He must have felt her regard, for he looked up at her. He set his book aside. Cecilia got up from the sofa and walked over to him. He held out his arms, and she slid onto his lap, laying her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her.
“Remember last week at Summerworth Park, how restless you were?” he asked.
“Hmm.”
“Bored with our quiet life in the country,” he teased.
She raised her head at that. “Our quiet life did not bore me!” she protested.
“You were bored,” he asserted.
She shrugged. “Maybe a little.”
“Have the events of the last few days satisfied you for a while?”
“James,” she protested, “You make me sound like some sort of disaster addict.” She picked at a piece of fluff on his jacket.
“My love, after years of living in a gilded cage, you have too much living to make up for.”
“Is that how it seems to you? That I am making up for years of inactivity?” she asked, with slightly feigned petulance.
“It does.”
She relented and smiled softly. “I can see there is truth to that. I was hoping to be expecting a child by now.”
“I know. If it happens, that will be wonderful. If it doesn’t, so be it. I am—”
Loud, rapid pounding resounded against the front door.
“What?” Cecilia said, as she rose from James’s lap. He rose after her, and they hurried across the parlor.
They opened the parlor door as Charwood opened the front door.
“You are supposed to use the back entrance,” they heard Charwood reprimand.
“We has ta see Sar James and his missus!” cried out a young male voice.
“Yeah, ‘tis urgent,” said another
Charwood pushed the door against them.
“Charwood, what are you about? Let them in!” Sir James said, striding forward.
“Thank ye, sar,” said Daniel Wrightson, ducking under Charwood’s arm. Billy followed close behind.
Both boys were out of breath.
“We couldna find Mr. Martin,” said Daniel, huffing, breathless as he talked. “’Tweren’t at his lodgin’ ner Bow Street, so we came ta ya, sar.”
“What is it?” James asked. He grasped them by their shoulders.
“’Tis Mr. Peasey, sar,” said Billy, looking up at him, his voice cracking. James could feel his body quivering under his hand.
“Poisoned,” Daniel supplied dramatically, rolling his eyes and falling to the floor.
“Poisoned?” echoed Cecilia.
“Bloody hell,” swore Sir James.
