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“Oh, Gladys is not yet entertaining suitors,” Mama explained. “We await word from Queen Victoria. They are in the garden, and we shall promenade after dress fittings and tea. Will you join us? I have had the chef make your favorite biscuits. Macaroons.”

“Of course. And I shall find Myrtle shortly. But first, how goes the marriage game?” he asked over her shoulder.

“Ladies, you may chat with Samuel, but do not wait to come up to try on those dresses.”

“Yes, Mama,” they said in unison, save the tones. Violetta sounded light and airy, whereas Orris sounded as if she were being marched off to war.

At their agreement, Mama patted Samuel on the shoulder before whisking out of the room.

Orris sat up, renewed interest awakening within her chest. “What has happened? What did Abr—I mean, Lord Abram say?” She knew better than to refer to him without his title. Samuel would pick up on their familiarity, if he had not already.

“I am sorry to say we are no closer in finding out anything else. He will search the property of his friend. I did ask him to stay with us here at your mama’s, against my better judgment. Any criminal would be less likely to attempt anything in Mayfair. The villain would be daft, given the sheer wealth in the vicinity. I just need to convince your mama, and not tell her the real reason why.”

“Oh, Samuel, we should not have someone who is in danger so near to us,” Violetta whined.

“I shan’t be for long, Sister. We will solve this most efficiently. I know it,” Orris said.

Violetta frowned. “You do not know anything of the sort.”

“Okay, ladies. Enough,” Samuel said. “We shall offer lodging for a short time. If all else fails, we shall help him get home to Teagueland.”

“Where is that?” Orris asked, genuinely confused.

“Apologies,” Samuel added, “Ireland. That’s just something we used to say when I was a lad.”

“If you are set on this, fine. Come, Orris. We should not keep Mama waiting,” Violetta said, walking from the room.

“Samuel, thank you for helping Lord Abram. I know you were not entirely keen on the notion. You are so very kind, for a reformed rake,” she teased.

“Never. I was framed, I tell you,” he said, tossing her a wink. “Now, then, I shall go relay this information to my wife.”

“You had better. She will want to know what had happened in her investigation.” Orris patted Samuel on the arm as she walked past him and made her way to the upstairs bedrooms.

While there was a thrill of excitement, she had not wanted to acknowledge the other thing giving her flutters in her belly.

Abram would be under the same roof with her. She had to admit there was a growing attraction. With the loss of his friend, though, she was sure he would not be interested in pursuing anything other than a killer.

And then, he was indeed interested in heading to America, based on what Samuel had related. Then where would she be?

Orris did not want to feel the keen loss of anyone she liked again. She would have to put a shackle on that heart of hers. There was only so much pain one could bear, after all.

Chapter Eighteen

The message received by a footman noted Abram should anticipate arrival by early evening under the guise of producing miniatures for each of the Gray ladies—Orris, Violetta, and their cousin Gladys. In addition to a separate portrait for the viscount and his viscountess.

He was leery of being under the same roof as Orris, wondering whether or not he could control the urge to touch her. To stand beside her.

There was no need to fret over any companionship, if a murderer was afoot. He would not want to bring any harm to her. In addition, he owed his slain friend a debt. He would find who had killed him, even if Abram was more of a lover than a boxer.

“My lord, are there other belongings to load into the carriage?” Boris the footman called out, drawing Abram from the worries of the day.

“No, there are not,” he said, staring down at the bundle of letters he had yet to go through. They were from his father and a few others from a lady with whom Rowan must have been familiar. Abram resolved to read them later. The stack was sizable and bound by a measure of twine. Two separate bundles handling Rowan’s private letters and those pertaining, undoubtedly, to Abram’s matters. “Here,” he said, picking up his own bag and handing it to Boris, who stood across the room. “If you could take these to the carriage. I must settle up with the landlord prior to departing. I shall just be a moment.”

Boris accepted the bag with a nod, then left Abram alone again.

Over the last few days, he’d realized how lonely he felt without Rowan at his side. They had been traveling for the better part of a year together. Rowan had been a dear friend and now, as Abram prepared for the next portion of his journey, he wondered how he would get on in the world without him.

With a shake of his head, he left the room that still smelled of his paints and ink. Taking to the stairs, he made his way to the street and down to the door of the man to whom he had spoken the evening before.