In truth Captain Willsen was intrigued. He had served twelve years in the British army and had never heard a shot fired in anger. He yearned to distinguish himself and now, quite suddenly, a chance had arisen because an officer was needed to escort the Duke of York’s aide to Copenhagen. That was all Willsen knew, though his commanding officer had hinted that his facility with small arms might be a great advantage. Willsen had been worried at first, fearing that he would be fighting against his father’s people, but he had been assured that the danger in Copenhagen came from the French, not the Danes, and that assurance had permitted

Now Lavisser was offering to explain and Willsen, who knew he had been churlish, nodded. “Of course. It will be a pleasure to dine with you, sir.”

“My name is John,” Lavisser insisted as he led Willsen down the staircase to the street. Willsen half expected to find a carriage waiting, but it appeared Lavisser was on foot even though a small chill rain was falling. “Hard to believe it’s July,” Lavisser grumbled.

“It will be a bad harvest,” Willsen remarked.

“I thought we might get a bite at Almack’s,” Lavisser suggested, “and maybe play a hand afterward?”

“I never wager,” Willsen answered, and even if he did he could never have afforded the high stakes at Almack’s.

“How very wise you are,” Lavisser said. They were both speaking English again. “And I thought it might please you if we had a word with Hanssen before supper.”

“Hanssen?”

“The first secretary at the Danish embassy,” Lavisser explained. He gave his companion an earnest look. “I want to be quite certain that our activities are not prejudicial to Denmark. Hanssen’s a decent man and I’ve always found his advice very sound.”