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Page 4 of Of Lies and Earls (Inglorious Scoundrels #2)

Three months later…

C aldwell sat on the long oak workbench, flipping a pencil with his fingers, flinching from the loud clatter every time it hit the desk. He picked it up and continued flipping while his vacant gaze concentrated on the iridescent beetle in the glass bowl in front of him. The afternoon sunlight streaming through the glass panes of his glasshouse caught the creature’s shell, sending prisms of blue-green light dancing across his notepad.

He needed to finish the paper he’d started months ago, addressed to the Linnean Society on his findings.

Before he had gotten the news about his sister’s passing. Before her children had moved into his home. The half-written pages lay scattered across the workbench, covered in his precise handwriting that grew increasingly erratic toward the bottom of each sheet, as if his thoughts had begun to dissolve before he could capture them.

He stood and walked through the aisles of his glasshouse, taking note of the unfinished hybridization of fuchsias, a project he had abandoned a few months prior.

It wasn’t unusual for him to lose interest in one hobby or the other. He had plenty of them to go around. He’d spend months obsessed with one subject only for his interest to wane as he became obsessed with something else. His laboratory shelves bore testament to this trait—carefully labeled specimens of butterflies, moths, and beetles; botanical pressings from every corner of England and beyond.

But for weeks now, he had been unable to concentrate on anything. Instead, he did the work he was required to do, and the rest of the time he drifted from one book to the next, searching for his spark to return. The weight of his new responsibility—guardian to three children he scarcely knew—pressed down on his shoulders like a physical burden. He had no idea how to speak to children, how to comfort them in their grief when he could barely manage his own.

He heard the door creak, then the pitter-patter of a child’s footsteps echoing on the stone floor. Caldwell silently walked toward the sound, moving between the rows of potted specimens only to see the boy, his nephew, reaching out toward the terrarium containing his rarest specimen.

“Don’t touch that,” Caldwell said sharply, and the boy immediately retracted his hand as if burned, his small shoulders hunching defensively.

“Sorry,” Robbie murmured, taking a step back. The sunlight from the windows caught in his tousled dark hair, so like Louisa’s had been.

Caldwell felt a pang of regret at his harsh tone. “It’s delicate,” he explained, softening his voice. “And one of the rarest in this country. Only two documented cases of their existence.” He moved closer, standing beside the boy, who barely reached his elbow.

Robbie looked up, his eyes widening with interest. “And this is the third?”

“Correct. This is the third.”

“Why are they so rare?” Robbie asked, rising on his tiptoes to peer more closely at the beetle, his breath fogging the glass slightly.

Caldwell frowned in thought. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But it’s one of the things that bears studying.”

There was a pause as they both observed the beetle, which was now climbing deliberately up a small branch in its enclosure.

“It’s beautiful,” Robbie said at last.

“It really is,” Caldwell agreed. “See how it shimmers? There is no blue pigment. If you look under the microscope, you can see that the color is from the structure of its shell.” He gestured toward the brass microscope at the end of the workbench.

The boy frowned, likely not understanding what any of that meant, and Caldwell didn’t quite know how to explain it plainly.

Robbie pressed closer, nose nearly to the glass. “Looks like it’s made of armor.”

“It is armor,” Caldwell agreed, with a small smile.

“What about this one?” Robbie moved to the neighboring terrarium, pointing to a sleek, elongated beetle with a distinctive hinged body.

“This one is Elateridae . A click beetle.” Sensing the boy’s growing interest, Caldwell carefully removed the lid and extracted the beetle. “If you place it on its back—” He demonstrated, gently setting the beetle on the smooth surface of the workbench.

The beetle lay still for a moment, then gave a sharp click and flipped midair, landing neatly on its legs.

Robbie laughed, delighted, the sound ringing through the glasshouse like a bell. “It jumped!”

“Yes. A defense mechanism. Startles predators. And small boys.” Caldwell found himself smiling in response to the boy’s unrestrained joy.

Robbie grinned up at him, his earlier wariness forgotten. “Can it do it again?”

Caldwell tsked and put the beetle back in its enclosure, carefully replacing the lid. “Let’s not distress it further.” He hesitated, then added, “Perhaps another time.”

“Where do you find these beetles?” Robbie asked, now studying the shelves of specimens with interest.

“On expeditions,” Caldwell explained, walking alongside the boy. “I’ve collected specimens from all over England, and as far as Scotland and Wales. However, the ground beetle was a result of pure luck. It lived right here, in Devonshire.”

“Do you think we can find more of them?” Robbie asked, his eyes bright with excitement at the prospect of adventure.

Unlikely , Caldwell thought, given the beetle’s rarity. But looking at the hopeful expression on the boy’s face, he couldn’t bring himself to extinguish that spark. “Perhaps. If not this one in particular, very likely we can find some other types of beetles or insects.”

“Can I come with you?” Robbie asked, bouncing slightly on his toes, his earlier timidity completely forgotten in his enthusiasm.

Before Caldwell could answer, the glasshouse door burst open with a bang that made Robbie jump.

“There you are!” came Miss Hart’s breathless voice. The young housekeeper stood framed in the doorway, her dark hair disheveled, and her cheeks flushed with exertion. “Robbie, I told you—oh, I do beg your pardon, my lord, I didn’t know you were here—” She curtsied hastily, curling her smudged fingers into fists. Her fingers were often smudged, likely with ink.

Robbie shrank a little behind the workbench.

“If you don’t mind, I would like to take Robbie to his bath. He’s been avoiding it and hiding from me for half an hour.” That explained her harried appearance.

Robbie squirmed and looked at Caldwell with round, pleading eyes. Caldwell immediately remembered himself at that age. He had abhorred a bath. It was too hot, too small, and took too much time.

He did enjoy running water, though. He could look at streams and their little waterfalls forever. And he could frolic in them for hours.

“Perhaps, the bath is unnecessary,” he said, prompting a surprised look from the housekeeper and a gleeful one from Robbie.

Miss Hart glanced from Robbie to Caldwell, a question in her eyes. “My lord?”

“There’s a stream beyond the gardens,” he said, gesturing vaguely in that direction. “Shallow, clean. We can wade near the bank and look for aquatic insects. Water beetles, larvae.” He turned to Robbie, whose face had lit up with anticipation. “What do you think?”

“Yes! I want to come!” The boy practically vibrated with excitement. He looked up at the housekeeper. “Can I?”

Her face became even redder, if possible, than when she’d first appeared in the glasshouse. She pursed her lips but nodded. “You may.”

“Go put on your boots then, and meet me at the grand stairwell,” Caldwell instructed.

As the boy ran off, Miss Hart smiled. “Would you like me to pack you some towels?” She clearly understood his intent. Good .

“And a soap,” Caldwell added, already moving toward the door. “I will make sure that Robbie returns clean from our journey.”

Pleased with himself, Caldwell went to prepare for the outing. He would need his collecting jars, a net for aquatic specimens, and perhaps his field notebook to record any interesting findings.

The letter to the Linnean Society could wait.