He stared down at me expectantly.
“Could you ask around in Edinburgh about this Dr. Sloane? Perhaps Alana’s physician or one of the surgeons at the Royal College could tell you something about him. I . . .” I dropped my gaze, hesitant to say what I must next, but knowing it might prove necessary. Time was of the essence, and credible intelligence on Sloane invaluable, regardless of my feelings on the matter. Swallowing my trepidation, I stared at where my hand still rested against the shoulder of Philip’s deep blue coat and forced myself to speak, though my words emerged haltingly. “I believe Sir Anthony’s former assistant is an instructor there—a Dr. Renshaw. If you mention my name, I feel relatively certain he will speak with you.”
I could sense the tension in his frame and lifted my gaze to meet his again. His soft brown eyes shone with curiosity, but he did not voice the questions that I knew must be piling up on his tongue.
“Of course,” he replied. “I’ll write to you when we reach Edinburgh, and as soon as I have any information for you.”
“Thank you.”
He nodded while his eyes searched mine, for any sign of wavering in my decision, no doubt. Then he leaned forward to press a kiss to my left cheek. “Take care, Kiera,” he murmured. “And if you must trust someone in my absence, let it be Gage.” He pulled back just far enough so that he could look down at me. “I know it may not always seem it, but he can be trusted.”
Before I could reply, he pressed my hand and walked away, leaving me to stare after him.
I drifted through the doors after the others to wave as the carriages one by one rounded the drive, their wheels crunching on the gravel, and sped away from us down the lane like a trail of lumbering ants carrying food back to their colony. I could feel the warmth of Gage’s body where he stood beside me. His attention was on the departing carriages, and he gave no indication that he had heard Philip’s remarks, but there was a slight puckering on his brow that made me suspect he’d heard at least a portion of his comments.
In any case, I wasn’t about to mention it, and I doubted he would either, so I turned away, determined to ignore the feelings of frustration Philip’s well-intentioned words had dredged up inside me.
Luncheon was a stilted affair, even without the antagonizing presence of Lady Hollingsworth. Most of us were too wrapped up in our own worries to appreciate Laura’s attempts at conversation, and eventually she gave up trying.
Only after the fruits and nuts at the end of the meal had been taken away did Michael mention he had received a reply from Mr. Wallace, the missing girl’s father, inviting us to call at our earliest convenience. “I thought we could ride over this afternoon.”
“I just need twenty minutes to change into my riding habit,” I told him and Gage as I placed my napkin on the table and prepared to rise.
“May I join you?” Miss Remmington surprised us all by asking.
“Elise, I’m not sure . . .” her brother protested while Michael fumbled for a response.
“Please,” she interrupted. Her eyes shone with sincerity. “I knew Miss Wallace, and I want to express my condolences and offer my help.”
“You knew Miss Wallace?” Michael seemed as taken aback by her admission as I was.
Miss Remmington flushed, perhaps in response to our astonishment. “Yes. We met a few times while out walking.” Her gaze darted between Michael, Gage, and me. “I liked her,” she added as if that were particularly important.
Michael looked to Gage and me. “I have no objections.”
Lord Damien, who had been observing this exchange with a scowl, spoke up for the first time. “If Miss Remmington is accompanying you, then I should like to as well.”
Miss Remmington turned to frown at him.
“Now, see here, this isn’t a social call,” Michael replied in irritation. “We are going to offer our condolences, but we are also going to question Mr. Wallace and the authorities to see what can be done to assist them in their search for Miss Wallace. We don’t need either of you causing trouble.”
“I will merely be there to observe,” Damien assured him. “And to offer my assistance if called upon.”
“Elise, perhaps you should remain behind,” Lord Keswick told her, not unkindly.
“No. I have more reason to visit Mr. Wallace than any of them. At least I knew his daughter. Besides,” she added when it looked like her brother would argue further, “Aunt Edna always said it was our Christian duty to comfort the sorrowful and aid the despairing.”
“Aunt Edna also quoted, ‘For Satan finds some mischief still for idle hands to do,’” Keswick added dryly, “but you certainly didn’t agree with her then.”
Miss Remmington scowled at him.
“Nicolas,” Laura protested gently, reaching out to press her hand to her husband’s forearm. “Let her go.”