"My men spotted two different individuals following you around."

"Did you manage to identify them?"

"No."

"Did you attempt to follow?"

The corner of his lips twitched into a smile. "Of course."

"And?"

"They have a lodging in Haram."

Her eyes rolled. "Of course. Naturally." She frowned when he just looked at her with an expression that was close to amusement. "What?"

"You seem to be familiar with these types of work. For a lady of your status, it is quite uncommon."

"I'm an Everard," she easily dismissed with a wave of her hand. "I know many things. And I told you I'm a secret member of Grey's. A fact you still do not believe."

"Because I find it hard to believe."

"Someday, I'll prove it to you." Her words snapped them back to reality and she said, "And of Faye's papers?"

He nodded, pushing a document in her direction. "The moment she picks a name, you have to fill this in. Once it is done, it will be processed."

"That's all?" she asked, awed.

"For common people, that's not all. They have to wait for months—even years—for this."

She smiled. "You just made me feel guilty."

"I'm glad you are." He leaned back into his chair. "Faye—That's her name for now?"

"That's what we call her for now."

"Has she said anything more about where she came from? The place she escaped from?"

"All she's willing to say it that it's a manor."

"We need more than that."

"I'll try again."

"Her parents?"

"None. The ladies imprisoned with her raised her."

He frowned at her. "You mean she has never been anywhere?"

"If her story is true, yes."

"We need to know who this manor belongs to," he said, standing up to stand beside the window.

"We might if I can ask her to retrace her steps from when she escaped."

He slowly nodded, hands in his pockets, shoulder against the windowpane. He was almost a silhouette. "You truly care about her."

"I would not be here if I don't." His brows twitched in what seemed like amusement. "I mean I would not be forcing myself in your home if I don't." That did not sound right either. "I'm not saying I abhor being here. It's just that..." She sighed. "You know what I mean."

Cole slowly nodded. "Meg, if this is difficult for you—"

"It's nothing," she snapped. "This is nothing. You said so yourself."

"I don't believe that's what I said."

"You said nothing can happen. Nothing is happening. Not even a progress to this case, see?"

He was about to smile, but he stopped himself and shook his head. "I will find out who is spying on you."

"And you will inform me once you do?"

He nodded.

"Good. Because I hate being spied on." That's my job, she added to herself as she stood. "Do not bother for tea. I'm leaving. Thank you for the papers. I will return them once I can."

***

When she saw Maxwell and Nicholas in the parlor upon her arrival, she had an inkling why they were there, and when their eyes immediately assessed her as she sashayed into the room, she knew they had been talking about her. Perhaps for quite some time now.

It had been more than a week since Levi and Tori's wedding, but Maxwell and Nicholas nearly never missed an afternoon of tea in the Everard House.

They were curious, she concluded, as she took a seat beside Maxwell. "I was thinking it is about time for your yearly hunting trip," she conversationally started.

Nicholas cocked his brows. "Eager to see us go, sister?"

"No, merely trying to have a nice chat."

"Where have you been to?"

"Lady Archibald," she easily lied. "You see, although her son is distasteful, I do quite enjoy the old lady's company. Poor woman was heartbroken after she learned that Tori did not accept her son's hand for marriage."

The look they gave her was filled with doubt, but as they always did, they remained silent and decided to engage in the topic of hunting instead.

Her brothers were not the only cause of concern, of course. There were also the twins. They had always been nosy, but this time she knew they were out of worry. The occasional look of concern they threw her when they thought she was not looking was not settling well with her.

Fortunately, Faye could be considered a distraction for the entire household, even for her mother. Ysabella and Emma had been busy teaching the girl how to read and write. Ysabella and Emma said that it was Agatha who gave them the idea before she left for Devonshire.

"We must have a name for her," said Emma that evening.

"Let's give Faye the freedom to choose her new name," she told them. "I would not want to hear the both of you suggesting anything to her unless she asks."

"We have not suggested anything to her," Ysabella countered. "She is quite resolved to choosing one for herself, if you must know."

"How is she faring?" she asked.

"Quite good, actually," Emma said. "She's a good learner."

"I'm glad she has the willingness we never had," Ysabella said with a laugh.

"Very good, then," Margaret said with approval. "Mother is quite glad you are using your free time to good use." She gave her last sentence a meaningful tone but whether or not the twins got the hint, she could not tell as they both went on to talk about Faye's progress and Ysabella's recent frustrations on the unanswered letters she sent to Wakefield.

Margaret let them talk as she found it best to entertain them with their own stories.

When everyone was ready to go to bed, Margaret called for Faye. The girl looked beautiful, her hair tied in a ribbon. Certainly Ysabella's touch, Margaret fondly noted.

"I hope it's okay with you, Faye," she said, "that I called for you. I know it's your bedtime."

"I'm not sleepy at all, my lady."

She approached Faye and sat across from her. "Do you remember when I told you the other day that I may ask you some difficult questions?"

The girl nodded, eyes beginning to get restless.

Margaret covered her hand with hers. "You don't have to answer if you're not ready."

Again, Faye nodded.

"Can you tell me anything about the manor? Anything at all? Do you remember any detail?"

Faye shifted in her seat, her brow furrowed as she tried to think. She blinked a few times, and Margaret could imagine her mind rushing through memories. "We're rarely allowed outside, but when we are, it's beautiful."

"The manor?" Margaret eagerly asked.

Faye nodded. "It's magnificent."

"What else?"

At the question, Faye stiffened. Her hands went cold.

"Faye?"

The girl's eyes looked distant now, as if she was back where she came from. "It's cold. But beautiful, too."

"Is it dark?"

Faye's frown deepened. "No. Only at night. When the sun comes down."

Margaret stiffened. "The sun? Does the estate sit under a hole?"

"No. There are no holes." As Margaret continued to look at her with confusion, Faye's eyes scanned the room. "There's just sky," the girl murmured. "And a cliff overlooking the bluest of oceans."

***

Margaret was waiting in his study. He never called for her, and they had not agreed to meet. He would rather they do so only when very necessary, and only on prearranged times, but when she told his butler that she had important new information to share, he had to see her.

As he was leaving his bedchamber, however, Hugh came in and said, "My lord, this letter arrived minutes ago. The footman who took it here insisted that you read it at once."

Cole frowned. A footman?

He stared at the letter. It was from Edmund Trilby.

"Send fresh tea to the study. Lady Margaret must also be in need of sandwiches," he ordered the butler.

As soon as the door closed, he opened the letter.

I just recently confirmed it. The League is investigating you for the murder. As my source is a reliable one, I'm afraid this is true. They also have evidence against you and I was told it's quite a strong one. What I fear has finally been confirmed. Please send advice as soon as you can.

Please be wary. Tell her what you must, but never let her control you.

***

While waiting, Margaret looked into the drawers of the cabinet in the corner, checking its contents while acting nonchalant, although she knew she would not find anything there.

Nothing's here. She had to find a way to go to his Ashdown estate.

Or maybe there is simply nothing to be found, she thought as she closed the last drawer.

She wanted to tell her mentor to go to hell and find a better suspect, but that would be very unprofessional.

"My lady, I don't think his lordship will appreciate this," an anxious voice said before the study door opened. Margaret turned just in time for her heart to stop. The footman was looking utterly distraught and the reason for such expression was right in front of him.

Ida Devitt, Cole's mother, stood in the doorway, looking straight at her with horror and murder in her eyes.