“Perhaps she’ll be afraid enough for life and limb now that it will not be an issue,” Oliver interrupted.
Conley closed his mouth. Brinley and Tyler exchanged glances and looked anywhere but at Oliver, who took a quiet breath and muttered an apology. He looked out the small window at the gas lamps flickering to life. A light rain began to fall, clouding the images and turning the world to distorted shadows. He would be well-advised to visit Gentleman Maxwell’s and put his agitation to good use in a boxing match.
The carriage wound its way through the streets, eventually pulling to a stop outside the O’Shea home. Stately and tall, it matched the others in Charrington Square, an area familiar to Oliver. One of his best friends, Dr. Samuel MacInnes, lived several doors down with his wife, Hazel. Oliver’s parents were deceased, his sister lived on the coast, and his brother had become a sore spot, so Oliver’s friends—Sam, Daniel Pickett, and Miles Blake—had become his family. The four of them had originally met when they served together in the military in India, under Oliver as their captain, and had remained close ever since.
Sam’s recent marriage to Hazel meant that Oliver was now the only single man in their group, but he didn’t care to see that status change anytime soon. Life was complicated, and was about to become even more so.
Oliver and the three other men stepped out of the carriage, through the rain, and into the O’Shea home, where a ’ton butler took their hats and overcoats. Voices drifted into the cavernous front hall from a room to the right, and the butler inclined his head.
“If you would, gentlemen, the drawing room.” As he led them to the room, the noise grew in volume, and the voices distinguished themselves from one another.
“—concerns all of us, Mother, and to think that we would be excluded from any discussion on the matter is absurd and, frankly, insulting—”
A male voice chimed in, then an older female, but as Oliver listened to the din, he frowned. None of them was Emmeline herself, and having heard plenty of her voice, he would know it anywhere.
The butler breached the threshold and announced them to the family, and all conversation abruptly ceased.
Oliver entered behind Conley, noting the thick tension in the room. Sir Ronald O’Shea, Baron Tallywind, and Lady O’Shea were seated near the hearth with Sir Ronald’s twin daughters—Lysette and Madeline. Apart from the group, standing near the double doors leading out to the garden, was Emmeline, her expression unreadable. That was odd; she was usually as easily read as a book. Her bearing was straight, arms folded back as though clasping her hands casually behind her. In the window’s reflection, however, Oliver noted her tightly clenched fists.
Her eyes flicked to his, and she immediately dropped her arms to her sides and flexed her fingers. She cleared her throat and seemed to shake herself loose from the drama that swirled around the room. She stepped forward and folded her hands demurely before her, inclining her head. “Chief-Inspector Conley, Detective-Inspector Reed, good of you to visit. I believe, however, that the course of action concerning your involvement here has yet to be decided.”
“My sister is sadly misrepresenting the facts.” Lysette joined them in the middle of the room. Hers was a traditional beauty, and Oliver doubted there was a man alive who would deny it. She smiled at him, as she always did when he’d had occasion to visit the home looking for Emmeline only to find she had escaped his inquiry yet again. Lysette was always more than amenable to the prospect of playing hostess for him until her “errant, unruly sister” found her way back home.
He had seen enough of Lysette’s practiced behavior to know she wielded it like a weapon. She was overt, as opposed to her twin, Madeline, who remained in the shadows, almost as if she would rather be invisible. Madeline’s appearance was different; she was shorter, her hair darker. Her eyes, though, were a brilliant aqua. She shrank back into the sofa pillows even as Lysette demanded the room’s attention.
Lysette glanced at Lady O’Shea and then focused her attention on Conley first, then settled on Oliver. “My mother seems to have forgotten she has several daughters, not one. The youngest are safe at school, but the rest of us will be attending the festivities in Edinburgh, and we all require protection from this horrible person who wishes us harm.”
“I imagine you will be safe, Lysette, as long as you distance yourself from any meetings of true substance,” Emmeline said.
“I would hardly expect a bluestocking activist to understand that the truest threat will be to the family’s most valuable asset.” Lysette’s blue eyes narrowed a fraction.
Oliver felt as though he were at a polo match. He ticked his glance back to Emmeline, whose lips twitched up on one side but otherwise remained impassive.
“Enough.” Lady O’Shea made her way over to the two women and stood between them.
Sir Ronald followed her but stood awkwardly to the side. “Cease your bickering, girls,” he said, and from the blank expressions pointed at him in response, it was clear he was attempting to present an authoritative image for the sake of their visitors.
Lady O’Shea cleared her throat. “Chief-Inspector, my initial request for Emmeline still remains, though I was remiss in considering the potential danger to the rest of the family.”
“You see, of course,” Lysette interrupted, looking at Oliver, “how an otherwise loving parent might appear to show favoritism by entrusting the safety of one daughter to the protection of the Yard’s finest talent and leaving the others vulnerable.”
Emmeline swept a hand toward Oliver without taking her eyes from Lysette. “They’re all yours, dearest. I do not require round-the-clock nannies.” She looked at her mother. “I appreciate your concern, Mama, but I have had the day to consider the matter, and I am convinced this morning’s rush
