Juliana was rather annoyed by this, honestly. The scheme was only half finished, or possibly less than that, depending on how quickly the rumor mill had been working since the article was published. Talking about it now was like letting someone read a half-written draft and offering feedback on it (not that she would ever have allowed anyone to look at one of her drafts; she was fiercely protective of her work). Nothing anyone could say would be useful, and it was only an unnecessary distraction to try and put all her thoughts into words at the moment.

But him sending her all these frantic letters wasn't helping matters, either. Luckily her family and coworkers had given her some space over the past two days, assuming she was shell-shocked from the article, but sooner or later someone would notice if she kept getting owls at all hours of the day with a man's handwriting on the envelope. If someone managed to see who the letters were from, that would certainly do neither of them any favors. So this was, she supposed, the lesser of two evils; meet him here, answer his questions, and then get back to work — hopefully in peace.

She hadn't changed after dinner — luckily, she was in the habit of forgetting to change when she got caught up in things, so it didn't arouse her mother's suspicion when Mrs. Binns retired for the evening and her daughter was still dressed. Her hair was down, but otherwise she looked just as she might when out and about conducting errands. She checked the bottom floor of the house thrice to ensure no one would see her before she snuck through the floo to Lachlan MacFusty's home.

"I did say after nine," she responded, with a shrug. She glanced around the room, wondering if he expected her to sit or whether this was meant to be a more short-lived conversation.

"You made tea?" she asked in surprise, noticing the kettle.