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I should have known better than to ask Gage if I could help keep watch at one of the churches.

After what had occurred a year ago and in Cornwall just five months past, he was determined to keep me and Emma safe.

Given the number of men who would be present at each St. George’s, I wasn’t truly needed.

Gage and Anderley would be positioned inside St. George’s Chapel in York Place, with Sergeant Maclean and a handful of men concealed around the perimeter outside.

Meanwhile, Henry and his brother Lord Edward were secreted inside St. George’s Church in Charlotte Square with another handful of policemen on the exterior.

At an even farther distance, Bonnie Brock had promised to keep his men to the shadows nearby, ready to apprehend Fletcher if the others failed to nab him.

Considering the dozens of men involved, I was beginning to grow more concerned that Fletcher would realize his plan had been uncovered and slip away before he was seen.

Of course, there was also the ever-present worry that he’d already done his sabotage and scampered off to parts unknown.

The men would be searching for any such evidence, but there was also the chance the damage would not be so obvious.

I tried to block that fear from my thoughts, but I was no more successful at that than I was in ordering myself not to worry about Gage and the others as the hour grew later and later.

Trevor had remained behind to guard me and Emma.

I had no illusions that he was merely there for company.

In any case, he was little better than I was at concealing his anxiety.

At one point, we began pacing the drawing room in opposite directions, crossing each other with each pass by the tea table.

Had I not been so consumed with nerves, I might have found it amusing.

Finally, I could take no more. “I’m going to look in on Emma,” I told my brother, not even waiting for a response before I strode from the room.

I found Emma sleeping serenely with Mrs. Mackay seated nearby, knitting.

She offered me an empathetic smile. It didn’t require a great leap in deduction to recognize that she’d also been tasked to play guard.

In this case, I decided I couldn’t fault my husband for doing so.

It certainly made me breathe easier to know our daughter was under vigilant supervision.

Before returning to the drawing room, I decided to look in on Mr. Rimmer as well.

He had woken several times during the day—the doctor had told us his fatigue was entirely normal—but he had nothing of use to add to what he’d already told us.

His mind was still muzzy, as Bree called it, so there was no telling if he knew more and he couldn’t recall, or if he’d genuinely recounted everything he could.

A quick peek through the door showed he was sleeping again, more peacefully than before it seemed.

Bree had shifted the chair closer to the warmth of the hearth, where she could read by the light of the fire.

She looked up as I opened the door, shaking her head in answer to my unspoken question to indicate there was nothing to report.

I nodded dejectedly, realizing I’d actually hoped there would be. Anything to end this interminable uncertainty.

As I was descending the stairs, I thought I heard a noise and paused, listening.

When it didn’t happen again, I continued, only to hear it again—louder this time.

It sounded rather like a faint click. As I continued down the stairs, the click became more pronounced, but it came at random intervals.

Inching forward, I realized it was coming from the library and wondered if Trevor had moved into that room, or if perhaps Gage had returned.

I briefly thought of the incident several weeks earlier when I’d been drawn to the nursery by another odd sound, only to discover my husband dangling out the window.

For a moment, I pondered whether I’d begun to hallucinate, but then I heard the sound again.

This noise was very different from the loud thwack of the fireplace poker striking the stone facade, but it was definitely coming from inside the library.

I pushed the door wider, peering inside the lit chamber, but there was no one inside and for a moment, at least, the clicking seemed to have stopped.

I was about to turn to leave when I heard it again.

A sharp clack. When it happened a second time, I recognized it was coming from outside the window.

Without hesitation, I hurried toward it, thinking it must be Bonnie Brock trying to signal me.

I was just steps away when I realized this made little sense. He wouldn’t throw rocks at the wall and window. He would simply rap on the French doors until someone answered or stroll right in.

I skidded to a halt, seeing my own reflection in the glass, for the drapes had yet to be drawn, and some instinct suddenly made me reverse course.

Less than a second later, the window shattered, sending glass shards spraying in every direction.

Because I had just turned aside, they mostly struck the back of my gown, ricocheting off the thick wool of my unfashionable garment, but my shoulder collided with the wall next to the window sharply.

My brother came hurrying through the door to the library a few moments later, finding me still pressed against the wall, panting heavily at my narrow escape. “Kiera,” he exclaimed in alarm.

“Stop!” I ordered. “Someone just shot at me through the window.”

He followed my gaze toward the ceiling, where the bullet was now lodged.

“They may still be out there.”

Trevor slowly made his way closer, giving the sight line of the window a wide berth. “Are you injured?”

“I…I don’t think so,” I stammered, turning my back to him. “But you might check me for glass.”

Jeffers and Bree soon appeared in the doorway.

“The garden,” I told the butler.

He retreated and Bree advanced into the room, circling widely to where I stood.

Trevor allowed her to take over the task of removing glass shards from my hair, while he inched toward the window, glass crunching beneath his feet.

When he inched his head too far out for my comfort, I opened my mouth to caution him again when he spoke over me.

“They’ve got him!”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

I moved over beside him, gazing down into the shadowed garden where I could just make out a few shapes in the darkness.

Two of the men were restraining another, who appeared to be Fletcher, for I heard him curse foully.

They were tying him up with some sort of rope, and not gently.

A fourth man looked on, and when he glanced up, I realized it was Bonnie Brock.

He touched his forelock with a rather exaggerated flourish and then melted away into the shadows. His men soon followed, leaving Fletcher trussed up on the damp grass. Not two minutes later, Gage appeared, followed by Anderley and Maclean.

My husband took one look at Fletcher and his pistol laid in the grass beside him and then up at me standing before the broken window and darted toward the French doors. A minute later, I was in his arms.

· · ·

“He spotted one of the men,” Gage explained with a shake of his head a short time later when we’d all gathered in the drawing room.

Maclean had led Fletcher off to jail while the men stationed at the church in Charlotte Square were apprised of the situation.

Henry and Lord Edward had arrived at our door soon after.

“He ran and we took off in pursuit. But he already had a significant lead, given Anderley…” he nodded to his valet “…and I were inside the chapel.” Gage looked down at me where I sat close to his side with his arm draped around my shoulders.

“He must have realized we were the ones to figure out his plans, and he undoubtedly already knew we were harboring Mr. Rimmer, so he came here.” His eyes were shadowed with a regret I wanted to wipe away, for none of this was his fault.

“I was returning to the drawing room after looking in on Emma and Mr. Rimmer when I heard a strange clicking sound,” I said, explaining my part in the matter.

“Fletcher must have been throwing pebbles at the window to draw someone’s attention, and I was too foolish to realize that it meant trouble until it was almost too late. ”

“At least, you did realize it,” Trevor said. “I didn’t grasp a thing was wrong until I heard the glass shatter.”

“He’d fired a bullet through the window,” I clarified. “Presumably content to hit whoever approached to discover what the disturbance was.”

Henry’s eyes widened at the horror of it. “Fletcher must be unhinged. I’m glad you arrived in time to catch him before he got away,” he told Gage, who grimaced, confusing Henry. “You didn’t? Then who…”

“Kincaid,” Gage stated flatly.

Henry sat back, looking as if he would like to swallow his own tongue. Lord Edward, in the meantime, was watching us all avidly, as if this was a great show. I arched a single eyebrow at him, telling him he was rather transparent.

“I know I should be grateful to the man for he’s saved us several times,” Gage said. “Except I can’t help but feel he does it to irk me as much as anything else.”

“Oh, undoubtedly,” I told him, reaching up with my hand to tug playfully on his cravat.

He narrowed his eyes at me and then, heedless of everyone present, suddenly pressed a fierce kiss to my temple.

One that let me know just how deeply affected he still was by it all.

I knew that Gage struggled with the knowledge that he could never guarantee my safety, no matter the precautions he took, specifically when we were conducting an inquiry.

“Fletcher must’ve been the person who pushed ye in front o’ that carriage, too,” Bree proposed. She was sitting close to Anderley’s side on the other sofa—their differences still unresolved, but for the moment they seemed to be at peace with one another.

“More than likely,” Gage replied. “He must have witnessed my altercation with Maclean outside Jamieson’s house and saw Kiera stride away. I can only assume he decided that attacking Kiera would convince us to give up the investigation or at least serve as a distraction.”

“So the threat is passed?” Trevor wanted to know. “You’re certain he hadn’t already done any damage?”

“Yes. Judging from the tools found in his bag, he planned to do it tonight, and neither Anderley nor I noticed any indication that the structure had been tampered with. We’ve also informed the church leaders of Fletcher’s attempt and apprehension, so that they can do a more thorough search of the building themselves.

Meanwhile, Maclean will hopefully be able to extract more details from Fletcher himself, but we already have more than enough, especially considering his shooting at Kiera, to keep him locked up. ”

The room seemed to exhale a collective sigh of relief, perhaps each of us acknowledging for the first time the extent of the strain we’d been under.

“And now we can focus on more pleasant matters.” Gage squeezed my shoulders. “Such as Kiera’s art exhibition.”

I flushed lightly.

“Speaking of which…” Henry leaned forward. “Father…the duke…” he corrected, realizing there might be some confusion at the term father among the people gathered “…wishes to host the exhibit at Bowmont House.”

“Truly?” I murmured as Henry smiled.

“Mother is agreed,” Lord Edward added. “They both said they would be delighted to.”

I turned to Gage, recognizing there were still some feelings of resentment toward them for the manner in which they’d interfered during our investigation at Sunlaws Castle in January 1832.

I didn’t wish to upset him, but sponsorship by a duke and duchess, particularly ones as scandalous as the Duke and Duchess of Bowmont, was certain to draw eyes.

And eyes were what I needed if my portraits were to make an impact.

“I think it’s a splendid idea,” Gage replied.

And so it was that in just a few weeks’ time, The Faces of the Forgotten was exhibited to a crush of guests at Bowmont House.

I hired a fully recovered Mr. Rimmer to help me display them to maximum effect in the ballroom.

The exhibition did not escape its critics, but then, I’d expected them.

But by and large, the reaction was positive, and more than half the paintings had sold before the night ended.

Demands for portrait commissions once again increased, though I continued to decline them all.

I had a number of portraits intended for friends and family I’d put off as I finished The Faces of the Forgotten and then I had another series of paintings in mind I wanted to work on.

In any case, our lives were too full the next few months for me to spend much time painting.

Even when we returned to Bevington Park in early June, we were too busy supervising the final stages of the renovations to the dower house that was to be our home and planning the house party we intended to host with Gage’s father for me to pick up a paintbrush as often as I liked.

When the date of the party finally arrived, I had high hopes of finally enjoying a few weeks of relaxation, but murder had a way of dashing such hopes.

Even worse, it threatened to dash my brother’s future happiness.