Page 36 of Murder at Somerset House (A Wrexford & Sloane Mystery #9)

A week passed in a blur of activities as the family adjusted to their new member. One of the first priorities had been arranging for the purchase of pigeon squabs and a suitable home for the baby birds.

“Careful, careful,” called Wrexford as he and Tyler, helped by two of the household’s sturdy grooms, maneuvered a large octagonal-shaped wooden dovecote up the last flight of stairs with only a few muttered oaths and carried it out onto the roof.

“Is there a certain spot that would be best?” he called to Eddy, who was busy exploring the walkways and parapets.

Closing her eyes, she raised her face to the sky and slowly turned in a full circle before pausing.

Wrexford wondered what forces she could sense that eluded his own understanding. As a man of science, the question intrigued him.

“The west corner, please,” she answered.

He waved the groom on and then went to join his sister. “How did you decide?”

“The squabs told me.” Eddy shuffled the pasteboard box in her arms, and he could hear the faint rustle of straw and high-pitched peeps from within it. “I think …” She cocked an ear. “I think they like it here.”

“Excellent,” he replied, feeling an odd rush of happiness that the baby pigeons had given the townhouse their blessing. Now, if only the stranger by his side would come to think of it as home.

A smile—the first spontaneous one he had seen from her—lit up her face. “It’s a splendid dovecote!”

“Indeed, it is,” he agreed. The oiled cedar shingles, mellowed to a rich shade of cinnamon, had a number of snug-looking nest openings, and the peaked slate roof was topped by a gilded wrought-iron finial designed to glow like a homing beacon when it caught the sunlight.

“Thank you, sir!”

“Wrex,” he corrected softly.

“Sorry.” Eddy swallowed hard. “Thank you … Wrex.”

He wondered why she had such trouble with saying his name but decided that it wasn’t a pressing question for now.

“Is there anything else you need?”

She shook her head. “Hawk and Peregrine kindly offered to gather the material I need for fashioning nests and bring it here.” Hearing the echo of their voices in the stairwell, she added, “They seem … nice.”

“Aye, that they are.” Wrexford noted the omission of Raven but again let the matter pass without comment. Only a fool would imagine that a new gear added to the already complex construction of their family would spin along without a few bobbles and squeaks. He would deal with them in due course.

“Mac found all the materials you need,” announced Hawk, racing around a turn in the parapet and skidding to a halt. “Can we help build the nests?”

Eddy hesitated. “They aren’t something that can just be thrown together willy-nilly. There is a precise method, and it has to be followed very carefully.”

“I would like to learn, “ he replied.

“As would I,” added Peregrine. “We’re good at listening and following directions.”

“Indeed, they are quick to comprehend instructions,” assured Wrexford. “And they pay attention to details.”

“Very well.” Her voice held a note of reluctance, but Eddy gave a gruff nod. However, she hung back as the boys hurried to the dovecote with their boxes.

“M-May I ask you a question?”

“Of course,” he answered

“Will you take me riding tomorrow in Hyde Park, before m’lady and Lady Peake take me on another round of shopping for necessities? I—I miss it.”

“I would be delighted to do so! Miss O’Malley told me you’re very at home on a horse.” Wrexford was pleased by the request … until the next words came out of her mouth.

“May I ride Lucifer?”

Damnation . The boys had reported on the stallion’s strange reaction to Eddy’s presence, but he had taken it with a grain of salt. The surprise of discovering a girl in the mews had likely jumbled their normally sharp observation skills.

“Lucifer is high-strung and skittish with anyone other than me,” he began.

Her chin rose a notch. “Don’t worry, I can handle him.”

“I admire your pluck, Eddy. But why don’t we begin with a less temperamental—”

“Lucifer isn’t temperamental!” she exclaimed. “He simply needs to know that his rider is a kindred spirit.”

The retort rendered him momentarily speechless. How to respond?

“My mother was a renowned horse trainer,” added Eddy. “She had an unworldly gift for communicating with animals, and I appear to have it, too. I’ve never met a horse I can’t ride.” Her jaw clenched and unclenched. “But clearly you don’t wish to believe me.”

“I … I am not doubting your word, Eddy. As a man of science, I am simply acting on empirical evidence,” explained the earl.

“I have seen with my own eyes how Lucifer can turn into a veritable devil when a stranger attempts to approach him. I can’t in good conscience allow you to risk serious injury—”

“Why don’t you let me prove it?” she challenged. “If he shows the least bit of agitation when I approach his stall, I won’t ever ask you again to ride him.”

Wrexford saw no way to refuse. “Fair enough.” He made a face. “Though I confess that I’m having great difficulty imagining Lucifer submitting to a sidesaddle.”

Eddy’s grin pinched to a look of horror. “B-But I always ride astride!”

“You will not be doing so in in London, and I’m afraid that’s not negotiable,” he said gently. “I understand how distressing it must be to find your life changing in so many ways—though I hope you will quickly come to be happy with a number of them.”

He heard her draw in a ragged breath and felt his heart clench.

“I have been warned that the beau monde—Moreen has told me that is what aristocratic society is called—has all sorts of cursedly stupid rules,” she said.

“I don’t disagree,” responded Wrexford. “However, there are ways of navigating the rules, and things will not be as onerous as they might seem at this moment.” He knew nothing about her past life, but he sensed it had been unconventional.

Was she old enough to understand what he was about to say next?

Wrexford decided to try. “Life always demands compromises, no matter who you are. The key is to pick and choose which battles to fight.”

Eddy swallowed hard. “B-But how?”

“By letting your brother and your sister-by-marriage help you learn to steer a course through the rocks and shoals of Society,” replied Wrexford. “For example, when we go to the privacy of our country estate you may ride astride and gallop neck and leather. But here in London, it can’t be done.”

“I don’t think I’m going to like being a member of the beau monde,” she grumbled.

Wrexford smiled. “Perhaps we could both keep an open mind about the challenges ahead?”

Her tight-lipped scowl softened to a reluctant twitch. “I suppose that’s fair enough.”

After watching her walk away, Wrexford forced his attention away from family matters, feeling a prickling of guilt over doing nothing to pursue Obsidian Eyes. As for Elias Fogg …

Hurrying down the stairs and out to the street, he quickly made his way to the Sheffield residence, and heaved an inward sigh of relief at finding his friend in his study.

Sheffield looked up from the pile of ledgers on his desk. “How is family life going?

“I must have bats in my belfry, but we now have a dovecote filled with pigeons on the roof.”

That drew a chuckle.

“But I’m here on more serious matters,” Wrexford added. “I paid a visit to my friend Norwood at the Home Office the other day to ask him more about Elias Fogg …” He explained about his suspicions and the comment Duxbury had made about Fogg’s occasional contact with Grentham’s office.

“Norwood mentioned that he had heard through idle gossip that Fogg appears to have a penchant—some might call it an addiction—to high stakes gambling, though he takes great pains to keep it quiet.”

“A subject with which I am all too familiar,” murmured Sheffield, who had once had his own problems with such risky behavior.

“That’s why I’m hoping you can help.”

“Of course.” His friend straightened in his chair. “What do you need me to do?”

“Make some inquiries and find out whether Fogg has a problem. If he does, that may make him vulnerable to blackmail,” replied the earl. “You likely know the places that cater to a high-ranking gentleman who depends on absolute discretion.”

“You think he may be working with the French operative you call Obsidian Eyes?”

“The fellow seems to have known too much about our government’s interests and my occasional involvement in investigations not to have a contact somewhere in the highest levels of decision-making.”

“Bloody hell,” muttered Sheffield. “I’ll report back as soon as I can.”

Wrexford gritted his teeth to keep from barking out a warning as Eddy approached Lucifer’s stall for their first ride in Hyde Park the following morning. The Weasels had assured him that she had indeed cast a magic spell over the temperamental stallion. But seeing was believing …

Assuming the big black beast didn’t bite her nose off.

“These cursed skirts might upset him,” she muttered. “I don’t see why—”

“I am asking that you trust me regarding the rules of Society,” he replied. “Just as you are asking me to trust you regarding Lucifer.”

Eddy paused to think about that. “You’re saying that we both have to take a leap of faith?”

“Friends trust each other. And I am very much hoping we can be friends, as well as family.”

She looked up at him, her solemn blue-green eyes achingly similar to those of his father. “I … I would like that as well, sir.”

“Wrex,” he urged.

She dropped her gaze. “Yes. Sorry.”

Lucifer blew out a low snort but remained unnaturally calm.

Wrexford decided to press her. “Is there a reason you have trouble calling me something other than ‘sir’ or ‘milord’?”

She swallowed hard. “M-My mother had unconventional ideas about a great many things. Names were one of them. She insisted I call her ‘Ala’ and …”

Her voice faltered.

“And our father ‘Wrex’?” he guessed.

Eddy shuffled her boots, setting off a crackling of straw.