A Wicked Conceit Anna Huber (learn to read activity book TXT) 📖

“He was, but the children were so fond of him, and he them, that I decided he would be better off here.”

“Perhaps for his self-consequence, but not for his health,” she quipped.

“Did Alana send you to find me?”

The manner in which she scrutinized my features told me I hadn’t done a good job of masking my irritation with my sister. “Your husband, actually. He thought it might look too conspicuous if he slipped out. Said I would find you either here or in the nursery.”

My lips curled reflexively that he knew me so well. “The children are asleep.”

She advanced into the room, reaching out to pet the top of Earl Grey’s head. “I suspected. Alana always was better than I am at finding nursemaids who can make the children mind. Oh, now you’re in heaven, aren’t you?” she crooned to the cat. “Why’d you name him after the prime minister?”

I shrugged. “It seemed to suit him. And he’s gray.”

I looked up to find her face alive with amusement.

“Is that funny?”

“It is, actually. But I’m more amused with you, hiding up here with a fat cat.”

I frowned. “I’m not hiding. I couldn’t care less what those gossips think. Though I know Alana wishes me to be more civil than to tell them that to their faces.”

“That’s not entirely true,” she replied much too reasonably. “But in any case, they’re not the people you’re hiding from.” Her eyes lifted to bore into mine. “Are they?”

I didn’t respond. There was no need to. She already knew she was correct.

Morven shook her head and resumed her petting. “For all that you two are the closest sisters I know, you can be remarkably obtuse about each other.”

I glowered at her, uncertain whether I should take offense.

“Have you tried talking to her?”

“When I can get a word in edgewise between her reproaches.”

Morven sighed and stood upright, crossing her arms over her chest. “Have you told her you’re investigating the anonymous author of The King of Grassmarket?”

I paused in my ministrations of Earl Grey, who whined in protest before sinking his head onto the mound of my abdomen. “How did you know about that?”

“Jack saw you entering Rookwood Publishing this morning, so it stood to reason that’s why you were there.”

It was my turn to sigh, this time in aggravation.

“Given the fact she thinks you’re taking a respite from investigating, don’t you think you should inform your sister before she finds out from someone else?”

“Finds out what?” Alana demanded to know as she entered the room. Her gaze riveted on me before dipping to my lap. She cringed. “Oh, Kiera. I know you love that cat, but now is hardly the time to pet him. Your skirt will be covered with hair, if not ruined from his claws.”

I resumed petting him in silent defiance.

She huffed. “Now, what am I not to find out?”

Morven turned to me, her eyebrows communicating both an apology and an insistence I be the one to tell her.

“Gage and I are attempting to uncover the author’s real identity.” There was no need to specify which author, for there was only one writer on all our minds at the moment.

I braced for anger and umbrage, but Alana surprised me by nodding in hearty agreement. “Good. He should be held accountable for his spurious accusations. And so should his publisher.”

I blinked in astonishment. Something that my sister found as vexing as Morven found humorous, covering her mouth with her hand.

“Stop gawping at me like a fish,” Alana ordered. “This is a case of libel, not murder.” She turned toward the mirror, adjusting the gold bracelets at the end of each of her long tulle gigot sleeves, and straightened the wide collar of her gown. “Now push that cat off your lap and come back downstairs before all the guests remark upon your absence. Thank heavens you have your condition to make excuses for you.” She paused at the door to issue one last parting shot. “And quit scowling at your husband, or next we’ll be hearing rumors of your unhappy marriage and what precisely led to such a state.”

Alana had scarcely disappeared before Morven burst out laughing. “My apologies,” she gasped. “But your face! You should have known how your sister would react, you ninny. Is she not as ferocious as a Greek fury whenever one of her loved ones is threatened?”

Morven was right. Alana had always been fiercely protective of her family, including me. Whether she was defending me from a young lord trifling with my affections, the ridicule of society, or the barbarous slander printed in the newspaper, my sister had always been one of my staunchest supporters.

Which was why her most recent actions and criticisms had been so bewildering and hurtful. I could appreciate that she was anxious for the safety of me and my child. I could even understand why she would suggest I temporarily withdraw from taking part in any murderous inquiries. What I couldn’t accept was her determination that I should retire from assisting Gage in his work as a gentleman inquiry agent entirely and forever.

She knew what pride I’d taken in discovering I was skilled at working out the complexities of my and Gage’s investigations, and the sense of purpose I derived in wrangling the truth into the light and bringing justice to those who had been wronged or murdered. At least, those were the hoped-for aims, when the great and powerful didn’t step in to prevent it, as with our last inquiry. But at least, in that case, we had prevented the blame from falling on someone innocent.

That she should brush my feelings and accomplishments aside in her single-minded effort to impose her will by forcing me to conform to the familiar mold pressed upon every upper-class lady—a mold I had never fit—was both baffling and distressing. I had always been able to rely upon my sister’s unwavering, rock-solid support, but now, when I needed it most, I found that it was built