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“None.” Hargrove stood along with Rook. “Which is why the brawl came as such a surprise. Dixon was generally liked and never caused trouble.”

“He’d even helped out a few other men who’d been down on their luck before,” Rook interjected, his eyes widening as a new thought struck. “But I remember something else—the one thing that set Mr. Dixon off.”

Frederick tensed. “What was that?”

“I’m not sure what Mr. Clark said, but Mr. Dixon responded with something like, ‘We won’t bring my wife into this’ or ‘I won’t bring my wife into this.’ I can’t remember exactly.”

So Mr. Clark had somehow threatened Lillias? How and why?

“Thank you, Mr. Rook,” Frederick said, sending the boy a nod. “You’ve been very helpful.”

As the young man left, Frederick turned to Hargrove.

“I’d appreciate your discretion about this,” he said, rising to his feet.

“Of course, my lord,” Hargrove replied, though his expression suggested he was already speculating.

Whatever Hargrove did with the information Frederick couldn’t help. He’d gotten more than he expected in the conversation and hopefully enough to lead him to a discovery of who Mr. Clark really was.

And fast.

Grace spent some time with Zahra, Miss Cox, and baby Thomas after Frederick left, trying very hard not to keep looking at the clock or worrying about her dear husband.

She’d never fully understand why God told His children not to worry, but then made worrying such an easy thing to do.

Clearly, she needed a much better perspective on God’s greatness and nearness than her current one.

At 11:45, Grace left Miss Cox and Zahra to their own luncheon and walked downstairs, to find Mrs. James speaking in quiet tones with Officer Todd at the front door.

And Officer Todd’s welcome grin didn’t make him look as disinterested or sick as his usual expression.

Oh no, he didn’t seem disinterested at all.

Neither did Mrs. James. Grace released a heavy sigh.

Mrs. James was certainly not the sort to be a confidante.

As she descended the stairs, Grace studied the housekeeper. Could the woman be dangerous? Or at the very least, bought for information? Grace barely held in a gasp. Of course, she could. She fit the role perfectly.

Officer Todd spotted Grace first and straightened, stepping back from Mrs. James as if caught pilfering biscuits. The motion alerted Mrs. James, who turned to meet Grace’s gaze—and promptly flushed a guilty shade of red.

“Lady Astley,” Mrs. James began, her voice flustered, “Officer Todd has come to replace Officer Penny as guard of the house.”

“How good to have someone of your caliber keeping watch.” Grace approached with what she hoped was a subdued smile, but she was never really certain. Other women seemed to look subdued so effortlessly.

The man tipped his hat. “I’ve volunteered, Lady Astley, since you have a guest coming to visit. Detective Johnson felt that a more experienced set of eyes would be required.”

“That’s very good thinking, Officer Todd.” Grace studied him with polite curiosity, though she couldn’t help but fixate on his near-unibrow. It loomed like an ominous cloud over his narrow eyes. “One can’t be too careful with strangers in situations like this, can one?”

His prolonged stare set off an odd prickling at the back of her neck. Was it merely his unfortunate eyebrows, or something deeper? Grace decided it was safer to assume the worst. Any self-respecting heroine in one of her novels would.

And surely, the man couldn’t keep a steady watch on the house if he was standing around flirting with Mrs. James.

“Mrs. James?” Grace turned to the housekeeper, whose complexion had returned to a regular hue. “Do you know if Mrs. Dixon has already ordered tea to be ready for our noon appointment?”

Grace smiled at her own sentence. She sounded very proper and countess-like when she’d spoken that sentence.

“She did, ma’am. And plans to serve it in the breakfast room,” Mrs. James answered.

“Who should I be on the lookout for, my lady?”

The way Officer Todd said ‘my lady’ each time almost stole the very countess-like smile right off Grace’s face. Or perhaps smiling even when one didn’t feel very much like it was the very countess part. She hung on to her smile.

“A Mr. Barclay, thank you.” Without another word, she stepped toward the breakfast room. She had just entered the sunlit space when the front bell rang. Curious, she paused in the doorway, keeping an ear tuned to the exchange at the front door.

The unique lilt of a Scottish accent carried down the hallway, weaving a sharp contrast to Mrs. James’ rural English.

How anyone could confuse the two was beyond her.

After months of marriage to Frederick, Grace had come to appreciate such distinctions.

Frederick’s tones were smooth, refined—like a first-edition novel bound in rich leather.

This man’s burr, on the other hand, was rugged and unpolished, more like a weathered folio discovered in a forgotten attic.

Both held their charm, but there was something uniquely intriguing about the latter.

Perhaps it was the link to her mother’s childhood in Scotland, a place Grace had only glimpsed through fragmented memories and wistful tales.

“You’ve come so far to visit us, Mr. Barclay,” came Mrs. James’ less refined voice. “What could bring a Scot all the way to Virginia?”

Small talk was certainly one thing, and something Grace failed at more than not, but Mrs. James only proved her immaturity by engaging in such intimate conversation with a guest.

“Personal business,” was the Scot’s clipped reply.

“Oh, I suppose you know Lord and Lady Astley from some visit to England?”

What was Mrs. James doing? No wonder Lillias fretted about rumors. Grace’s mind ticked over the possibilities. Was Mrs. James simply indulging her penchant for tittle-tattle—a word Grace cherished for its sheer cheekiness—or was something more nefarious at play?

Nefarious. She almost shrugged. An equally exciting word.

People really didn’t appreciate well-placed words as much as they ought.

“What has brought you to America, miss?”

The turn of the conversation from the clever Scot paused Mrs. James’ response long enough for Grace to slip fully into the room for Mr. Barclay’s entrance.

Grace barely heard Mrs. James mention something about a need for change from her difficult home circumstances, but nothing more as they neared the room.

When it came to the housekeeper and the police officer, was it possible that Mrs. James proved the more dangerous of the two? Had Officer Todd been gleaning information from Mrs. James, or had Mrs. James been deliberately distracting Officer Todd?

Grace’s pulse quickened. Or, heaven help her, were they working together?

She barely had time to smooth her expression before Mr. Barclay stepped into view.

He was stout and broad-shouldered, his well-trimmed beard streaked with gray.

He scanned the room, his stance tense, his expression leery, and then …

his gaze fastened on her, and something softened around the edges of his pale eyes.

He stopped in the doorway, almost in the exact place Grace had just vacated, and gave Grace a long look.

She folded her hands in front of her and offered him a smile. “Mr. Barclay? Welcome, I’m Grace Ferguson Percy.” Then she paused, remembering how she was usually referred to socially. “Lady Astley.”

The sound of her voice seemed to rouse him. He gave a quick shake of his head and stepped farther into the room. “You’re the very image of your mother.”

Of all the things she’d expected him to say, that was not on the list. “Oh.” She pressed a palm to her chest. “I’m certain she wasn’t as troublesome as me.”

His smile spread slowly from one corner to the next, lighting his pale eyes, and Grace had the immediate urge to hug him. “I don’t know as I’d make that claim, my lady.”

“Truly?” Grace’s laugh was light, though she stole a glance at the door. Mrs. James should have closed it once she’d deposited Mr. Barclay inside to retrieve Lillias.

Hmm …

“I knew her when she was no bigger than a sapling,” Mr. Barclay said, his voice rich with nostalgia. “And she had a wee bit of mischief-making about her, to be sure.”

Grace’s throat tightened, her eyes stinging a little. Oh dear, she already adored the man!

“Having lost her so early in life, your words could not touch my heart any more than they do. And I rather like the idea of her engaging in a little wholesome mischief now and again. It makes me feel even more connected to her memory somehow.” She gestured toward a small table near the large windows in the room. “Please, sit.”

He obeyed, settling into the chair with a weathered satchel at his side. Satchels always seemed to carry secrets—or at least the potential for them.

A thrill rushed up through her. Oh, she liked him very much.

“I can already tell you’re the sort she’d have been proud of.” His eyes glinted with his growing smile.

And the way he rounded his vowels combined with his sentiment nearly had Grace wiping away a tear.

“I only received your information from Rutledge House yesterday, and here you are.” She waved toward him. “Have you been in Harrington long?”

“When I didnae hear from you or your sister, I was concerned the inheritance may go unanswered, so I set out last week. I’ve only been in your wee town about four days, with my own visit to Rutledge two days past.”

Ah, then he knew the transfer of ownership and likely the reasons behind the transfer even more than Grace did. “I imagine you sent word to my sister then?”

He nodded. “But I can see now why it went unanswered until your husband replied yesterday.”

“Yesterday was certainly eventful,” Grace kept her voice steady at the remembrance of such a day.

“My condolences.” His face softened. “I regret adding urgency to your family’s grief.”