A Wicked Conceit by Anna Huber (e novels to read TXT) 📕

in the book might just as assuredly point the finger at someone who wished to discredit the story.

More troubling, most of the papers also didn’t fail to mention my and Gage’s role as inquiry agents, or our far-too-obvious inclusion in The King of Grassmarket. The writer of one of the broadsheets also seemed to be aware that Gage and I had spoken to the police outside Rookwood’s office the night before. But providentially, no one was suggesting we were suspects. At least, not yet.

“Are you staying for luncheon?” Alana asked, interrupting my self-absorption with the words before me.

My stomach rumbled at the suggestion, and I caught Philip’s answering grin out of the corner of my eye.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Alana replied.

I pressed a hand to my stomach. “I can’t help it. I’m hungry all the time, but I can never finish a meal without feeling positively stuffed.”

Philip chuckled aloud. “Don’t worry, Kiera. In my opinion, a rabid appetite in a woman with child must be a good sign.”

Alana shook her head. “I wouldn’t have the faintest idea. I could never even think of food without feeling nausea while I was expecting my fiendish little darlings.” She smothered Jamie’s pudgy cheeks with kisses while he giggled. His baby-soft brown hair stood on end. She glanced over her shoulder at her husband. “But your sister was always disgustingly healthy when she was expecting. She claimed it was the only time she could eat whatever and whenever she wanted, so she was going to take full advantage of that fact.”

Something jostled the door ajar, and a moment later, in strutted Earl Grey. Catching sight of his sashaying tail, Jamie made a lunge for him, gurgling some inarticulate sound, but the gray mouser ignored him and ambled toward me.

“That cat,” Alana derided, restraining her son. “He knows the moment we have guests and comes in here expecting attention. As if he doesn’t get more than enough of it in the nursery.”

I shook my head at him fondly as he leapt up onto my lap, forcing me to lift aside the broadsheet I’d been perusing. He circled and then settled half on my legs and half on my rounded belly, gazing up at me with slitted eyes. I scratched under his chin, making him purr contentedly, and then stroked a hand down his back, only to pull it away covered in something sticky. Toffee, perhaps?

My sister sighed. “I suppose I shouldn’t complain. He’s remarkably sweet-tempered. You should see the things the children do to him. All in love and good-natured fun. But children don’t always understand their own strength or why a cat doesn’t want to be dressed in a bonnet or given a bath. They would be heartbroken if you took him back.” She broke off as if the thought had just occurred to her. “You aren’t, are you?

I smiled. “No. I wouldn’t do that to them. And I think Earl Grey is much happier here with you.”

Perhaps the sound of his purring and the manner in which he’d blissfully closed his eyes belied this statement, but I knew it to be true. Once Gage and I had selected a country home, we’d discussed getting a dog or two. Perhaps even a wolfhound like Philip’s pair up at Gairloch Castle. But for now we traveled too much to drag an animal about with us to and fro.

The door opened wider and the nursery maid appeared. “Shall I take him noo, m’lady?” she asked my sister. “’Tis time for his nap.”

“Yes, despite all his squirming, I can tell he’s getting sleepy,” Alana replied as Jamie made one more lunge toward me and Earl Grey.

“Oh, good day, m’lady. I didna see ye there,” the nursery maid said, dipping a curtsy as she caught sight of me.

“Good day, Molly.”

She gathered Jamie up in her arms and then turned to glare at the cat. “Shall I herd His Highness along with me, as well?”

Clearly the conceited mouser hadn’t made as good of friends with the maids as he had the children.

“No, I’m sure he’ll follow along when he feels like it.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” she muttered, and then departed through the door.

I turned to look at Philip, who was still ostensibly reading the newspaper. “Does the prime minister know you have a cat named after him?” I hadn’t considered the potential ramifications of this when I named the feline or when I gave him to my nieces and nephews.

“He’s quite flattered actually.” A smile hovered on his lips as he folded and set aside his paper. “Believes the children christened him.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, at least that’s one scandal diverted, I suppose.”

This was the wrong jest to make, for Alana swiveled to sit upright, spreading her laurel green skirts. Her eyes flashed with repressed anger. “As lovely as it is to see you,” she lied, “I well know you’ve visited us for a reason. So, out with it.”

I fought a flush, refusing to feel guilty for coming here to seek their help. The current situation I’d found myself in was not of my making, no matter what my sister might think. I was not responsible for the publication of The King of Grassmarket and all of its spurious implications, nor had I killed Rookwood. Even so, I kept my voice carefully controlled.

“Gage and I have already researched Thomas W. Rookwood, but I wondered if perhaps you or Philip might be privy to any information about him we are not. As well as his assistant, Mr. Daniel Heron, and printer, an Alexander Lennox.”

Alana stared stonily at me, but Philip scratched his chin, as if genuinely giving the matter some consideration. “I can’t say I’m familiar with this Mr. Heron, but I’ve met Mr. Rookwood once or twice at various city functions. From what I’ve heard, he was an honorable businessman. More conscientious than most.”

“Yes, that was our impression of him as well.”

“Now, this printer chap.” He frowned. “There are an awful lot of Lennoxes floating