After returning home, Edwina rushed up the servant's stairs to her room and hid the small stack of books Lucas lent her in the drawers of her escritoire. She then promptly undressed from Sophie's spare uniform and stashed it under her bed. Donning her nightgown, Edwina unraveled her hair and fell into bed pulling the bedclothes over her body the moment she heard the soft knock at the door.

Sarah, her maid, peeked into the room. "Would you like to tray sent up, miss? Or, would you like to join the family downstairs for breakfast?"

"A tray, please."

Edwina made a show of yawning and rubbing the sleep from her eyes until Sarah left. It was nearly noon and Edwina could hear the opening and closing of the other bedroom doors as the Bridgerton family began to awaken. Settling deeper into her bed, Edwina stifled a true yawn and resisted the urge to fall asleep after the early and eventful morning.

Watching Lucas with Mrs. Cartwright and her daughters, Edwina felt as if she had peered beyond the veil of arrogance that enveloped him. He truly cared for his patients and for his work. Edwina knew this, but to see Lucas soften as he teased the children and looked upon Mrs. Cartwright not with pity, but something adjacent to affection…Edwina’s heart was not prepared for the sight. This was a man, despite what he claimed, that cared deeply for others.

Edwina wondered if he could ever care deeply for her as she was beginning to suspect that she did for him. What she had told him was the truth. Lucas was her friend, a strange sort of relationship that had her trembling with anticipation and excitement whenever she was in his presence.

Edwina liked him and respected him. She worried about the degree of her fondness for the man. He fascinated her.

Lucas was driven by some unseen force to do right by the world, something Edwina was beginning to suspect revolved around the mystery of his past and his family.

He reacted violently at the discussion of his father. Edwina’s lips still felt bruised from his punishing kisses. She warmed as she remembered his aggrieved statement that there would be more kisses to follow. Perhaps, more than simply kisses. He meant it was a warning for her to leave him in peace, but she took it as a promise of future wickedness.

Edwina sighed as she broke into a smile. Lucas was a complicated man. Her initial impression that he would be difficult was wrong. Difficult wasn't the correct word besides to describe the feelings he inspired in her. Difficult. Perplexing.

Thrilling.

***

Lucas returned to Greymoor House with an hour to spare before he was set to meet with Edwina at Bridgerton House for an afternoon of promenading at Hyde Park. He repressed a shudder of disgust at the thought of putting himself on display for all eyes of the ton , but Edwina’s argument earlier in the day was valid. To find a bride amongst the members of the upper ten thousand, he needed to step into the fray. It was too much to hope that a wife would simply come to him.

The front doors of Greymoor House stood wide open and several footmen ladened with trunks moved between the house and three carriages pulled up against the walkway. Many bowed awkwardly to Lucas as he made his way up the front steps and into the foyer of Greymoor House. Constance, dressed for travel in a simple gray mourning gown, stood to one side directing the footman while talking with a tall, blond gentleman at her side.

“Lucas! You’re back,” she said, approaching him and taking his hands into hers. “I was afraid we would miss you entirely.”

Lucas had forgotten that today was the day Constance and her daughters repaired home to Longmont Abbey. Edwina, unconsciously, had been on the forefront of his mind despite his concerted efforts.

“I am glad I am home in time to see you off on your journey home.” Lucas would miss Constance’s presence at Greymoor House and within his life. A pang of loneliness passed through him.

“May I introduce you to my eldest brother?” She turned to the man who possessed Constance’s blue eyes and her slightly upturned nose. “Oscar, this is the Earl of Greymoor, Lucas Blakeley. Lucas, my brother, Mr. Oscar Turner.”

The man bowed slightly to Lucas before reaching out and embracing him, catching Lucas by surprise. “My lord, you have my thanks and that of my entire family for taking such great care of our Constance and her daughters. We all miss William greatly, but it was a comfort to know that you were present in his stead during these last few trying months.”

Lucas murmured his reply, extracting himself from the other man’s embrace only to catch Constance smiling at them both with humor lit in her blue eyes. “Come, Lucas, and say farewell to your nieces.”

Lucas followed Constance up two flights of stairs to the nursery situated on the third floor of Greymoor House. The room was depressingly empty when Lucas opened the door, Constance having already packed up all the furnishings, decor, books, and toys that she purchased for her daughters. Nanny Clements sat rocking on the sole chair in the corner with one of the babes in her arms.

“Nanny,” Constance said. “I will take over here if you would like to get some rest before we depart.” Nanny Clements stood and passed Willa to Constance and dropped Lucas a curtsy before exiting the nursery. Lucas gently picked up his namesake from her crib. Lucy’s blue eyes focused on him and she smiled. Lucas smiled down in return.

Lucas thought back to the morning when Edwina cradled Betsy in her arms and wondered what it would be like to see that sight every morning with a child of their own. A warmness filled his chest followed swiftly by a sharp pain of loss of what never could be.

“You are certain you and the girls are ready to travel?” Lucas asked, dislodging the image of Edwina cradling a babe from his mind.

“We plan on stopping at every inn between London and Longmont Abbey. The trip will take several days longer, but will be far more comfortable. I can only hope the jostling of the carriage will lull the girls to sleep for the entirety of the trip.”

Lucas nodded. Longmont Abbey, like his country seat and its neighbor Leighton Castle, was situated a day’s ride from London if one did not stop for rest. With two newborn babes, Lucas approximated that it would take Constance and her caravan of carriages about four times as long to make the journey.

“Keep your daughters well bundled despite it being the height of summer. And, ensure that you have plenty of nourishment and rest as well. Even with Nanny Clement’s assistance, it will be quite the undertaking to travel such a long distance with two young babes.”

“Yes, Dr. Blakeley,” Constance teased. “Will I be seeing you at Leighton Castle in a few weeks? Perhaps with the new Countess of Greymoor at your side?”

Lucas had already arranged to visit the decrepit ancestral home of the earls of Greymoor at the end of the Season and prior to Spencer leaving for Oxford. The property needed to be assessed for its potential. As it was entailed, Lucas did not have the option to put it up for sale as he had done with a few of the other properties tied to the Greymoor name. Leighton Castle, he hoped, could earn enough to maintain its own upkeep without having to rely on the residuals from other properties and investments.

Lucas had sent out notices to hire a new steward for Leighton Castle and had yet to receive any interest despite the generous salary. Even those well-trained to take on a large estate hesitated to take on the challenge that was Leighton Castle. To consider it large was an understatement. The property was truly monstrous in size and a sinkhole sucking down any funds thrown at it to keep it from collapsing in on itself.

“Yes to both questions.”

Constance’s eyes sparked with curiosity. “Did you consider my suggestion that you find a guide for the rest of the Season? Someone to help you secure a wife?”

“Miss Sharma.”

“Miss Edwina Sharma?” Constance repeated with surprise.

“Will she not suit?” Lucy gurgled and Lucas absentmindedly bounced her in his arms.

“No, well, yes. I just assumed that–well, nevermind what I thought. If that is what you wish and believe is best. Miss Sharma was quite popular when she made her debut last year. She is young enough to be familiar with the new batch of debutantes and well-versed in everything tonnish .”

“I expect Miss Sharma to be successful and I will be able to introduce you to my new countess before the month is out.” Lucas intended to also leave his new wife at Leighton Castle to rusticate in the country while he returned to London and his patients. He was relieved that Constance would be nearby to instruct his new wife how to manage the duties expected of a countess as he had no intention, nor knowledge of how, to do so himself.

A soft knock sounded and they both turned as Oscar walked through the doorway. “The carriages are all set and ready to depart, sister.”

Constance glanced around at the empty nursery as if ensuring that she left nothing behind. “Well, this is it. I am saddened to leave Greymoor House, but am glad that it is in your competent hands, Lucas. And, to think, this nursery will be filled again soon but with your own children.”

Lucas smiled and pressed a kiss to Constance’s cheek before pressing another one to Lucy’s and Willa’s forehead. He passed Lucy to Constance’s brother and felt the sting of loss parting with his nieces, though he reassured himself silently that he would see the babes again in a few weeks.

Lucas escorted them to the front door and watched as Oscar assisted Constance and the babes into the carriage and waited until they were all settled before swinging into the saddle of his horse. Constance waved to Lucas from the window and Lucas returned the gesture. He watched until the carriages rounded the corner and out of sight.

The welling of emptiness in his chest increased.

“My lord,” Simmons said, appearing suddenly at Lucas’s elbow. “A man is at the service entrance.” Simmons’s voice dropped low. “From Bow Street.”

Lucas blinked and cleared his throat, releasing the knot that seemed to have settled there.“Show him to the study.”

***

Lucas stepped into the room that was once William’s study. The room was well appointed, each wall lined with books that reached the ceiling. A large oak desk sat at the far side of the room near the old hearth. Though he spent hours hunched over the desk untangling the financial mess that was the earldom, Lucas did not consider the room his and still felt as if he was intruding whenever he entered.

A man dressed in a dark brown wool suit stood by one of the shelves perusing the book titles. From what Lucas recalled, the shelf held a collection of Shakespearean plays and sonnets. His back was turned to Lucas, but at his entrance, the man turned and straightened, an aura of danger emanating from his still form. He was slightly shorter than Lucas with a nearly skeletal frame. The man possessed a head of black wavy hair that any lady would envy. More so, his dark eyes were fringed with thick, black lashes and were large, made more so by the hollowness of his cheeks.

His wool suit was similar in style with the one that Lucas was currently wearing as he had yet to change into something more appropriately suited to his title since going his rounds earlier that day with Edwina. The runner looked over Lucas curiously as if wondering why someone from the gentry dressed so common.

“Lucas Blakeley,” Lucas introduced himself, then hesitated before adding, “Greymoor.”

“Mustafa Ahmed, my lord,” the runner said, his voice deep but melodic with tones reflected as evidence of his Arab ancestry. The man bowed slightly, enough to be deferential to a gentleman of the realm, but not enough to be obsequious. He was certainly not impressed by Lucas’s title.

“May I offer you a drink?” Lucas asked, indicating to the carafe of William’s brandy that sat on the sideboard. The runner shook his head, seeming more interested as to the reason why Lucas had summoned him.

Lucas indicated for the man to sit before taking the seat behind his desk. The man waited patiently for Lucas to begin, his eyes sharp, never leaving Lucas’s face.

“Do you know a man named Ian McDonald?”

“Yes, a great beast of a man. A fine runner.”

“I was told, outside of yourself, he is one of the best. He’s been in my employ for two years. Sent him to America. As of seven months ago, he disappeared.”

One of Ahmed’s brows lifted. “How often did you hear from him before then?”

“He would send me a report on his progress once a month and, at the latest, once every six weeks. I considered him to be dependable, which begs the question, what has happened to him since January?”

“The McDonald I knew would not shirk his duties,” Ahmed added. “Do you suspect foul play?”

“I cannot say. I did not know the man well. He could have taken up with a woman, settled down on a farm, intent on filling his house with his offspring for all I know.”

Ahmed shook his head slowly, his eyes finally breaking from Lucas’s as he peered out the window in thought. “No, not likely. You want me to find him?”

“Yes,” Lucas said, opening one of the drawers on his desk. He withdrew a single sheet of paper and handed it to Ahmed. “And, McDonald’s original quarry.”

Ahmed took the sheet. It was a sketch of a man. He looked between Lucas and the sketch. Lucas knew the image was damning, but Ahmed didn’t need to know the details.

“Find them both.” He withdrew a key from his pocket and opened a locked drawer. He took out several pound notes and slid the stack across the table to the runner. Both of Ahmed’s eyebrows rose at the amount before him. “There is a ship leaving for America on Monday–the Endurance. I want you on it.”

The runner folded up the bills and tucked them inside a pocket in the breast of his coat. Lucas glanced down at his pocket watch. He had about fifteen minutes before he was set to meet with Edwina.

Ahmed took the cue that their meeting was over and stood. “What do you wish for me to do when I locate McDonald or-” he indicated to the paper he held in his hand.

“Write to me and await further instructions.”

The runner bowed again and left. Lucas waited for the wash of relief to pass over him, but it never came. Instead, as he rocked back on his chair, he could not shake the sense of dread of what was to come.