely exhausted. They were on Bond Street, in full view of everyone, and were picking at each other like a pair of magpies. “Mr. Morrison, pray say that you are sorry and that you will bring round a gift immediately. And, Baroness Morrison, please will you simply accept his apology? Scolding at a man never does anything but stop his ears up tighter than a drum.”
    Penny expected to be roundly cursed by both parties. After all, she was the interloper here, but really, they had both lost any semblance of reason. Far from cursing her, however, the lady stared at her in shock. And then a moment later, she rocked back on her heels as her gaze swept the street around them. They hadn’t attracted much attention. Truly, family squabbles happened every day on Bond Street, and this one had progressed in icy cold tones, not screeching yells. But it was embarrassing nonetheless.
    “Of course, you are quite correct, Miss Shoemaker,” the baroness finally said. “You are a clever girl and quite above his usual company. Are you sure you want to employ him?”
    Penny had nothing to say to that, though naturally Mr. Morrison did. “Oh, leave off, Georgette. And I shall do you one better than a promise of a gift. Here, give the boy this.” He passed the woman Penny’s satchel of molds.
    “Hey!” cried both women, but for entirely different reasons. Penny had just risked everything to save the likes from Mr. Cordwain. She did not want them passed to some relation’s son! What the baroness thought of the heavy satchel was written in her very curled lip. But before either woman could say more, Mr. Morrison held up his hand.
    “Please, ladies, give me a moment to explain. Georgette, the bag