A Wicked Conceit, Anna Huber [best e book reader txt] 📗

Heron’s income, as extra incentive for him to remain quiet.” I shifted in my seat, trying to find a more comfortable position. “Though I still don’t understand why Lennox holds such a vendetta against Bonnie Brock. Or us, for that matter.”

“Maybe there is no vendetta. Maybe Lennox simply saw an opportunity to make a great deal of money.”

I considered Gage’s suggestion. “It doesn’t feel impersonal.”

He sighed. “No, it doesn’t.”

“And what of Lord Kirkcowan? Why was Lennox being blackmailed by him, as we speculate?”

“I think Kirkcowan knew he was Mugdock. Though I’m not certain how.” He frowned. “Or if that was truly what got him killed.”

I pivoted to face him more fully. “Right, then. Here’s a more vital question. We now have confirmation Lennox is Mugdock, but is he a murderer?”

“Well, he had the ability and the opportunity. Heron told us he wasn’t in his shop when he called, and as Rookwood’s printer he probably would have been aware of the rear entrance off Carrubbers Close. Rookwood knew him, possibly well enough not only to allow him into his office but also to turn his back to him.”

“But why? Simply because he refused to print his sequel?” I asked doubtfully.

“I suppose it’s possible that was his sole motivation, but you’re right. It does seem rather weak.”

I changed positions again, in hopes that sitting upright would ease some of the strain on my back. “I still think we’re missing something. What about everything Mr. Heron told us about Lennox claiming Bonnie Brock might be owed an inheritance? Do you think there might be any truth to it, or was it purely a ploy to convince Heron to talk?”

“That I don’t know, but I strongly suspect the latter. Not only because it proved to be a persuasive ruse to convince Heron—who seemingly isn’t prone to tale-telling—to talk, but also because Kincaid was born out of wedlock. Most inheritances only pass to legitimate offspring.” His eyes surveyed me with concern as I changed seated positions again. “Kiera, are you in pain?”

“It’s my back,” I groaned. “I thought perhaps the baby had shifted, because I’ve felt like I could breathe easier the past few days, but apparently not.”

Gage urged me to turn around as he stripped off his gloves. When his hands began to knead my lower spine, I thought I might weep at how wonderful it felt.

His voice was a low rumble in my ear as he pressed deeply into the muscles in my back. “I think it might be best if I return you home before I venture out to speak with someone who may be able to explain the tangled web of the Lennox family and all the clans with which it intermixes.”

“No, I can manage,” I assured him. “I want to pay a call on Lady Bearsden first. She seemed to know a great deal about May Kincaid. More than anyone else I know. Than anyone else who is willing to share,” I amended drolly, thinking of Bonnie Brock and his stubborn silence.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes, and I’m equally certain she’ll lend me her carriage to drive me home when we’re done.” I turned my head to glance at him over my shoulder. “Who are you going to see?”

“Knighton. If I’m not greatly mistaken, his mother was a Lennox.”

“Oh,” I exclaimed, for I was rather fond of Gage’s friend from his Cambridge days. And perhaps more importantly, I trusted whatever he had to tell us. “Is he still staying at his home in Hermiston?”

“Yes, so I won’t return until late this afternoon.”

I nodded. “Give Mr. Knighton my best.”

“The same to Lady Bearsden and Lady Stratford. And Kiera?” He paused in his ministrations to lean forward so he could look me in the eye. “Don’t put on too brave of a face. If you’re in pain, go home. And have Jeffers send for Dr. Fenwick.”

“I will,” I promised, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Don’t worry about me.”

He nodded, but I could tell he didn’t quite believe me.

And well, he shouldn’t. For I had no intention of ceasing this investigation—short of actually going into labor—until it was over. The last thing I wanted hanging over my head was the knowledge that Rookwood’s murderer was still out there, and that Lennox’s sequel might cause me and my child more damage than even the original.

•   •   •

Two hours later, I arrived home tired and dispirited, for this time, Lady Bearsden’s encyclopedic knowledge of all of society’s gossip had failed to produce the answers we sought. She recalled the fact that May Kincaid had possessed a number of Lennox cousins, but she couldn’t remember precisely which ones would have been of the appropriate age and rank to have potentially ruined her and then set her up in a cottage, before abandoning her after Bonnie Brock’s birth.

I knew it was unfair to expect her to recollect every tidbit of gossip from the past thirty years, but I was disappointed nonetheless. A fact Charlotte hadn’t missed, for she’d promised to pay me a call on Monday, or sooner, if her great-aunt remembered anything.

“Unfruitful morning, my lady?” Jeffers asked as he took my bonnet.

“Not fruitful enough,” I replied with a forced smile. “Is Miss McEvoy in?”

“I believe she is.”

I paused in the removal of my gloves, trying to figure out why his voice sounded strained around the edges. However, his expression was as unruffled as ever. “Please have her bring up a hot water bottle,” I told him before moving toward the stairs.

Once inside my bedchamber, I sank down on the edge of the bed with a long sigh. Closing my eyes, I leaned forward so that the muscles in my back stretched taut. But I could only lean so far without the risk of toppling forward. So I slid my feet back to the floor and turned to stand facing the bed, before bending over in a rather undignified pose. Indecorous though it might have been, it relieved the pressure in my back.

Which was why, a short time later