Page 16 of A Murder in Trinity Lane (Rosalynd and Steele Mysteries #2)

Chapter

Sixteen

THE QUIET BEFORE THE STORM

L ight spilled through the lace-draped windows of our drawing room, catching on the gilt edges of picture frames and playing over the white linen laid out for tea.

The scent of Ceylon tea drifted through the air, faintly floral, with just a hint of spice.

I poured with care, steadying my hand even as my thoughts refused to do the same.

It was nearly half-past three, and I had yet to hear from Steele.

Last night he’d sent a note detailing his meeting with Constable Collins and what he’d uncovered.

We were meant to meet again—to discuss our next steps and chart a proper course.

And yet, today had stretched on with no message, no word, nothing but silence.

I told myself it was only impatience. But beneath the surface, something far more unsettling had begun to stir—unease.

“Rosalynd,” Grandmother said, her voice clipped but not unkind. “Is anything the matter? You’ve been stirring the same cup for a full minute.”

She sat in her high-backed armchair by the fire, a tartan shawl tucked around her shoulders and an expression that suggested she found me mildly inadequate.

I looked up at once, forcing a smile. “No, Grandmother. Only thinking.”

She gave a faint harrumph, the sort that implied thinking was fine in moderation but best left to men and philosophers.

“You do seem rather worried, Rosie,” Chrissie added from across the room, glancing up from her fashion journal. “You’ve gone all pale around the eyes.”

I needed to come up with something quickly before my entire family launched a full interrogation.

“I’ve a slight headache, that’s all.”

Naturally, my botanist brother saw this as an opportunity to offer one of his remedies.

“You ought to try willow bark,” Cosmos said, glancing up from the fire where he was poking the coals. “Steeped in hot water with a pinch of mint. Far more effective than laudanum—and less likely to send you into wild imaginings.”

“Thank you, Cosmos. I’ll take it under advisement.” As the minutes ticked by, my fingers twitched with the urge to write Steele again. Or storm Steele House. Or set a hound on his trail, preferably one with a keen nose and no regard for social niceties.

Pity we didn’t own a hound.

“She’s waiting for something,” Laurel murmured, eyes on her book.

She was curled into the corner of a settee, nose buried in a slim volume whose spine I couldn’t quite make out.

I sincerely hoped it wasn’t one of those scandalous tales she so adored.

Where she managed to find them remained a mystery.

Someone,” Fox corrected quietly. He sat beside Laurel, silent and sharp-eyed, his gaze flicking from face to face with the calm detachment of someone who’d once preferred to be invisible.

When he first arrived in London, he barely spoke a word to anyone—still bruised, I suspected, from the ordeal that saw him sent down from school.

But over the past month, he’d begun joining us for tea, offering the occasional observation with unnerving precision.

He missed nothing. And now, increasingly, I found myself unsettled by just how well he seemed to read the room and everyone in it.

My imaginary headache was fast becoming a reality. I opened my mouth to reply—but was saved by the sound of footsteps in the hall. Measured. Familiar.

Honeycutt appeared in the doorway, his expression perfectly unreadable.

“A visitor, milady. Lady Edmunds.”

My breath escaped in a rush. Just what I needed.

A moment later, Claire swept into the room as if she’d been invited by royal decree. She was clad in a plum-colored walking dress trimmed in sable, her hat set at an angle daring enough to defy gravity. Her cheeks were pink from the cold—or possibly delight at catching us unawares.

“Forgive me,” she said, not sounding the least bit sorry. “I do hope I’m not intruding. I happened to be passing and thought—why not drop in and see my dearest friends?”

Grandmother looked up, cool as ever. “How very . . . spontaneous.”

Before I could muster a greeting, Cosmos sprang to his feet.

“Not at all!” he said a little too eagerly. “You’re welcome to come any time, Lady Claire.”

Claire turned her dazzling smile on him. “I do love to come,” she said, her tone airily innocent. “Unexpectedly . . . or otherwise.”

Cosmos flushed to the roots of his hair but grinned all the same.

Heavens! It was one thing for Claire to flirt outrageously with him. It was quite another for my normally staid, scholarly brother to actually enjoy it.

Surprisingly, Grandmother said nothing. More than likely, she’d chalked up Claire’s outrageousness to her usual nonsense.

Without waiting to be invited, Claire seated herself, brushing a speck of imagined lint from her skirts. “You’re all looking wonderfully domestic,” she said, eyes twinkling. “Truly, it’s like a portrait of English virtue.”

“We were just enjoying fairy cakes,” Petunia offered brightly, seizing the opportunity to sneak another one while no one was watching.

“Ah,” Claire said. “The true highlight of any afternoon.”

Chrissie grinned from behind her magazine. “Some of us enjoy the company just as much.”

“Indeed,” Claire said. After accepting a cup of tea from me, she turned her full attention to Cosmos. “How is your work at the Royal Botanic Society coming along, Lord Rosehaven?” she asked sweetly.

She didn’t give a fig about botany. But it was becoming more and more apparent, she was interested in Cosmos. I couldn’t begin to divine her reason.

Cosmos straightened at once. “Quite well, actually. We’ve received a new collection of alpine specimens from the Tyrol region. Rare varieties of Ranunculus glacialis —very delicate.”

Claire blinked, then leaned forward, eyes wide. “How fascinating. I’d love to see them,” Claire continued. “The specimens, I mean. You must show me sometime.”

“Yes, of course. If you’d like to visit the conservatory?—”

“I would. Very much.” Her smile was feline. “Though I warn you, I haven’t the faintest knowledge of flowers. You’d have to teach me everything .”

“I—well—yes. Certainly.” He reached for a scone and very nearly knocked over the cream dish.

Claire reached for a cube of sugar, but it slipped through her fingers and landed squarely on her lap.

With an easy laugh, she plucked it up—not with the tongs, but with her bare hand—and popped it into her mouth.

Then, as if by afterthought, she lifted one finger to her lips and slowly ran her tongue along it, her eyes never leaving Cosmos’s face.

He was absolutely mesmerized.

“Oh dear, what an awful faux pas ,” she said with a sweet little sigh. “I do hope you don’t think less of me, my lord.”

“Not at all,” he managed, once he’d put his eyes back in his head. “Perfectly understandable.”

Claire laughed, rich and unrestrained.

I made a mental note to bar her from the house. Indefinitely.

Before Claire could further press her advantage—or Cosmos said something irretrievably awkward—the unmistakable knock of the front door echoed faintly through the house.

Claire tilted her head. “More callers? Goodness, this must be the place to be today.”

Moments later, when Honeycutt’s quiet footfalls sounded outside the drawing room, my fingers tightened around my teacup.

Our butler reappeared in the doorway once more. “His Grace, the Duke of Steele.”

The room went still as the duke entered—dark, deliberate, and composed in his usual unrelenting black.

The light from the windows caught the sharp line of his jaw, the streak of white in his dark hair, but it was the bruising I saw first—the raw, purpling skin across his knuckles, the subtle tightness in his posture, the way he favored his right side as he moved.

My breath caught, sharp and immediate, but I said nothing as our eyes met for the briefest moment.

Petunia had no such restraint. She immediately leapt to her feet. “Duke! Did someone hit you? Were you in a fight?”

Steele lowered himself carefully to her level, bracing one hand on his knee. His expression softened just enough to betray the pain behind it.

“No fight, I promise,” he said gently. “Just a bit of pugilism. Practice, not battle.”

Petunia’s little face scrunched into a stern frown. “You mustn’t get into fisticuffs. It’s undignified. And dangerous. What if something happened to you?” Her voice wobbled, and her lip began to tremble. Tears welled in her eyes.

Steele’s own softened at once. “Nothing will happen to me, little one,” he said, and this time, his voice dropped to a murmur meant only for her. “Not if I can help it.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

She sniffed. “Good. Because Rosie would be so sad if you got hurt.”

His glance shifted toward me. “She would, would she?”

When our gazes locked across the room, I struggled to keep my expression composed and lifted my teacup to mask the heat rising in my cheeks.

Claire, who had been watching with a knowing sparkle in her eye, must have noticed my valiant attempt. Without missing a beat, she swept in to rescue me.

“Well, that settles it,” she said brightly. “His Grace must take greater care of himself, if only to avoid being scolded by a seven-year-old.”

Petunia puffed up with pride, clearly delighted to be included in such sweeping authority.

“Truly, Your Grace,” Claire continued, turning to Steele with a charming smile, “we cannot have you stumbling about London with bruised knuckles. What would the gossip columns say?”

Steele gave the faintest smile as he rose to his feet. “Something inaccurate, I imagine.”

Laughter rippled lightly through the room, and the attention shifted—just as Claire had intended—giving me enough time for my blush to recede.

Catching Claire’s eye, I offered the barest nod of gratitude. She returned it with a subtle smile and turned back to her tea as if nothing at all had happened. It was time to bring the charade to an end.

I rose, smoothing my skirts. “If you’ll excuse us, the Duke and I have some matters to attend to.”

Grandmother’s eyes sharpened. “Yes, so it would seem.”

Claire lifted her teacup with a grin. “Enjoy yourselves. Or at the very least—have a productive discussion.”

“Thank you,” I said, grateful for the gentle deflection.

I crossed the room to Steele’s side. Without a word, he offered his arm.

“Ladies. Rosehaven,” he said with a polite nod to the room.

In the next instant, we stepped into the corridor and out of sight.