Inside the coach, Henrietta began to shake uncontrollably. It was just a moment before Ewan was back with her in the coach, enfolding her securely in his arms and holding her very close to him. She felt his warmth emanating through the blanket as he enveloped them both securely in his cape for another layer to ward off the bitterly cold air.

She could not stop shaking, but as the coach rumbled over the pitted cobblestones toward the Old Bell, the protection of his embrace did not waver, and at last she felt herself begin to relax ever so slightly. Her cheek was pressed against his chest, and she could feel the frantic thud of his heartbeat. It seemed to be racing wildly.

He surely felt the tension begin to drain from her body, but he pulled her all the closer, and all the tighter. She didn’t mind. Finally, she felt his breath stir against her ear.

“Are you hurt?” His words were apprehensive but tender.

“I do not think so, my Lord,” she whispered. She could feel his heart rate slowing to a steadier beat.

He breathed a sigh, but made no move to release her from the snug cocoon his arms made. “Thank God.”

She tipped her head back to look up at him. His face shone stark white in the moonlight. “You were very worried for me.”

“Yes,” he whispered. He gingerly brushed at wisps of her angry hair, tucking them back under her disorderly bonnet. He was careful to avoid some abrasions and cuts on her forehead that she had acquired from Averson’s tackle. “You are all scraped up.”

“Is that a comment on my appearance, my Lord?” she teased.

“Ssshhhh,” he hushed her. “We will not speak of silly rules now.”

“Is Lord Averson well?”

“Yes, I believe so. He was well enough to set about investigating before he went home. He would like to be sure this was an accident.”

“Of course, it was an accident. What else would it be?”

She heard herself say the words, and ask the question as if there was no other reasonable explanation, but she knew it might very well have not been an accident.

The real question is how much do I tell the Marquess?

She snuggled closer, enjoying the warm circle of his embrace far more than she expected to.

Nothing. For now.

The connecting door stayed open that night and Ewan hardly slept, worried for his wife, wanting to hear if she stirred and to be there if she needed anything. She slept soundly, and he supposed that was a good sign that any injuries she endured were purely superficial and would take little time to heal.

He had to admit when the coach had pulled up to the scene in front of the theater, panic had rocked him. All he saw was the giant stone from the roof smashed upon the street, rubble scattered everywhere, and Averson’s body crushing Henrietta’s, pinning her to the pavement. At least, that’s how it looked at first.

Relief had pumped through him as he watched Averson stand and help Henrietta up from the cobbles. They were both alive and under their own power, but the mess in the street told a terrifying tale. Without hesitation, he had whisked her into the coach, fortified her against the cold and queried his friend about what had happened.

Back inside the coach, taking her into his arms was the most natural thing for him to do. In fact, he could not have stopped himself even had he wanted to. Even now as he sipped his coffee in the Old Bell breakfast room, he fought the urge to go above stairs, kiss her cuts and bruises away, and wrap her safely in his arms again. He could not bear the thought of losing another loved one. Of losing her.

And they all thought I didn’t like her.

He smiled to himself, looking up from his coffee to spot Averson entering the room to join him for breakfast.

“Well?” Ewan needed not say more.

“Officially? ‘Tis an accident.”

“But –? Unofficially?”

“Mr. Kemble, proprietor of said theater, admits that a few of the edifices along the roofline may not have been secured properly. Some had been recently replaced when the façade was painted, and there is at least one shoddy workman in every gang.”

Ewan nodded slowly, indicating he understood. “However?”

“Yes, you were right to suspect there is a ‘however,’” Averson confirmed. “That stone was clearly pushed. There is simply no other explanation. Even if it was improperly secured, it could not have fallen without help. It did not jump to its death under its own power.”

“Indeed.”

The serving girl brought Lord Averson a plate full of the breakfast fare for which the Old Bell was famous. He busied himself with the goodies while Ewan contemplated plausible explanations.

“You told me on my wedding day, Averson, that you had received knowledge of my wife’s penchant for reading the medical journals from a new man in your employ. Do I remember that correctly?”

“Yes,” Averson muttered with food in his mouth.

Ewan grimaced as bits of food escaped onto Averson’s coat. “My, but you are hungry. Slow down, man!”

Averson paid him no mind.

“And did you not also indicate that this new man had previously been in the employ of General Oliver?”

Again, between bites, “Yes.”

“Would that man be known as a Mr. Seth Booth?”

Surprised, Averson looked up from his plate. “Yes.”

At last, he put down his fork and dabbed daintily at the corners of his wide mouth with his napkin, which seemed peculiarly tidy after shoveling it all in so boorishly.

“What about him?”

“Do you know why he was dismissed from the General’s employ?”

“No.”

“Did you get a reference?”

“You sound like your father, Ewan,” Averson said with annoyance. “I pay no mind to such things. I’m sure my butler got a reference.”

“I’m sure he didn’t get a good one. At least, not from the General.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he was dismissed from the Oliver household for speaking disrespectfully to Henrietta. He was quite out of line and the General threw him out posthaste.”

“You have it on good authority?”

“An eye witness. The victim herself.”

“I see. This is most troubling.”

“There is more, Averson. We were walking the cliff promenade shortly after our arrival in Scarborough and we happened upon him. I, of course, knew not who he was, but Henrietta did, and he most certainly acknowledged their acquaintance.”

“Damn,” Averson sighed.

“Indeed. His demeanor was most threatening, and I worry that he bears her ill will for his dismissal.”

Truth be told, Ewan worried about much more than that. He feared this was a direct attempt on her life by that man and that it would not be the last.

“You don’t think he was on the roof of the Tanner Street Theater last night, do you?”

“I think we shouldn’t rule anyone out. Can you vouchsafe his whereabouts?”

“Of course not,” Averson balked. “I was with you for the entirety of the evening.”

“Where should he have been?”

“Who knows? I’d given most of the staff the night off.”

“So ‘tis anyone’s guess what he was up to last night.”

“I suppose so.” Averson gulped down his coffee before he stood to take his leave. “Do you think I should dismiss him?”

Ewan considered the offer. “It may be for the best.”

“Very well. I will see ‘tis done today. Thank you for breakfast.”

Averson took a few steps away from the table and then turned back to ask, “You don’t suppose it was my life that stone was meant to snuff out, do you?”

“How would I know, Averson? I’ve been in my hermitage, as you call it, for the last year. You’re the one who brags that you are well so informed about everyone else’s business. Or do I remember that wrong?”

His friend waved his mocking comments away good naturedly.

“But in seriousness, I will ask, have you acquired any new enemies of late?”

“I’ve no reason to think anyone –”

“Old scores?” Ewan suggested.

“No.”

“Gambling debts all paid?”

“Without fail. You know I know my limits.”

“Indiscretions with the married ladies?”

“Not lately,” Averson said with a grunt.

“Your guess is as good as mine then. As I said, we rule no one out.”

Henrietta spent most of the day in her room, nursing a faint headache, and wondering why the Marquess made himself so scarce. She had slept deeply through the night despite still feeling a bit rattled after Anna had dressed her cuts and put her to bed. It seemed silly, but she had been comforted by the open connecting door, comforted knowing he was near, and even now she found it oddly relieving to admit that had he a mind to sweep her into his arms again, she would not resist. To feel again that strong and steady thud of his heartbeat, and how the warmth beneath his shirt had spread generously outward as if seeking to bring every inch of her into its circle. Heady feelings indeed.

Her warm shiver turned to a shudder as she remembered Lord Averson shoving her down and away from the falling chunk of stone. He had certainly saved her life, and his own as well.

Maybe the accident was intended to take Lord Averson’s life and not mine.

She dismissed that thought with a sigh, remembering the cryptic note she had received from ‘A Friend’. The writer had ordered her to withdraw her applications, but how could she do that? The mail coach would not have even reached London yet. Maybe Seth Booth didn’t know how the post worked.

Nonsense. Everyone knows how the post works.

More importantly, would she surrender her dreams to some vile threat? Especially if it was that abominable man Seth Booth that was behind it? No, she would not. The Marquess certainly had reason enough to see Mr. Booth attended to without her heaping on the knowledge of the threatening note.

The Marquess breezed into the room, interrupting her thoughts, troubled thoughts she happily relinquished.

“Where have you been hiding all day, my Lord Marquess?”

“I have a surprise for you,” Ewan announced pleasantly, his hands hidden behind his back.

“For me?” Henrietta smiled.

“Yes. My Lady, will you please close your eyes?”

“Very well.”

She was always wary of surprises. They tended to go poorly in her experience. But, he seemed so eager to give her a gift of some kind, and his eyes were sparkling so delightfully, she could hardly resist him.

“I asked you the other day what would make you smile in case I might be called upon someday to put a grin upon your face.”

“You brought me cake!” she exclaimed with delight.

“No, no, my Lady,” he winked at Anna, “but I’m sure Anna could procure us some tea and cake. Posthaste, Anna, if you please.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Anna curtseyed and darted from the room.

“You have a present for me, but it isn’t cake,” Henrietta mused.

“If you are able to bear up under the disappointment, I think you will be most pleasantly surprised. You may open your eyes now.”

Her eyes flew open excitedly. He held out before her a book, and she had to blink a few times to be sure she was seeing it correctly. In disbelief she read the title aloud, “Journal of the Royal Society of Medicine ‘Medico-Chirurgical Transactions.’”