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Lord Stirling’s expression sobered, his voice shifting to a lower register. “What of this murder investigation? Is there a risk to your mother and sister?”

Julius nodded. “There might be. We have guards posted, but Mother and Penelope should remain home for the next few days, at least until this danger is settled.”

The earl’s jaw tensed. “This is untenable. I expect to meet with the other men. We must bring it to a swift resolution.”

“Agreed.” Julius inclined his head. He hoped his father might also assist him in another matter, so now was not the time to argue. He needed the earl’s cooperation for more than one problem.

Audrey dined with the family, enjoying conversation with the lively Lady Stirling and the charming Penelope, who resembled a younger version of the countess, both in appearance and in animated manner. Following warm congratulations on the forthcoming nuptials, along with the continental custom of a buss to each cheek, the countess regaled them with tales of her adventures in Paris. The city sounded as dazzling as a dream, yet the endless social engagements and glittering nights left Audrey quietly yearning for the simpler life she had known in Stirling.

After dinner, the earl requested that Lady Stirling play the pianoforte, and the party adjourned to the music room, a chamber Audrey had never before entered. It was an intimate space, every detail reflecting the countess’s exuberant style. She wore an exquisite sea-green gown trimmed in frothy white lace, reminiscent of waves capped in seafoam. The walls were papered in a bronzed green, and beneath their feet lay a sumptuous rug woven in a grand radial design of red, ivory, and gold.

Audrey and Penelope crossed to a pair of red silk chairs with gilded frames, while Lady Stirling made her way to the pianoforte by the tall windows overlooking the dusky gardens. The instrument itself was a work of art—its elegant mahogany case gleaming, its interior fashioned from flame maple, adorned with fine ormolu mounts that caught the last flicker of daylight.

Gathering her music sheets with graceful ease, the countess seated herself, and Lord Stirling joined her, leaning one elbow on the instrument with the easy manner of a man content to spend the evening in his wife’s company. She began to play an Irish aria of haunting beauty, her fingers dancing across the keys as her voice filled the room in perfect, crystalline pitch. The earl turned the pages for her, his gaze never straying from her face, an expression of admiration softening his usually stern features.

The two young women listened in rapt silence. The countess’s voice, rich with feeling, soared through the chamber like a memory brought to life. Her mastery of the instrument and her graceful phrasing would not have been out of place on the opera stage.

Audrey drifted into a dreamlike state, her thoughts meandering to her upcoming nuptials with Julius and the fragile hope of winning his true affections. The music enveloped her, stirring longings she had not yet dared to name.

It was some minutes before she noticed that Penelope, beside her, was staring out the window at the burnished hues of the setting sun, her expression tinged with wistfulness. Audrey was struck by the realization that, before long, they would be sisters. Perhaps it was time to forge a bond.

She leaned slightly toward her. “It must have been interesting to come out in Paris?”

Penelope smiled. “Paris is a beautiful city, and the fashions there are far more sophisticated than those in England. I believe Mama will be quite disheartened when she realizes she must now return to London modistes for her attire.”

Audrey nodded, still thinking of the look of longing she had seen upon Penelope’s face earlier. “Did you meet any interesting gentlemen in Paris?”

Blinking, as though called back from distant thoughts, Penelope hesitated. Audrey sensed she was weighing the intimacy of the question. After all, they scarcely knew one another. But perhaps, reaching the same conclusion as Audrey, she at last replied.

“There was one. I had been hopeful he might announce his intentions. But when I told him I would be returning to London, he did not appear moved in the least. He simply wished me a safe journey and …” She stopped, her gaze falling to her lap where her gloved fingers twined and untwined themselves.

“You hoped for a match?” Audrey asked gently.

Penelope gave a small nod, her expression tinged with sadness. Audrey longed to offer comfort, but words failed her. She understood too well the ache of unreciprocated feelings. Penelope had lost her gentleman to geography and indifference, while Audrey was to wed the man she loved, yet could not be certain he esteemed her in return. Different circumstances, but the same cruel uncertainty. Both of them adrift in their affections.

As she watched the earl assist Lady Stirling with the music sheets, his expression alight with affection, Audrey felt the sting of longing rise anew. Their love was evident, tangible in each glance and shared note. How fervently she wished Julius might one day look at her with even a fraction of such devotion.

“Perhaps he will follow you to London,” Audrey offered, though she suspected the hope was as much for herself as it was for Penelope. If she could not win Julius’s heart, perhaps at least she would find comfort in a newfound family. The thought was strange but oddly consoling. She would no longer be truly alone.

“Perhaps,” Penelope echoed with a soft sigh.

The countess played several more arias before rising and declaring it time for bed after such long travels. Audrey joined her new kin in the corridor and ascended the stairs, parting from them in the upper hall to return to her chamber.

Julius had not appeared. She wondered where he was but did not yet feel comfortable enough to inquire. She had not seen him since morning, when they had reached their unsatisfactory accord. It had been a long day. Her nerves strained from her meeting with the earl, her mind wearied by the accursed German memoirs, and her body ached with exhaustion from a sleepless night.

She longed to see Julius again and to speak with him, yet at the same time, she was relieved to find solitude. To sink into the softness of her pillow and hide from the ache in her heart.

Sleep claimed her swiftly, pulling her into its dark embrace. Yet even slumber seemed as belligerent in its affection as Julius had been. Her dreams were troubled—visions of wandering alone through the echoing halls of Stirling, of standing mute in Lady Astley’s drawing room as cruel whispers of scandal twisted her name. She stood once more in the earl’s study, bracing herself for censure.

And then, as if summoned by longing itself, the one person never present in her dreams called her name.

“Audrey?”

Audrey looked about the study, but Julius was nowhere to be found. It was always the same in her dreams. He was absent while she yearned to see him, to ask where he had been, only to stumble upon him in the arms of some trollop who had stolen his adoration.

“Audrey?”

She wandered into the hall, ignoring the echo of the earl’s stern lecture, calling out softly, her voice catching. No sign of him.