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to my brother’s.”
    The boy’s eyes grew round. “But he wished you to arrive at one-thirty this afternoon.”
    “He’ll have to live with disappointment.” Marcus was well acquainted with the emotion. He’d directed plenty at Robert over the years, on the few occasions he’d paid him any attention at all.
    “But…I can’t.” The boy looked terrified.
    “You will. Or I’ll get out and you can return without me. Those are the options. And after we dispense with this, you’ll be taking me to run an errand. Edwin, get inside.”
    Edwin hauled himself into the carriage and sat across from him.
    “It will be slow going, sir,” the boy said from the driver’s perch. “The fog has grown right thick, it has.”
    In a few minutes the carriage began to crawl forward. Robert stared out the window. He couldn’t see an inch past the carriage and wondered how the driver was able to see at all. Not the brightest time to be out in the weather, but his brother had insisted.
    Why had he?
    “I assume you reached out to your contact yesterday,” he said to Edwin, who had remained silent as was normal on their excursions.
    “You read the paper, didn’t you?” Edwin gave him an affronted look. “I met with him yesterday to give details of Lady Melrose’s departure, as we knew they’d discover it anyway, and your supposed activities in various gambling hells last night. They appeared in the column this morning.” He tsked. “I still find it appalling that they write such ‘news’ without verification of the story.”
    “You are their verification. They pay you to do their work and provide information. I gather they don’t much care if it isn’t true.” Robert shrugged. “It works in our favor.” When you provided the information, you controlled what was said.
    Had Marcus read the news with his morning tea? The gossipers would have had a field day had they seen Lily leaving with her trunks and belongings, and the items Robert ensured Edwin placed in the paper would only compound the gossip.
    A half hour later, they arrived at Wayfair House. Surrounded by a black and gold iron gate, the grand, white house stood in the center of impeccable manicured gardens like a queen granting an audience with the world. Just the sight of it tightened Robert’s cravat around his neck and he reached up to loosen it.
    The carriage came to a halt, and he turned to Edwin. “I’ll be back shortly. Wait here.”
    “Where else would I be?” Edwin’s dry tone brought a slight curve to Robert’s lips, then he opened the door and hopped out.
    “Sir, let me—” the footman started, but Robert ignored him. With solid strides, he made his way through the gate and up to the front door. Without waiting for a by your leave, he pushed the door open and moved into the foyer. This was the house of his childhood, but amidst the cold statues, cold marble floor and white on white décor, there were no fond memories.
    Ghosts lurked in every crevice. Invisible spurs waited around corners to bring him to his knees. The veil of invisibility that he’d felt as a child became his shadow. He loosened his cravat again.
    “Mr. Melrose, I did not hear the door,” boomed a firm voice.
    Robert turned and immediately drew his shoulders back. “Hasgood.”
    Hasgood had been with their family for Robert’s entire life, and even at his age, he maintained a ramrod posture. The man stood a handful of inches over six feet, with broad shoulders and a reed thin frame. Silver hair flanked a long, lean face that held no warmth, his mouth a thin slash of disapproval. Robert was on the receiving end of that expression so often from so many, it almost felt like affection.
    Robert turned away, throwing over his shoulder, “I am looking for my brother.”
    “He is in a meeting. But may I show you to the parlor? You may await him there.”
    “He summoned me, and I am here now.”
    If Hasgood had offered the parlor, his brother was meeting in the library.