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Violet rang the bell to Alistair’s townhouse as she had done every time she’d come to see her patient.

Each time, she had been greeted at the door by Williams and led straight to Jess’s room.

In the nine days that had passed since she’d saved Jess’s life, and since she had spent the night with Alistair, she hadn’t laid eyes on him once.

She’d asked after him early on and been told he was indisposed. The implacable valet kept a straight face as they passed the closed door to the study, never giving away that Alistair was ensconced inside.

In the end, Williams’s tact did not halt Violet’s questions so much as the rank smell of old whisky and cheroot smoke emanating from the room did.

She knew he was closed up in there, and she feared he was smoking and drinking himself into oblivion.

But she understood well enough that she couldn’t go to him.

She couldn’t help. Her presence would make him worse, not better.

All she could give him now was time and distance. And respect enough not to use him to ease her guilty conscience.

The next time she visited, he was gone. She knew it without asking, from the way the house felt devoid of his presence.

There was no overcoat in the hallway, no closed study door.

In fact, the door was open to air out the room, with sunlight streaming in through the windows where the heavy drapery had been pulled back.

But mostly Violet knew because the intangible essence of Alistair was missing. She tried not to think about where he was or what he was doing.

She was therefore quite unprepared when Alistair threw open the door to the townhouse himself this morning with a surly “it’s about time.”

“Oh,” Violet exclaimed, taking a step back from his glowering expression. “I just received your note.”

He stared at her for a long moment from the open doorway, the dark pools of his eyes narrowing as he took in her figure on his doorstep. He was dusty and rumpled but—she sniffed the air discreetly—smelling again like himself and not like the bottom of a tavern floor.

This , she thought, is an improvement .

“Are you smelling me, Miss Goodwin?” he asked.

Ah.

Perhaps she had not been so discreet, after all.

“I am not,” Violet said, although they both knew that was a blatant lie. “I’m here because you sent for me. About Jess. She’s missing?”

“I did not send for you. You shouldn’t be here.”

“I called for Miss Goodwin,” Williams interrupted, appearing at the top of the staircase, Davy in tow.

“As she is tasked with the young lady’s health, she ought to be aware when said health is at risk.”

Alistair glared at his valet while Violet nodded her head briskly.

“Absolutely right,” she said, stepping across the threshold. “I should have been told immediately. How long has she been gone?”

“This morning is the fourth day, Miss,” Davy said, tumbling down the steps after Williams in the half-running, half-falling manner of young boys. “She left right after the gov’ did on Monday.”

Violet watched as Davy sidled up to Alistair and stared at him. “You came back,” the boy said.

“Of course, I did. We’ll find your sister just as soon as the blasted Bow Street Runner appears.”

Alistair glared at Williams again. “You did call for him as well? Or are we counting on Miss Goodwin for this investigation?”

Williams ignored that. “The investigator said he’d come as soon as possible.” He turned his attention to Davy. “Why don’t you come along with me, and we’ll see about some breakfast.”

Davy trotted along behind Williams to the kitchen, leaving Violet and Alistair alone in the foyer.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Alistair said to her again.

“I know you’re still angry,” Violet replied as gently as she could. “But please let me stay. For Jess.”

“Angry? I’m not angry.”

He reached for her hands and then seemingly having realized what he’d done, dropped them again.

“I’m not angry, Violet. I’m embarrassed. You must think me unconscionably irresponsible.”

Violet felt her skin tingle underneath her gloves where he’d touched her and a kind of sensory deprivation after he stopped. She wondered if it would always be like this, his touch becoming some kind of ghostly artifact she could feel and miss and never quite satisfy her longing for.

“Why would I think that?” she asked. And then, “Why would you think I would think that?”

“Because I lost the girl. She was my responsibility, and I lost her.”

“Alistair—”

“Go home, please,” he said before she could say anything more. “I don’t need you to clean up my mess. I’ll send word when we know something. I’ll find her. I promise you.”

“Alistair!” Violet felt like stomping her foot, she was so incensed. She could hear the self-deprecation and recrimination so clearly in every word he said.

“Stop it. Stop it right now. You are not responsible for the world. And everything that goes wrong is not your fault.”

He arched that brow at her, incredulous. “ I am not responsible for the world? Pot and kettle, Violet.”

The truth of his words made the side of her mouth quirk up in a smile. “Fair enough. But let me stay and help. It will be better if we work together.”

“As you wish,” he said, his face still stern.

But not his voice. His voice was soft and tender.

By noon, Esmee and McGann appeared and moments later the Bow Street Runner.

“Mr. Hughes has arrived,” Williams announced, leading the man into the receiving room where Esmee and McGann had joined Alistair, Violet, and Davy just moments ago.

The Runner was of average height, Violet noticed, with a square jaw and amber colored-eyes. He looked innocuous to her, somehow nondescript. But Esmee, who was seated on the settee next to her, stiffened noticeably upon the man’s arrival.

“About damn time,” Alistair said crossly. “Bring us some tea, would you Williams?”

The valet nodded while Mr. Hughes looked around at their anxious faces, his eyes eventually landing on Davy.

“Perhaps there is somewhere we can speak privately?” he asked politely in an accent that Violet couldn’t place. Like his face, it was utterly nondescript.

“Take Davy with you,” Alistair said to Williams, who motioned for the boy to follow him out of the room.

“No.” Davy puffed up his chest as he spoke, daring the others to contradict him. “I’ll stay. She’s my sister, and she’ll need my help.”

“Aye, she will,” Esmee soothed the boy. “But not at the moment, lad. Go with Williams now.”

Davy frowned, clearly disgruntled, but he followed Williams out, to Violet’s surprise.

“You’re good with him,” Violet whispered. “He listens to you.”

“Nay,” Esmee whispered back. “It’s the coin I pay he listens to, but the result is the same.”

“Davy works for you?”

Violet was surprised by that, too. She hadn’t been back to Nowhere since the day of the medical clinic. Esmee had sent her a note asking if she wanted to hold another, but Violet had refused.

She told herself it was because she didn’t want to cause trouble now that Catherine was very nearly betrothed, but sitting here, across from Alistair, she knew the real reason was because she had not wanted to see him again. It wasn’t fair to him or to her.

Every time she saw him, she lost her equanimity. Or her wits. Or , she thought ruefully, my knickers . She’d take them off again right now if they weren’t in the middle of a crisis and if he would promise never to mention marriage again.

Mr. Hughes cleared his throat and looked at the two women as if they were school children caught whispering behind their governess’s back.

“Now then,” he said. “If I might have your attention. Tell me everything you know about the girl’s disappearance. Don’t leave anything out.”

Alistair repeated what little he knew of Jess’s situation. Despite their daily visits, she’d spoken little of her life before he and Violet had stumbled into it and nothing at all of how she had come to be with child.

Violet filled in the few details she could, but she likewise had been able to draw little information from her patient.

Esmee and McGann had nothing to add, as Davy had been particularly tight-lipped about their life before he’d come to work at Nowhere.

“You employ the child?” Mr. Hughes asked Esmee.

“Aye.”

“And where would that be?” Mr. Hughes asked.

“I don’t see how that’s important,” McGann broke in.

“Everything will be important, until we know otherwise.”

“He’s employed at Nowhere,” Esmee replied, avoiding her brother’s eyes. “It’s my tavern.”

“I’ve heard of it. Only for Scots, is that right?”

“No,” Alistair cut in. “I’ve had a drink there. As has Miss Goodwin.”

“Aye,” Esmee answered, disregarding Alistair as she had her brother moments ago. “‘Tis only for Scots.” She paused. “Which you well know, or you wouldn’t have asked.”

“I don’t understand,” Violet said. “What’s happening?”

“It’s frowned upon, Miss Goodwin,” Mr. Hughes said, “to speak Gaelic or even identify as a Highlander. The culture has been ruthlessly suppressed.”

“Nowhere is not Gaelic. It’s English. Even I know that.” Violet laughed uncomfortably. “And I’m an American.”

Mr. Hughes turned back to Esmee, not acknowledging Violet’s unconvincing attempt at humor.

“Nowhere,” he said, his nondescript accent mellowing into the light Scots burr of the south of the country.

“‘Tis not the actual name of the tavern though, is it, lass? You’d never call it something that wasn’t Gaelic. The real name is Chan eil àite sam bith.”

“Why would you ask if you already knew the answer?” Esmee’s voice was soft, but her eyes were focused intently on Mr. Hughes.

“Because I wanted to hear you say it.”

“Enough of that,” McGann cut in, glaring at Mr. Hughes. “Even the Queen wears her plaid now. Will you look for the lass or nay?”

Mr. Hughes nodded and pulled his eyes away from Esmee, reluctantly it seemed to Violet.

“I will,” he said, his accent back to the mild, unplaceable one he’d begun with. “I’ll start in St. Giles and will update you at four o’clock this afternoon with any news.”

He stood to leave, and Esmee hopped to her feet. “I’ll accompany you,” she said. “You’ll get further with me than without me.”

She followed Mr. Hughes quickly out of the room without a backward glance at Violet or her brother.

“What just happened?” Violet asked when the two had departed.

“He’s a damn bounder is what happened,” McGann said, leveraging his large body off the settee. “Crawford, I’ll have a word with you.”

“She’s your sister, McGann,” Alistair said. “I’ve no say in what she does. And as she’s a widow, neither would you, it seems.”

“Not about that. It’s about our funding. I’ve news.”

That brought Alistair to his feet immediately. “Why didn’t you say so? Come to my study.”

He nodded at Violet and left the room with McGann following behind him.

Well then .

She rose and smoothed her skirts. She may as well go see Davy, as everyone else seemed to have important tasks at hand. Everyone but her. It felt strange to have nothing to do or contribute.

“Off I go,” she muttered to herself and left the parlor room to find the boy.