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My daughter’s first birthday was everything that I’d hoped it would be.

At breakfast, we celebrated with Trevor and our staff, almost all of whom were as enamored with Emma as everyone else.

Mrs. Grady made tall stacks of fluffy bannocks, which everyone—especially Emma—enjoyed with creamy butter and jam.

There was much laughter and merriment, and our daughter loved the spinning top that the staff gifted her.

Though she couldn’t make it spin on her own yet, I imagined it wouldn’t be long before she figured it out.

Or before Mrs. Mackay made certain she did.

Then Emma was whisked off to the nursery for a bath, and the rest of the staff set to preparing for her birthday tea.

While I supervised, Gage and Trevor dashed off to inform Sergeant Maclean of our discovery about Mr. Fletcher.

Or rather, Bonnie Brock’s discovery, but I knew Gage would do all in his power to leave the criminal out of the discussion.

However, not before I noted him conferring in hushed tones with Bree and Anderley while I directed Jeffers on the placement of some of the furniture.

I wondered what it could be about, but it was over before I could venture closer to ask.

From that moment on, I was busy answering one question or another, moving from room to room.

When Alana arrived an hour before the party, she found me still in my morning gown and promptly took over, shooing me off to my bedchamber to change.

Even then, I was still peppered with queries at times relayed through the door.

By the time I made my way up to the nursery a quarter of an hour before the guests were supposed to arrive, Mrs. Mackay was already dressing a still-sleepy Emma in her white-satin-and-gauze dress festooned with periwinkle ribbons and bows that matched the color of my gown.

“Ye dinna want tae sleep the day away,” the nanny cajoled her. “No’ this day.” Catching sight of me, she proclaimed cheerily, “Didna want tae wake from her nap, but nay worries. Soon as she hears those cousins o’ hers, she’ll perk up.”

I suspected she was right. In any case, I rather welcomed a few minutes of extra snuggles before the excitement of the tea began.

Gage was waiting for us when I made my way downstairs with Emma’s face buried in my neck, her fingers idly playing with the amethyst pendant draped around my neck.

It made me feel that in some way my mother—Emma’s grandmother—was with us in spirit.

He was smiling that private little smile he reserved only for me as I neared the bottom. However, there seemed to be an extra element to it. Something that made me suspicious.

He must have sensed this, for he leaned down to speak with Emma. “Feeling a little shy, are we?”

“Sleepy.” My gaze flicked toward the dining room, where I heard voices.

“Charlotte and Rye are here with the children, as well as Henry and your cousin Jock.”

My lips quirked. “I suppose that accounts for the loud crowing.” Jock was always ready with a jest.

Gage shook his head, though laughter was lurking at the corners of his mouth. “Don’t ask.”

We turned toward the front door as Jeffers opened it to admit more well-wishers.

This time it was Philip and the children.

True to Mrs. Mackay’s prediction, Emma looked up at the sound of wee Jamie chattering away in his own peculiar toddler tongue.

She turned to grin at him as he removed his coat, dropping it onto the floor in his haste to greet her.

I could only laugh at the pair of them, which drew a weary smile from Philip, who had snatched the coat from the floor as Jeffers was helping his eldest daughter, Philipa, out of her pelisse.

Greer soon appeared at my side as well, reaching up to take Emma’s hand as she cooed to her.

“Let’s all retire to the dining room, shall we?” I told them just as Alana stepped into the corridor to greet her brood. “I hear there are sweets.”

This raised a cheer from Jamie and Greer, though Philipa was attempting to appear more dignified. I touched the sleeve of her gown. “You look lovely,” I told her, earning a smile from her. “Quite grown-up. I can’t believe you’re going to be eight years old in just a few short weeks.”

“Don’t remind me,” Alana said wistfully, tucking an errant hair behind her daughter’s ear.

Philipa flushed and hurried after her brother and sister.

Alana shook her head before sharing a tender look with her husband. Then she turned to Emma with a bright smile as she held her arms out toward her. “May I hold the birthday girl?”

I looked to Emma to see if she was awake enough now to be passed about, and she willingly went to my sister.

I looped my arm through Gage’s, leaning my head against his shoulder as we followed them into the dining room.

It was a brief moment of connection before we separated to greet our guests and immerse ourselves in the celebration.

Mrs. Grady had truly outdone herself, making platters piled high with delicious sandwiches, scones, and various sweets, including her lemon cakes, which were all washed down with pots of tea and pitchers of lemonade.

Alana had arranged games for the children in the morning room while the food was cleared away, and then I helped Emma to open her gifts.

They ranged from dolls and windmills and hobbyhorses to a toy drum, courtesy of Trevor.

He’d smiled unabashedly at us once Emma had figured out how to use the stick to beat it and make a loud sound.

Jamie had instantly been captivated, asking his uncle to get him one. All of us were amused by the alarm that lit Philip’s and Alana’s eyes at the prospect.

“Sorry, old chap,” Trevor told Jamie between chuckles. “But maybe a fife.”

This would be no kinder to their household’s eardrums, but I supposed he was less likely to be tempted to bash things he shouldn’t with it as opposed to a drumstick.

My favorite gift was from Alana, who’d had the flower for Emma’s birth month—a white daisy—pressed and framed, along with an inscription of her full name, just like she’d done for each of her own children on their first birthdays.

Alana had even included a few short lines of verse she’d written just for her niece.

Upon reading it, I’d had to sniff back tears.

When the gifts were finished, I’d believed the party was all but over, but Gage had another trick up his sleeve. He murmured to Alana, asking her to mind Emma, who was playing with her new toys along with her guests. Then he beckoned me out to the corridor.

“What is it?” I asked in confusion. “Did Maclean send word about Mr. Fletcher?” We’d not had a chance yet to discuss Maclean’s reaction to what he’d told him this morning.

“No, no. This isn’t about the inquiry.” He pulled me a short distance away from the door, wrapping his arms around my waist as he gazed down at me with a warm smile. “Are you feeling brave?”

I blinked at him uncertainly. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You will.”

Nerves began to flutter in my stomach at this rather cryptic remark, especially when he glanced over his shoulder toward the corridor outside the morning room.

Mrs. Mackay and Bree stood waiting, but they began to move toward us at his nod.

Then he gripped my hand and urged me back to the dining room entrance.

“If I could have your attention, please,” he announced, waiting for the room to fall silent except wee Jamie, who was banging sharply on the drum as he sat in Trevor’s lap.

Judging from his expression, he regretted his gift choice.

“We have a bit of a surprise for you, if you’ll follow me. The children can remain here.”

He pulled my arm through the crook of his, guiding me toward the stairs.

“What surprise?” I asked as we ascended.

“You’ll see,” he responded again with maddening ambiguity.

“Sebastian,” I murmured with a rising sense of dread. “What have you done?”

Given our conversation before retiring, I had an unsettling feeling about what awaited us.

For a moment, as we veered toward the drawing room and not the stairs leading to the upper levels and my art studio, I thought perhaps I’d been wrong.

But then I caught a glimpse of the contents of the drawing room and was unable to stifle a gasp.

He turned to me as I gazed in panic at the sight of all the portraits intended for my exhibit arrayed about the chamber.

It was far from ideal, as I possessed only four easels, but the other portraits had been carefully propped on sofas and chairs and any surface which could safely support them.

Furniture from the neighboring library had also been dragged into the room and put to such use.

This, then, must have been what he’d been whispering to Bree and Anderley about.

Gage grasped my hands, pivoting me so that he could see into my face. “Trust your friends and family, Kiera. Trust me ,” he pleaded.

Part of me wanted to rage at him, for he’d really given me no choice in the matter but to trust him. But another part of me was afraid if I opened my mouth, I might be sick all over my shoes. So I remained silent, standing stiffly to the side of the door while the others filed in.

At first, I was too apprehensive to look at their faces, frightened of what I might see. They might lie and tell me they were good, but they could never conceal the truth from my eyes. I would know it the second I read their expressions.

But wasn’t that what I needed to know—no matter how painful? Wasn’t it better to see the truth in my loved ones’ faces first before the portraits were exposed to strangers? Before it was too late to halt the entire thing?