I exhaled in disappointment.
“But . . . I know someone who might. That is, if there truly is something to find.” He stared across the desk at me. “Do you really trust this Bonnie Brock’s word enough that you want me to ask?” I lifted my gaze to the portrait of Alana and the children hanging above the fireplace. Greer had still been an infant, cradled in my sister’s arms. Soon I would need to paint a new one, with their fourth child added to the grouping. Though, perhaps this one should include Philip as well, no matter how he protested.
“I do,” I told Philip. “At least enough to make a few discreet inquiries. If nothing comes of this, I’ll let the matter drop. But I can’t help thinking the man went out of his way to give me this information and ask me to help find his sister. What reason would he have to do that and then lie?”
“I don’t know. But I suppose he’s as human as the rest of us. If he truly cares about his sister and wants to find her, he would try to help you however he could. Though why he didn’t just give you the culprit’s name confuses me.”
“Me, too.”
And that was the question that bothered me most. Why hint at the truth? Why play games if your sister’s well-being is at stake?
Unless it was a question of honor. And Bonnie Brock certainly seemed to value that attribute. He had not liked my questioning it. Maybe his personal code prevented him from revealing the man’s name. Perhaps he’d made a promise or a bargain, and now could not go back on it, but he could point me in the right direction.
That was something I hadn’t considered before. Sometimes a vow of silence prevented someone from sharing what they wanted.
I studied my brother-in-law’s open face, hoping he hadn’t taken a vow of silence as well.
“Philip, is everything well at Blakelaw House?”
His brow lowered in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“It’s just . . . Trevor has been acting a bit strange lately. And whenever I ask him about it, he tells me there’s nothing to worry about and changes the subject. Is . . . he having money problems?”
Philip offered me a kind smile. “This is something you really need to speak to Trevor about.”
“But he’s confided in you?”
“Well, yes. To a certain extent.”
I gripped the arms of my chair tighter. “He isn’t going to lose the estate, is he?”
“No, no. Nothing like that,” he assured me. “But Trevor is a grown man. He’s learning to deal with his failures as well as his successes. And it’s really up to him who he wants to know about them.”
I frowned. “Does this have to do with the disreputable crowd he fell in with after my scandal broke?”
Philip’s mouth tightened while he deliberated over just what to say. He truly seemed torn. “Kiera, I really shouldn’t say more. But I can promise you your brother will come out all right in the end.”
I allowed the matter to drop. It was unfair to keep pressuring him when I should really be quizzing Trevor. But as reassuring as Philip had intended to be, his words did not comfort me.
? ? ?
I was surprised when I found Alana in my bedchamber with my maid Bree. However, one look at the mounting pile of gowns on my bed told me just what was going on.
“Oh, no,” I declared, closing the door firmly. “You are not getting rid of any of my dresses.” I turned to glare at my sister where she reclined on the chaise situated before my fireplace. “You do this every time. And then I’m forced to purchase new ones.”
“Well, that’s the point, dear.”
“Not this time. Bree, put them back.”
“Kiera, be reasonable,” Alana said, keeping her voice at soothing tones. “Some of those gowns are three years out of season. Did you have Lucy hide them from me?” she complained, mentioning my former maid.
“These gowns are all perfectly fine. Especially if I’m traipsing across the countryside at Blakelaw or Gairloch. And even when I’m in town, I don’t leave the house every day.”
“But, dearest, you really should make room for some new gowns. I’ve just had Bree pull out the worst. Take those down to the rubbish bin.”
“No,” I snapped. “Bree, hang them back up.”
The poor girl stood there clutching a dress before her like a shield, watching our argument.
I stabbed my finger at my sister. “You do not get to throw out my possessions. I’ll purchase new gowns when I’m ready. And when they’ve gotten rid of those hideous puffed sleeves,” I added as an afterthought, ignoring the fact that my sister was wearing a dress in that style now.
Her eyes narrowed. “I ordered a new gown for you for the assembly tomorrow night.”
“Please, don’t tell me . . .”
“It is of the current style,” she declared, and I groaned. “Though, out of deference to you, I did ask her to keep the sleeves’ diameter to a minimum. I hope it fits, given you’ve lost weight again, while I’m only gaining it.”