Brogan’s shoulders rolled back. James? Juliana was awfully familiar with the man. He glared at the sculptor. What exactly was their history?
Masters took a wary step back. He held up his empty glass. “Anyone else need a refill? I’m going to get another drink.”
Without waiting for a response, Masters hurried towards the makeshift bar on an end table.
Brogan swiveled his head to stare Smythe down. “You go too.”
Having some sense, the man turned on his high heel and joined another group.
Juliana frowned. “Whittling is art. And you are talented at it, no matter what these Philistines say.”
Brogan cracked his neck. “It doesn’t matter.” Though her insistence on the matter was surprisingly… sweet. “Everyone here seems to like your father.”
“My father is a very likeable man.” Juliana eyed the room, picking her next target it seemed.
“If you’re right, someone doesn’t like him.” A shout of laughter drew his attention to three men and a woman gathered together in the corner. “So, either someone is lying, or no one here is responsible.”
Juliana tucked her hand in his elbow and headed for that corner. “I’m beginning to think my idea of investigating my father was in error. Sometimes criminals are just mad, right? The motive might make sense to him, but not to anyone else.”
“Not usually.” He plastered a polite smile on his face as Juliana drew him before the group. His cheek muscles felt stiff, unused. “Good afternoon,” he told them all.
Juliana made introductions. “Miss Lynn,” she addressed the woman of the group, “I heard that your brother was injured, and that you were up in Stanhope to tend to him. I do hope he’s recovered.”
Miss Lynn drew her narrow shoulders back. “How does one ever recover from being beaten to within an inch of his life by men who’d rather kill than share the game rights to land that should belong to everyone?”
Juliana flushed. “I’m sorry. I’d heard he was injured. I hadn’t realized he was involved in the lead miners riots last year.”
Brogan had heard about those. The riots had reached even the London news, with the papers alternatively taking the side of the Bishop of Durham enforcing his property rights then sympathizing with the miners. It was like the editors wanted to cause strife.
“Your brother is a miner?” the man next to Miss Lynn asked. “How delightfully proletarian. However did you manage to rise from the miasma of the commoners and become the charming woman you are?”
Miss Lynn scowled. “You have such pretenses to thinking freely, Harry, but man’s natural prejudices always reveal themselves in the end.”
Brogan muffled a groan. He did not need his investigation deflected by politics. Especially when he could feel Juliana coiling beside him, readying to strike at Harry’s condescending words. “I heard Lady Juliana’s father has gone to visit a friend in Leeds. That is near Stanhope, is it not?”
“Not particularly.” Miss Lynn adjusted a purple turban over her cap of dark curls. “The weather is dreadful up there this time of year. You should tell your father to return home,” she told Juliana.
“If only I had the power to tell my father what to do.” Juliana frowned. “If I did, perhaps he wouldn’t have gotten into that jumble with… well, you all know who I’m talking about.”
Brogan had to give her credit. She was a clever one, and much better at the friendly interrogation than he was. Juliana had laid out the bait very prettily; it only stood to wait to see if anyone would bite.
The men looked at each other, eyebrows drawing together. Miss Lynn merely looked bored.
“I didn’t know your father was having problems with someone,” a man who had been introduced as a historian said. “I’m sorry to hear it.”
The other men nodded.
Harry leaned forward. “Who is he having a dispute with?” He nearly licked his lips, eager for that piece of gossip.
“Ah.” Juliana tugged at the wrist of her gown. “It is of no consequence.”
Harry deflated.
Miss Lynn elbowed his side. “You have another chance to feast on the misery of others.” She nodded to the door. “Snowdon is here. Perhaps he will tell you something.”
Juliana stiffened, shifting closer to Brogan.
Lord Snowdon wended his way through the sitting room to where they stood, his eyes narrowing as they caught on his sister’s face. “Jules, what a treat seeing you here. I thought you had an aversion to my company and gone into hiding again.”
