Oliver stepped close. “Does Mr. Jenkins visit your father often?” he murmured to Emme.
“Do you know him?”
“Crossed paths occasionally through the years. Old money, but not much in the way of social graces.”
Emme crossed her arms over her chest, one hand gripping her bicep. She lifted a shoulder. “You are an observant detective. He has called occasionally, but I admit I do not know the date or time of his last visit. I am frequently away from home.”
“Do join us, Detective, Emmeline,” her mother said, motioning toward the seating arrangement around the hearth.
“No need, really,” Lysette said pleasantly from her seat beside Hester. “Emmeline will not be at the house party, so the details do not concern her.” She addressed Emme. “This conversation will be a bore for you, sister. I wonder if the detective might appreciate a cup of tea back in the library.”
The entire group focused on them, and her gift for reading people’s emotions wasn’t necessary to feel the discomfort in the room. Emme raised her eyebrows at Lysette, who was not usually so gauche in the presence of others. Even her stepfather glanced at Lysette and cleared his throat.
“Of course, you may join us if you wish.” He chuckled, but it sounded forced. “Jenkins, perhaps you would even prefer it. Our Emmeline has the spirit of a tigress and the cunning to match. Lead a potential suitor on a merry chase, she would, but as you’re an expert hunter, she might have met her match!”
Jenkins looked at Emmeline as if seeing her for the first time, then joined in Sir Ronald’s laughter.
Emme’s face warmed, and she glanced at her mother, who frowned, and Lysette, who looked at her father with a wince, perhaps a flash of dismay, before covering it with a laugh. Madeline’s brow creased, and she regarded Emme in sympathy. Emme couldn’t bring herself to look at Chief-Inspector Conley.
She waited a beat, then another, for her mother to say something, but aside from an expression of censure clearly aimed at Sir Ronald, which he missed entirely, she remained silent. Emme’s heart sank.
Detective-Inspector Reed stirred. “Tea actually would be just the thing,” he said. “Miss O’Shea, do you mind?”
“Not in the least.” She managed a smile.
As she turned to lead the detective from the room, her stepfather continued in an aside to Jenkins, “Could certainly do worse than have a pretty young woman at your side, eh, my friend?”
Emme quickened her step. She heard her mother’s voice as she left the room but didn’t stop to listen.
She crossed the hall to the library again, when the detective stopped her with a hand on her elbow. “You needn’t entertain me,” he said, and to her relief, she didn’t read pity in his face. “Honestly, I am glad for the escape. The thought of sitting with Jenkins for any length of time brings on head pain.”
Emme shook her head with a quiet, humorless laugh. “He’s a perfect match for Sir Ronald.”
“Did I hear him say that Jenkins is a hunter?”
She nodded. “Sir Ronald’s family hunting lodge is a few miles outside Edinburgh, and he is hosting a gathering there during Summit week. Lysette has been sending invitations for weeks to his big-game hunting friends.”
The detective looked across the hall, speculation on his face. “I wonder what sort of big game they are hoping to track near Edinburgh.”
Emme lifted her shoulder, tension knotted in her neck. “Who can say? They travel to Africa twice yearly, sometimes more, but perhaps the thirst for the hunt is difficult to quench.” She winced, remembering Sir Ronald’s clumsy comment that Mr. Jenkins consider courting her. In an attempt to smooth over a bad situation, he had made it infinitely worse.
“Perhaps instead of tea,” the detective said, “you might answer a question? Do you have any other threatening messages or notes in your possession that you’ve received in recent days?”
Emme put a hand to the back of her neck, absently massaging her tense muscles, and wondered if she should admit she had a small boxful. “I do, but they are not nearly as severe as the one I received today. I hardly think they matter.”
“I should be the judge of that.”
She sighed, wishing she could escape to somewhere far away. Would this day never end?
“Emmeline, our past exchanges have been contentious, without a doubt, but I would have you know of my true admiration for the intentions of your heart. The . . . the rightness of your motivation is something I have always understood and agreed with.” He paused. “It is important to me that you know this.”
She looked away, chewing on her lip. “Why is that? My opinion of your convictions does not signify.”
“It does signify. To me, it does.”
She looked up at him. “You must stop. You mustn’t—” She turned her face away and pressed her lips together.
“Mustn’t what?”
“You must stop being nice!” She had the presence of mind to keep her voice down, though she wanted to shout. “There are certain things in life I hope to see changed. There are other things I depend on to remain the same. If you continue with this kindness nonsense, I shall lose my focus entirely.”
“You would prefer I throw you over my shoulder instead?”
Her eyes widened. “No!”
He frowned. “Emmeline, I jest. I will not hurt you.”
“I know you will not.”
“I—I do not understand. You’ve never been afraid of me. You know I’ve not ever meant you any ill will—”
She breathed out and stepped closer, gesturing as though explaining a complicated concept to a child. “I am not afraid of you. I know you mean me no harm. I am . . . I am . . .” She placed her hand on her forehead. “I am fatigued. My thoughts will be clear in the morning. Come with me, then, and I’ll give you the blasted letters.” She made for the stairs, assuming he would follow her.
He did, though with a frown. “Where are we going? Would you prefer I wait in the library?”
“No. We are going
