Rufus’s expression grew pinched. “Didn’t you warn her we were travelling light?”
Evander swallowed a sigh as they watched a porter heave a cart stacked with three trunks behind Lyra Shaw.
“She said she was bringing necessary equipment.”
Shaw spotted them and waved enthusiastically, nearly knocking over an elderly gentleman in the process.
“Your Grace!” The forensic mage threaded through the crowd with remarkable agility for someone dragging a bag that seemed to be full of lead. “Isn’t this thrilling? I’ve never been abroad before. Well, except for that one time in Edinburgh, but Scotland hardly counts as—oh, is that our train? Cor blimey, it’s magnificent!” The forensic mage’s eyes gleamed excitedly as she examined the imposing steam engine beside them.
“Good morning, Shaw.” Evander’s lips quirked despite his tension. “Did you manage to pack everything you wanted?”
Shaw missed his obvious sarcasm.
“Well, most things.” She gestured at her trunks, which were being loaded on board the train by the long-suffering porter.
“Shaw,” Rufus interrupted with a scowl. “Please tell me at least one of those trunks contains actual clothing.”
“One of them does,” Shaw said defensively. “The third is entirely practical supplies.”
“Practical,” Rufus muttered with ill-concealed disgust. “Right.
“You know we may have to attend formal social functions, correct?” Evander asked a tad sharply.
Shaw stared at him like he’d suggested she perform a sexual act in the middle of Charing Cross. “What? But—no one told me anything about that, your Grace!” she protested.
Evander sighed. “It was in the briefing packet.”
Guilt danced across the forensic mage’s face. “It was?” Her eyes brightened when she spotted something over Evander’s shoulder. “Oh. Maybe I can borrow a dress from Lady Hartley.”
Evander turned toward the sound of a commotion near the station entrance.
Ginny Hartley swept onto the platform in a swirl of burgundy velvet, her travel ensemble somehow managing to be both elegant and practical. Solomon followed a half-step behind, carrying both their bags with the careful attention of a man who knew better than to complain. A porter brought up the rear with a sizeable trunk.
“Why is it that nobody listened to the travelling light advice?” Rufus grumbled.
Shaw leaned close to Evander.
“Is it me or is the Inspector being a bit of a killjoy, your Grace?” she hissed out of the corner of her mouth.
Evander swallowed a sigh at Rufus’s deepening scowl.
The inspector had finally worked up the courage to ask Baron Miller for his daughter Ophelia’s hand in marriage. Evander suspected the Institute raid was what had prompted his friend to act. They had all had a close brush with death during the Musgrave case; nothing sharpened the mind quite like an encounter with the Grim Reaper.
Now that the two lovebirds were officially engaged, their separation must be even more bittersweet. Evander felt a twinge of sympathy for his friend.
Ginny approached, oblivious to the admiring stares of the gentlemen around her as she wove through the crowd.
“I hope we aren’t late,” she said with a smile.
“You aren’t,” Evander said drily. “I’m impressed you convinced Solomon to porter your luggage.”
“I didn’t convince him of anything.” Ginny’s eyes glinted with amusement. “He volunteered.”
Though Solomon’s expression remained carefully neutral, Evander caught the faint colour creeping up his neck.
“Where’s Viggo?” Ginny asked, glancing around.
“On his way, I expect,” Evander said, trying to keep his tone casual.
