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“It’s from Sir Gabriel,” he answered, reaching for his hat. “A body has been found in the carriage house of a Member of Parliament. A man named Messinger.”

Although Hugh was no longer one of Bow Street’s active agents, the Chief Magistrate, Sir Gabriel Poston, had kept him apprised of any cases in which he believed the viscount might be of some assistance. Hugh had been one of Bow Street’s best agents, and neither Sir Gabriel nor Hugh had been happy when it was discovered that Hugh was, in fact, the rightful heir to the Neatham viscountcy. With the title came the necessity to quit his role as an investigative agent—officially, at least. No inquiry had arisen since she and Hugh had married in the spring, and she often wondered if he was bored acting only as a viscount.

She took the pair of gloves Rivers had fetched for Hugh and, with a smile and a nod, dismissed the young footman. She brought her husband the gloves herself. “Did he mention why he’s requested you, rather than another agent?”

“The MP is a friend of his,” Hugh answered. Sir finished wrapping himself in his own wool coat, hat, and muffler—all of which were much finer in quality than anything he’d worn in the past, before becoming a viscount’s ward.

“Must Sir go with you?” Audrey asked.

“Why shouldn’t I?” the boy retorted, sounding offended.

She grappled for a good reason. The truth was she wished she could go with Hugh too. It was absurd to be envious of Sir. The young boy assisted Hugh whenever possible, was exceptionally whip-smart, and had a magician-like ability to gather intelligence. Audrey had helped Hugh with several investigations in the past as well, and their time solving those cases had given them the opportunity to work together and fall in love.

She’d discovered that she enjoyed solving inquiries, too. Now, hearing that a body had been found, and seeing Hugh and Sir eagerly preparing to go and gather the details, Audrey felt a pang of regret. She could not go with them. Not only because she had a dining room full of guests, but because of her condition. She grimaced. Lord, but she had begun to despise that word.

“You needn’t worry for Sir,” Hugh assured her. “He’s overcome his recent cold.”

He finished pulling on his gloves, then placed his hands on the sides of her rounded abdomen. It was something he did often. Had they been alone, he would likely have put his mouth to the top of her belly and told their child that Mummy was worrying for no reason.

She was worried, but not for the reason Hugh seemed to believe—that going out into this weather would not be favorable for Sir’s lungs, which were still recovering from a bout of illness that had left him with an atrocious cough. No, her concern was more selfish in nature.

In another two months, everything would change. Audrey was thrilled that they were having a baby, of course, but she also found herself wondering what life would be like once she and Hugh had a child to care for.

“Tell Norris I’ll be there in a moment,” he said to Sir, and the boy tipped his hat and dashed through the front door to relay the message to Hugh’s driver.

Hugh rubbed his palms gently against Audrey’s large belly. “I’ll be home as soon as I’m able, but don’t wait up. You need your rest.”

He kissed her—a quick press of his lips against hers—and then broke away.

“And tell Basil not to wait up, either,” Hugh called back as he left, his enthusiasm to be on his way to a crime scene palpable. She, too, felt the thrum of interest over what had happened in the MP’s carriage house.

Audrey sighed and, with a curious feeling of dejection, started toward the dining room again. Hugh’s valet, Basil, would likely be grateful for the chance to turn in early. She, however, would not be able to sleep until her husband was home.

She moved slowly, her legs heavier than before. Even knowing how petty her dejection was, she was at least grateful the dinner would not extend much longer. As the only male remaining at the table, Michael would now need to accompany the ladies to the drawing room after dessert, rather than break off with Hugh to play a game of billiards. He’d be remarkably bored playing cards, and taking pity on him, Genie would suggest they take their leave and let Audrey rest—it was, after all, something everyone kept telling her she required.

She was about to turn toward the dining room when a loud clatter sounded from farther down the corridor, near the entrance to the kitchen. Audrey stopped as the door to the kitchen stairs swung open and crashed against the wall. Tobias Sinclair stumbled into view, utterly rumpled. His greatcoat and hat had been removed, likely in the kitchen where he’d come in through the servant’s door, but he was missing his dinner jacket, his hair was mussed, and his fob watch was out and swinging loosely on its chain, instead of being tucked properly into his waistcoat pocket.

Cassie and Michael’s youngest brother had been due to arrive for the dinner at the proper time of seven o’clock, and when he had not shown by half past the hour, Michael had rolled his eyes and insisted they begin without him. It seemed Tobias, just out of university at Cambridge, was relishing his youth and privilege a bit too extravagantly lately and was incurring the duke’s anger and annoyance almost as regularly as Cassie did.

Audrey bypassed the short hall leading to the dining room and hurried toward her former brother-in-law. Philip, Audrey’s first husband and the late Duke of Fournier, had been much older than Tobias and not close to the young man. Audrey, too, had not known him well. But now, as she approached him, the crooked grin Tobias formed was one of warm familiarity—and clear and utter drunkenness.

“Audrey!” he exclaimed, opening his arms as if he wished to embrace her, but his right arm struck a vase on a slim credenza table. Tobias grappled with the vase to prevent it from tumbling to the carpet, and Audrey rushed forward as fast as she could to help. But neither of them was successful. The vase landed on the carpet with a muted thud, spilling evergreens, holly, and water.

“Oh, damn it all,” Tobias groaned, staring at the mess. “Shorry, Audrey. Look what my blashted arm has done.”

He slurred his words, tears forming as he peered at the vase and red-berried holly sprigs on the floor. She wanted to chuckle but held it in check. Should Michael come out of the dining room and find his brother soused, he’d be furious. The early holiday dinner did not need another interruption.

“There is no need for concern, Tobias. The vase isn’t broken,” she said, crouching to pick it up. She abandoned it, however, when her protruding abdomen complained. Tobias took her arm as she was straightening her legs with some difficulty, but in his inebriated unsteadiness, it wasn’t helpful. He only sent them both staggering to the side, against the wall.

In the awkward upheaval, Audrey’s hand landed on his side—directly onto his dangling pocket watch. Her bare skin settled firmly against the gold cover, and she gasped as the corridor at 37 Berkeley Square disappeared from view. A rapid fire of tumultuous visions barreled into her mind in quick succession.

Their cook, Mrs. Peets, in the kitchen, shaking her head in annoyance.

A staggering walk through the sleeting rain.

A burst of light and revelry in a smoky club where men played cards and laughed.

A darkened glasshouse filled with greenery, lit by a solitary lantern.