started with the newspaper clippings in the morning post, how they didn’t know why this was happening or who was doing it. How Adam’s necklace was just the most recent problem, and far from their only grievance.

But telling is never easy, especially to teachers. And so, through some unspoken agreement, all three boys shook their heads.

“No, sir,” said Henry.

“Thank you for alerting me to the problem,” the headmaster said. “I shall inform the teachers and staff that we are having an issue with theft, and I shall make it a point to speak out on this matter at chapel in the morning. But hadn’t you boys be washing up for supper?”

“Yes, sir,” they chorused, struggling to get up from the squashy sofa.

Henry gave Adam a hand, and Adam shot him a grateful look.

“Oh, and boys?” the headmaster called as they were nearly out the door.

“Yes, sir?” Henry said.

“My daughter tells me that the four of you are friends.”

Henry, Adam, and Rohan exchanged a look of horror.

“Hopefully you can be a good influence on Francesca, if an unconventional one. But it’s best if you keep this information from my mother,” Headmaster Winter said with a conspiratorial wink.

“It’s too late for that, sir,” Henry said miserably.

True to his word, Headmaster Winter addressed the students at chapel the next morning. Theft not only showed that you coveted your neighbor’s property, but it went against everything knighthood stood for. “The Code of Chivalry is not used to send scrambled messages,” Headmaster Winter concluded, “and as such, there is no reason to break it.”

Frankie caught up with the boys after chapel.

“Why, hello, Miss Winter,” Rohan said blandly.

“Oh, shove it, Rohan.” Frankie scowled. “Ever since my grandmother arrived she’s been controlling my life. I can hardly get out of her sight.”

“Francesca,” Grandmother Winter trilled as she made her way toward the boys’ pew. She wore a ridiculous hat covered in plumes, a hat far too grand for morning chapel.

“Ah, there you are, talking to the duke’s son,” Grandmother Winter said.

Rohan’s cheeks colored.

“Hello, madam.”

“Yes, hello, ma’am,” Henry said, nudging Adam, who had fallen asleep in the pew. Adam snorted but didn’t awaken.

“Come, Francesca,” Grandmother Winter said. “I have called for tea and biscuits to be sent to my rooms. You may keep me company while you work on your embroidery.”

Frankie, making sure that her grandmother wasn’t watching, pulled a horrible face. “Yes, Grandmother.”

At breakfast, Adam couldn’t stop mocking Rohan.

“Oh, it’s the duke’s son,” he said. “What a lovely match for our sweet little Francesca.”

“Stow it, Adam,” Rohan said sourly, picking at his scone. He hadn’t touched the blueberry muffins all week. “I can’t help that she knows my family.”

“Maybe if you started courting Frankie, we could see her more often,” Adam said.

“Would you stop?” Rohan asked. “I’m not courting anybody. We’re fourteen.”

“And besides,” Henry said with a lopsided grin, “we’re not allowed to visit girls.”

After lessons, Henry, Adam, and Rohan turned up once more at the doorstep of the headmaster’s house.

“You again,” Ellen clucked.

“We’re here to see Professor Stratford,” Henry said. “Truly, we are.”

“I’ll jest go an’ check with him, shall I?” she asked, shutting the door in their faces.

Minutes later, after Henry had begun to suspect that she might not return, Ellen opened the door and ushered them inside.

“He says he’ll see you.”

Ellen led the boys through a large and lavish sitting room, which opened onto an orangery where Frankie stood in a white smock, scowling as she watercolored a vase of roses.

Grandmother Winter sat in a wingback chair, watching.

Hurrying the boys past Frankie, the maid led them up a back staircase, through a long hallway, and to the door of Professor Stratford’s study.

“Here we are,” she said, bobbing a curtsy and scurrying back down the stairs.

Suddenly, Henry realized something. “She took us through the servants’ staircase,” he said.

Rohan frowned.

“I can’t imagine why,” said Adam.

Henry, thinking of Frankie’s dour grandmother, rather suspected he could venture a guess.

“Is that Henry?” Professor Stratford cried, opening the door to his cozy, book-strewn study with a broad grin. “Good to see you again, Adam! And this must be the infamous Rohan.”

“Yes, sir,” Rohan said with a slight bow.

“I won’t stand for even the smallest whiff of formality,” Professor Stratford said with a dismissive wave. “Now get inside and tell me what’s going on with this thieving rumor.”

“It isn’t a rumor,” Henry said.

“I didn’t think it was,” Professor Stratford said seriously, chewing on the corner of his mustache as he settled back into his chair. “And am I also correct in