He arched a single eyebrow in impatient chastisement. “Throwing yourself headlong into this investigation.”
I wasn’t sure how to answer him. With his jaw hardened like that, and his legs spread, his feet planted firmly on the carriage floor as if prepared for battle, I knew Trevor would not be placated by a dismissive answer. He was determined to have the truth from me, even if I wasn’t certain precisely what that was.
“I . . . want to find Dodd’s killer.”
“Yes, but Mr. Gage and Uncle Andrew could undoubtedly handle it.”
“Maybe,” I admitted reluctantly. “But I want to help.”
“Why?” When I didn’t immediately answer, he leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. “It’s not as if you have any personal investment in this inquiry. You’re not trying to prove your innocence or protect your family. You’re not attempting to salvage a friend’s reputation,” he rattled off, listing the reasons behind my interference in the last two investigations. His bright lapis lazuli eyes, so like my own, searched my face. “Why are you so determined to be involved?”
I crossed my arms over my chest and turned once again to stare out the window, unable to still meet my brother’s probing gaze. Irritatingly, he was right. I did want to bring Dodd’s killer to justice and give Willie some peace, but that wasn’t my sole motivation. It couldn’t be.
“Kiera,” Trevor murmured, gentling his tone. “You don’t sleep. You barely eat. And since you arrived at Blakelaw House, you’ve hardly lifted a paintbrush.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but he forestalled me.
“I know you pretend. But you’ve been working on the same landscape since you arrived, and it looks worse than that painting in Uncle Andrew’s receiving room.”
I scowled at him, but he ignored it, continuing on relentlessly.
“You hate painting landscapes, Kiera. So why are you even attempting one?”
I stared blindly out the window at the countryside passing by.
“Kiera?”
“Because every portrait I begin is rubbish,” I finally snapped.
“Why?”
I shrugged, unable to put it all into words. The last portrait I had completed had been of my friend Will, just after he died. And once it was finished, it seemed, so was I. It was as if my desire and my ability to capture the essence of people on canvas, which had always been my solace in times of distress, had deserted me also.
Trevor sat back in his seat. “Then do you really think you should be getting involved with another investigation after everything that happened with the last one?”
“It wasn’t the investigation.”
He arched his eyebrows in skepticism.
“It wasn’t,” I insisted. “If I hadn’t gotten involved, then William Dalmay might never have been cleared, and that . . . blackguard . . . might have gone on to harm more innocent people. I don’t regret that. I can’t.” I swallowed the lump of emotion gathering in my throat. “What I regret is that Will had to die. And in such a horrible way.”
Trevor reached into his pocket and offered me his handkerchief, but I shook my head at him angrily.
“I don’t like feeling helpless,” I said, glaring at him. “And this is something I can do. Something I happen to be good at. So if it makes me feel better to be useful, even if it involves a murder investigation, isn’t that better than the alternative?” I shook my head. “I can’t go on as I have been. I know I can’t. You know I can’t.”
My brother studied my features, as if trying to read my thoughts. “You do know that you’re simply distracting yourself from the real problem?”
“Well, maybe that’s just what I need,” I countered. “Remember when Father died?” His gaze dropped from mine. “Did anything truly make you feel better? Except when you found something to occupy your thoughts long enough to make you forget for a little while how sad you were.”
From the stark look that had entered Trevor’s eyes, I knew I had caused him pain, but I could think of no other way to make him understand.
“If helping with this investigation allows me to forget for a time,” I asked him more gently, “then what’s so wrong with that?”
He inhaled deeply and nodded.
I gave a small sigh of relief. Not that I actually thought Trevor would have forbidden me to assist with the inquiry—he was accompanying me back to the abbey, after all—but it would be much easier to proceed with his approval.
“But that doesn’t mean you can go off on your own,” he warned, reassuming his role as big brother. “This is a murder investigation. We don’t know what kind of criminals we’re dealing with. And I have your safety to think of.”
“I understand,” I replied, having become accustomed to the protective stances of the males around me when it came to these investigations. Not that that had always been effective in keeping me safe . . . but I knew better than to argue.