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I’d finally managed to slip free the last button, and Gage removed the garment from my shoulders and passed it to the butler.

“Come, my dear. Let’s get you somewhere warm.”

It was some relief to discover he wasn’t completely oblivious to my state of being, and I reveled in the heat generated by his large body as I crowded close to his side as he ushered me up the stairs and into the library.

However, once I was deposited in front of the roaring fire, he left me there and moved toward his desk, where the correspondence Jeffers had informed him had arrived was waiting for him.

I lifted my hands toward the blaze, trying not to feel like a discarded waif.

At the same time, I knew I was being ridiculous.

Naturally, Gage was absorbed with the inquiry.

All I needed to do was speak up and tell him I was troubled, and he would attend to me.

I knew this, and yet the words stuck in my throat, stifled by my own insecurities.

“You’ve a letter here as well,” Gage remarked even as I heard him slitting open a piece of his own correspondence.

I turned to meet him as he crossed the space toward me, already reading the contents of his missive. A furrow marred his brow as I accepted my letter from him. I allowed my gaze to drift over the handwriting. “Is that from your father?”

“Yes,” he said absently, remaining where he was as he continued to read.

“Is anything wrong?” I ventured at the risk of pestering him while he was still immersed in the note.

“Hmm?”

“It’s simply that you seem…perturbed.”

His gaze flickered toward me before returning to the paper. “Father is informing me there’s been a delay with some of the stonework at the dower house.”

“But didn’t you already correspond with Mr. Watkins about that last week?” As steward of Lord Gage’s Warwickshire estate, Bevington Park, Mr. Watkins had been tasked with supervising the refurbishment of the dower house while we were in Edinburgh and Lord Gage was in London.

“I did. And Father has undoubtedly confused the man, for he directed Watkins to do the exact opposite of what I instructed him.”

I grimaced. “I’m sure he’s just trying to help.”

“No, he’s just trying to control the situation. Like he always does.”

I couldn’t dispute this, for it was true. Though in this case it might be a mixture of both.

I sank onto the sofa as I broke the seal of my letter, recognizing my brother’s nearly illegible scrawl. Trevor had never been a lengthy correspondent, and this missive was no exception. In any case, I would see him soon enough.

“From Trevor?” Gage asked as I refolded it.

“Yes. To let me know he’ll be traveling up from Blakelaw House on Saturday.”

“You must be anxious to see him,” he remarked, still perusing his own missive.

I nodded. It had been nearly three months since we’d spent Christmas and Hogmanay at my childhood home, Blakelaw House, which was now Trevor’s estate.

While my brother and sister and I had always been close, we’d never spent our lives in each other’s pockets—ever moving in and out of each other’s spheres with ease.

But in that moment, I felt tears bite at the back of my eyes and a distinct yearning to see my brother again.

For all the aggravation he’d caused me as a big brother, I couldn’t deny that I’d always felt safe and protected, and perhaps most importantly, accepted by him.

Losing our mother at such young ages had formed a strong bond between us, and that uncomplicated alliance was something I found myself craving.

Blinking furiously, I rose to my feet and crossed toward the window, gazing out at the rain that still fell in buckets.

It ran in rivulets toward the mews and formed puddles on the lawn.

One could even smell the dampness in the air, seeping through the glass.

I hugged my arms tightly around me against the chill.

A movement near the carriage house grabbed my attention, and for a moment I wondered if we were receiving another unorthodox call from Bonnie Brock.

Then I spied Joe, our coachman. He was fidgeting with the door that led into the garden and speaking to someone over his shoulder, likely the carpenter.

I recalled now that there had been a complaint about the door leaking when it rained.

While I wasn’t precisely disappointed to discover it wasn’t Bonnie Brock, it did make me pause to question where the rogue had gotten to the past few days.

Normally during the course of our inquiries here in Edinburgh, he seemed to be perpetually underfoot at the most inopportune times.

I knew he had seen Maclean in our carriage on the day I’d spotted him watching us from Queen Street Gardens, but I’d not seen him since.

Which wasn’t to say he wasn’t still about.

He’d simply not made himself known. But I had some questions for him.

Questions that I began to wonder if he was reluctant to answer.

There was a rap on the door, and Gage called out for them to enter.

“Mrs. Mackay has returned, sir,” Jeffers entered to say. “But she asked me to inform you that Miss Gage has already awakened from her nap.”

“Tell her to bring her with her,” I told him before Gage could reply.

Jeffers nodded before departing while Gage scrutinized me from where he now stood next to his desk.

“Are you certain? As much as I love my daughter, I know how distracting she can be.”

“I’m certain,” I replied, turning back toward the window. Suddenly the act of holding my daughter was what I wanted most of all.

Not that Emma wished to be held for long. Not when there was a new chamber to be explored.

We moved the low tea table in front of the hearth to block it and set Emma down on the Axminster rug, sprinkling it with a few of her toys—including her ragdoll Rosie—so that she could roam.

And roam she did. She’d become quite the quick crawler and had even begun to pull herself up to standing.

Mrs. Mackay assured us it wouldn’t be long before she was walking.

Emma’s presence also had the unanticipated but welcome effect of mitigating some of the tension in the room, particularly between Bree and Anderley.

It was clear they hadn’t yet reconciled after this morning’s quarrel.

Perhaps it was too soon. After all, they had both been greatly riled.

I hoped they wouldn’t leave it too long and let feelings continue to fester.

“Since ye seem tae have been waitin’ for me, shall I start?

” Mrs. Mackay asked, drawing Emma’s attention, who grinned broadly at her nanny.

“I’m afraid I havena much tae report. No’ yet.

But I must tell ye, after speakin’ wi’ a few members o’ Lord Thomson’s staff…

” she shook her head “…I dinna think we’re goin’ tae find our answers wi’ the Bannatyne Club. ”

Lord Thomson had served as the club’s vice president since its inception, and its president since Sir Walter Scott’s death six months ago.

“Go on,” Gage urged, smiling at our daughter as she turned to look at him.

“Accordin’ tae them, while the members can, indeed, sometimes get touzie—’specially after a drink or two—’tis nay more than the average Scotsman. And they said Lord Eldin was no worse than the others. That none o’ ’em seemed to have any catterbatter wi’ him.”

I normally heard the Scots word touzie spoken in relation to a person’s disheveled hair, but I supposed I could infer its meaning in this context. However, catterbatter was certainly new.

“No obvious disputes anyway,” Gage remarked helpfully.

“Aye,” she agreed as Emma pulled herself up on the sofa cushion between her nanny and Bree. “I’ve one more old acquaintance I can ask, but ’tis all.”

Gage nodded before turning to Bree. “We’re already aware of some of the information Miss McEvoy uncovered.” This was a diplomatic way of phrasing things. “But were there any other rival auctioneers you believe we should take a closer look at?”

Bree shook her head. She and I had already discussed the matter earlier and decided that nothing she’d found out about the others was enough to raise suspicions.

Jeffers cleared his throat, and attention shifted to him.

“I have not learned anything that would alter our belief that Mr. Smith was not the intended victim. However…” The arch of his eyebrows as he turned to me seemed to contain a world of meaning.

“Sir James Riddell is proving more complicated. I’ll have a more complete report for you tomorrow or the following day. ”

Gage glanced between us in confusion, and I realized I hadn’t told him that I’d asked Jeffers to find out what he could about the cad.

“Very good,” I told Jeffers, deciding his statement was both explanation and justification enough for what I’d asked of him.

My husband seemed to realize this as well, though the look he fastened on me promised there would be questions later. Questions about what had prompted me to ask our butler to investigate Sir James.

“Then that leaves Mr. Sullivan and his connections at Brade Cranston Auctioneers as our most promising suspects.” Gage sat back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other, watching Emma as she crawled across the floor toward the fireplace, where a loud snap had drawn her interest. Being nearest to the hearth, I also watched her closely, ready to nab her if she attempted to go around or underneath the table blocking her path.

“I’d hoped one of Winstanley’s other employees might be able to tell me something useful,” Gage continued.

“Especially after Mr. Sullivan didn’t appear for work today.

But they proved to be determinedly closemouthed. ”

Emma had reached the tea table, pulling herself up so that she could bang her hands against the top. I could see her scrutinizing the flickering flames, her little legs wobbling with the effort to remain upright, but she remained where she was for the moment.