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coach and up to the landing in front of Emma’s shop, Christopher reached up to tug at his cravat that seemed to be tightening about his neck. Eager to see Emma, he pushed aside his fears of the conversation that must be had with her father. A mere two hours had passed since Emma had scrambled down a tree, but it seemed far longer under the extra attention his valet paid to shaving and dressing him. Cannon executed his duties with a precision and care that his valet claimed only befitting Christopher’s upcoming meeting. Between the time Cannon had left to retrieve the strop and the time he returned, it was evident that the Network had learned of and dispersed the news of his plans to seek permission to marry Emma. His entire staff beamed with pride as Christopher walked through his townhouse on his way out.

Christopher’s knuckles were about to hit the wood frame when the door swung open, and Mr. Lennox’s large form filled the space.

Through gritted teeth, Mr. Lennox asked, “Where’s me daughter?”

The man’s face was flushed red. Christopher had hoped to catch his future father-in-law in a fine mood, but like with most matters, Christopher would have to wrangle and charm his way through the situation. Peering over the stout man’s shoulder, Christopher said, “I had assumed she was here with you.” The coachman had advised Christopher he’d find Mr. Lennox at Emma’s shop.

Mr. Lennox widened his stance and crossed his beefy arms. “She’s not here. Wot d’ye want?”

It was a rather broad question—Christopher wanted the man’s blessing to marry Emma. He wanted to marry posthaste. He wanted the mark of a PORF. He wanted a life of his choosing. He wanted to see to Emma’s happiness. He wanted children. He wanted so much more, but first and foremost, he wanted Emma.

Matching Mr. Lennox’s steely glare, Christopher said, “I would like to speak with you. Perhaps we could go inside?”

“Wot about?”

Surely the man had heard through the Network’s communication channels Christopher’s purpose. The twitch of his future father-in-law’s lips gave the man away. Oh, Mr. Lennox knew why he had come—it was a challenge of sorts.

Playing along, Christopher looked about and puffed out his chest stating clearly, “I wish to marry Emma and have come to—” He didn’t finish his request, as he found himself stumbling backward.

Mr. Lennox’s meaty hand was firmly planted in the middle of Christopher’s chest as the man took a step forward, exiting the shop and closing the door behind him. “Ye need to seek the Council’s permission first.”

Christopher scanned his surroundings. His guards had moved into the shadows but were close by. Lowering his voice to a whisper, he asked, “The Network Council?”

His future father-in-law chuckled and then laid his heavily muscled arm over Christopher’s shoulder. “Aye. It’s not a far jaunt on foot. I’ll take ye there.”

An hour later, sweat dampened Christopher’s collar. He glanced at Mr. Lennox. “You do know the way, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

Christopher wasn’t certain. They had been alternating between a brisk pace and that of a tortoise. While Mr. Lennox was comfortable in a lawn shirt and breeches, Christopher was not enjoying the rare sun-filled morning. Christopher finally stopped to remove his hulking greatcoat. “How much further?”

Mr. Lennox grinned and said, “Oh, I reckon another block or two.”

Christopher turned and searched for signs of the footmen following them. When they remained out of sight, Christopher asked, “Were you nervous when you sought permission to marry Emma’s mama?”

“Gor—worst day of me life.” Mr. Lennox grinned. “But I’d do it all over again.”

Regaining his balance after Mr. Lennox nudged him in the side, Christopher wiped his brow with a handkerchief. “If I have to follow you around town all day for the opportunity to gain permission to marry Emma, I’ll happily do it.”

With a decided nod, the man said, “Ye’ll do.” Eyeing Christopher with a look of understanding, Mr. Lennox added, “Ye may have me blessin’, but it’s gonna take a lot more fer yer to charm the socks of the bloomin’ Elders’ Council.”

Christopher didn’t doubt the man’s words and continued to trudge alongside his future father-in-law. Catching the slight shake of a guard’s head in front of them, Christopher sighed and said, “You are awaiting a signal.” The man’s silence was confirmation enough.

He didn’t have to wait much longer. Christopher spied the young footman Simon beaming a broad grin in Mr. Lennox’s direction before disappearing behind a building. They came to a halt in front of Rutherford’s jewelry shop. How fortunate—he’d be able to purchase a ring for Emma. Mayhap luck was on his side after all.

Mr. Lennox slapped Christopher’s back, heartily, and said, “Good luck, lad.” His future father-in-law winked and pushed open the door. “If ye manage to git their approval…and ye survive Cadby’s torture, ye may call me Dad.”

Christopher froze. Torture? Hadn’t he suffered enough already? The agony of not knowing what the Elders may demand of him as he traipsed about town was distressing enough. Although, the time spent in Mr. Lennox’s company had allowed him to gain perspective. Emma was well worth any demand they may make of him.

Mr. Lennox gave Christopher another shove, and he stumbled into the shop. Righting himself, Christopher turned and asked. “Are you not coming?”

“Nay. I’m not a member of the council. Off ye go. They’re expecting ye.” Mr. Lennox turned and walked away, whistling a ditty as the door slid shut.

Staring at the closed door, Christopher wondered who “they” were. How many elders would he be facing?

Rutherford’s booming voice came from the back of the shop. “Mr. Neale, I’d be much obliged if you would lock the door and turn the sign for me. We have been expecting you.”

Christopher wasn’t surprised that the old jeweler was a member of the Network Council. His store sign over the door displayed a rather intricate design of a harped angel—only slightly less elaborate than the one that adorned Emma’s shop sign.

Rutherford continued, “We’ll be with you in

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