“Pardon?” Alex looked up from stirring his tea. An agitated nervousness fizzed in his blood, lending his hands a faint tremor.
“Lady Charlotte is a renowned beauty,” Rafe directed his comment at Ewan.
Alex set down his spoon, attempting to stare down his friends.
Could he get no respite from Lottie?
“Is she now?” Ewan replied.
“Aye. Staggeringly lovely.”
“Don’t let Sophie hear ye say that,” Andrew said, shifting Isolde farther into his lap and offering the babe a rag doll to gnaw on instead of his thumb.
“Och, she would agree with me. And ye notice our Alex isn’t denying it.” Rafe winked at Alex.
A resigned weight settled in Alex’s chest.
“Lady Charlotte is truly beautiful.” He shrugged his shoulders.In every way.Though he did not add that second bit. “Though what does any of this have to do with me and a competitive streak?”
“My point is this,” Rafe said with a good-natured smirk. “You, Alex, are rather ambitious. You have tae conquer the prettiest lass. Become the best doctor and graduate university with the highest rank. The most skilled horseman. The most accurate shot—”
“Enough,” Alex groaned. “Ye know that isnae true.”
“Isn’t it, though?” Rafe asked.
“I think I agree with Rafe,” Andrew said, pressing a kiss to Isolde’s fuzzy head as she chewed on the doll’s head. “Look at ye now. You’re not in line for any measly barony or mongrel earldom like myself. Nae, only a lofty marquisate for our Alex.”
Alex rolled his eyes, not sure what to make of the note of seriousness underneath his friends’ teasing.
Tonight was not an official meeting of the Brotherhood. They waited for Kieran’s arrival first, which given the details in his last letter, should be within a week or two. Thankfully, Andrew insisted that Alex stay with him at Hadley House.
They were joined by Ewan and his wife—Violet Campbell, Lady Kildrum. Lady Kildrum and Andrew’s wife—Jane Langston, Lady Hadley—were undertaking the come-out of Lady Kildrum’s younger twin sisters, Lady Aster and Lady Rose. The girls were to be presented at Court in three weeks’ time, followed by a grand ball at Hadley House afterward to celebrate.
Andrew’s Runner was still chasing information about Reverend Smith, or whomever the man might actually be. They had surmised thatSmithwas, of course, an alias—so common it was nearly impossible to trace.
But the more the Runner searched for the man, the murkier his origins became. The reverend’s address at The George Inn in Yorkshire turned up nothing. Merely an innkeep who said a pastor showed up every once in a while to collect mail addressed to S. Smith. The innkeep didn’t know the man at all.
They did discover that a Reverend Gillespie had returned from a mission to the South Pacific over two years ago. Was this the same man? Gillespie had led a group of over thirty men and women on a mission to convert the natives of the New Hebrides to Christianity, but he had been the only fully ordained minister in the group. They had returned to England when illness devastated their ranks.
Unfortunately, finding Reverend Gillespie was also proving surprisingly difficult. The Runner was confident that he would track down the man eventually and see what he might know. It had only been a few weeks, after all. They simply needed to be patient and methodical in their search.
Alex took a sip of tea, trying to swallow back the tightness at the back of his throat.
Why did this anxiousness weigh on him? Was it lingering worry over Kieran and how he might react to this new development with Gillespie?
Or was it more Alex’s own concerns about the marquisate?
Or merely the endless energy of London bleeding into him?
Or, perhaps, a mixture of all of it?
Vaguely, he knew that this sensation was not a novel one. Wasn’t this how his lifealwaysfelt? Jittery and on the run? One more thing to be busy doing?
And yet, he hadn’t really felt like this for weeks and weeks now.
Really not since . . .
He thought back.
