“Yes, that is the one,” Laura agreed with the deceptively mild tone she used when she was paying close attention to something but pretending she wasn’t. "Is she in residence as well?"
"She is," James said with a nod. "In fact, she’s the one who found Hannah this morning."
"Was she, indeed?" Laura returned her ever-knowing gaze to James’ face.
He glanced back toward the threshold and wished Fairleigh would quicken his step and distract Laura from whatever she was noticing on his face at the moment. After all, he wasn’t prepared to?—
Luckily, a sound on the staircase saved him.
Hannah appeared at the top of the stairs in a state that suggested she had just woken from her nap, her hair escaping its plait and her frock in disarray after an afternoon of determined sleeping. Hannah blinked down at the entrance hall, and then her gaze landed on Laura. A genuine smile spread across her face.
"Aunt Laura!" She came down the stairs at a pace that made Miss Roseberry, appearing behind her, close her eyes briefly as though to stave off a headache.
Laura crouched to receive Hannah’s welcome and held her close. "There she is," she said. "Our famous adventurer."
"I was not adventuring," Hannah said, into Laura's shoulder. "I was visiting the foals."
"At three o'clock in the morning," James grumbled.
"They didn’t mind the hour," Hannah said, with great dignity, which was entirely inarguable.
Laura looked at James over the top of Hannah's head, and James felt the last of the morning's weight go out of him.
"After you shake off your travel dust," he said, "why don't you join everyone in the drawing room? You can make your own assessment of the assembled company."
"That sounds lovely," Laura replied. She rose, took Hannah's hand, and allowed herself to be led upstairs by her five-year-old niece.
Fairleigh sidled up beside James and watched the pair ascend the stairs. “She has missed this," he said quietly. "More than she says."
James cast a sidelong glance at his brother-in-law. "As have we all.”
Satisfied that Laura and Thomas were properly settled, James returned to his study. The Greaves tenancy needed sorting out and he’d been working through the details since lunch. The family had farmed the east quarter for three generations, and the question of whether the son was ready to take on the lease after his father's passing was not a simple one.
James was midway through his third reading of the Greaves letter when a knock came at his door.
"Come in," he said, without looking up.
The door opened and soft footsteps crossed the floor. James finished the sentence he was reading, made a note in the margin, and looked up to find his sister sitting in the chair directly across from his desk, her hands folded demurely in her lap.
Damn it all.
Laura’s ever-knowing gaze met his and James swallowed.
He set down his quill and wondered how he'd ever imagined he could avoid this interview indefinitely. He should have known better. He did, after all, know his sister rather well. Just as well as she knew him, to be precise.
"Daniel's letters," she began without preamble, "have been odd for weeks."
"Daniel's odd. It would stand to reason that his letters would reflect this."
Blast it. He'd known perfectly well this was coming, and there was no evading Laura when she'd made up her mind.
She did not take his bait. "He says you're well and then he says something that makes me certain you're not, and then he says you're well again." She kept her gaze trained on him. "Something is wrong."
Something James tried hard not to think about. "Daniel worries," he hedged. “But there’s nothing?—”
"James Westham," she said with the same no-nonsense tone she’d used when he was nine and had hidden a harmless snake in Daniel’s wardrobe.
James heaved a sigh, one he’d been holding for some time. "I had an episode," he finally told her. "Six weeks ago. In London."
