“Emmett has been painting some nighttime scenes you would likely appreciate,” Maxwell explained.
Cecelia played with a lock of her hair, considering. “Color me intrigued. I’ll have to see them.” She gazed past us. “Is he back? It was a dalliance with a boy, wasn’t it?”
Maxwell adjusted his collar. “Er, no. I’m sorry to say he hasn’t returned as of yet.”
“A pity.”
Melbourne crossed his arms. “Well? Are you going to tell us what happened last night, or are you going to leave us in suspense?”
Maxwell gestured to the sofas at the back of the room and took a seat with them. I, however, felt too restless to sit. I wandered over to the bookcase just beyond them and let my fingers run over the leather spines. I smiled as I noted Jane Austen among the titles. So, Isabel’s womanly touch was unnecessary, after all. Just as I imagined. It was a rather well-rounded collection. If anything, Isabel was the one who needed a firm hand.
I grabbed a book on the afterlife as reincarnation, as Maxwell had mentioned, and paged through it as I half-sat on the back of the sofa between Melbourne and Cecelia, forcing them to turn their heads to see me. “Melbourne, you and Emmett both …” I hesitated, trying to phrase what I wanted to ask delicately, but found no way to allude to what I wanted to know without losing clarity. “You both enjoy the company of men quite a bit.”
Melbourne chuckled. “We run in the same circles, if that’s what you mean. But we never sought out each other’s company, should that be your implication.” A grin spread across his face. “Why? Has he been asking about me?”
“No,” Maxwell said, sending me an exasperated look. “He’s still missing. It’s not a joke.”
“You’re truly concerned?” Cecelia asked him, arching an eyebrow.
“Very much so.”
“You haven’t seen him with anyone new lately?” I asked, glancing at Melbourne.
Melbourne shifted. “New? Heavens no. I haven’t seen him at the club or in town at all the past month, truth be told. People have been asking after him.”
Cecelia frowned. “You don’t know if he’s courting someone? Did you have a row?”
“No,” Maxwell protested.
“Did he exchange words with the duke?” I asked.
Maxwell met my gaze, understanding crossing his features. “No. They’ve been perfectly cordial as of late.”
I shut my book with a snap. “Do either of you know anything about what Emmett has been up to recently?”
Cecelia considered for a moment. “I did see him about a fortnight ago. He was on the side of the road as my carriage drove by.”
Maxwell perked up. “A fortnight ago? What day?”
“It had to have been Friday. The twelfth, I believe? We were late returning from the opera. Mother was with me.”
I could see the excitement in Maxwell’s eyes as he inched forward in his seat. “Was this after he disappeared?” I asked him.
“It was,” Maxwell confirmed. “Three days later. What time did you see him?”
“Perhaps one in the morning, if I had to hazard a guess.” Cecelia waved her hand. “I can’t be exact.”
“Did he look at all distressed?” I asked, standing to lean against the sofa.
“Not in the least. He merely watched our carriage pass by. I remember remarking to my mother that it was rather late for a stroll.”
“Where was this?”
“Old Mill Road.”
“You know it?” I asked Maxwell.
He nodded, glancing toward the window, as if he would be able to see the road from here. “Of course. It’s not far.”
