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Hugh was quiet for the next moment, but she suspected what he was preparing to say. She was correct.

“I am bringing you home to rest, and that is where I would like you to stay.”

“Hugh—”

“I’ll rouse Sir and have him visit a few of Mr. Harwood’s neighbors. Their servants may have seen something last night. I’ll visit the gentlemen’s clubs myself to verify everyone’s alibis.”

“I do not need rest,” Audrey insisted. How could he possibly think she would be able to lie down and sleep when Tobias was the primary suspect in a murder investigation?

“I also cannot bring you with me to a gambling hell, nor to see Victor Messinger, to whom I will be paying a call. Please, Audrey,” he said, sounding and looking beleaguered.

The noises of the passing street outside and the rattling of their carriage filled the air. Frustration sealed her lips into a tight seam. She couldn’t trust herself not to shout, so she said nothing at all.

Oh, but how she hated feeling stymied. Her husband’s loving care was something she reveled in most of the time. But to be set aside now, when she could be of use, left her grappling for some bit of purpose.

As Carrigan drew them along the pavements outside their home on Berkeley Square, an idea came to her. There was, in fact, something she might be able to do to assist her former brother-in-law.

“I am going to call on Lady Susan Ritchson,” Audrey announced as Hugh handed her down from the carriage.

His fingers closed around hers, not letting her go right away. “Miss Harwood’s friend?”

“A visit with her won’t be so out of the ordinary, and I can see what she knows about the situation.”

Audrey pulled free from his grip and made for the front door without taking his arm, as she would have normally done. She heard Hugh dismissing Carrigan and asking him to have Norris come around with his carriage, an unintentional snap to the request.

“My lord, my lady,” Whitlock, their butler, greeted as she and Hugh entered the entrance hall. He extended a wax-sealed note toward Hugh. “This arrived for you, my lord.”

His method of speech as well as his movements were slow, like drizzling honey, and Audrey had learned to be patient with him. Hugh, however, became irritated with him quite easily and nearly snatched the note from the butler’s hand. He lifted the seal and read the letter quickly.

“It’s from Sir Gabriel. He wants an update on the inquiry,” he explained as he waved off Rivers’s attempt to take his hat and coat. “Sir!” he bellowed, causing everyone to start. His shout would have reached Sir wherever he was, either still slumbering in his bedchamber or eating in the kitchens.

“I am happy to fetch him, my lord,” Whitlock offered. It would, Audrey knew, be the proper way to summon someone.

“Not necessary, Whitlock, thank you,” Hugh replied with a barely concealed roll of his eyes. He didn’t add that it would have taken far longer for the butler to find the boy.

While waiting for Sir to arrive, Hugh approached Audrey. She had removed her hat and cloak and given them to Rivers.

“Lady Susan won’t yet know that her friend is dead,” Hugh said. Meaning Audrey would be the one to inform her. She didn’t relish having to break such news, but she also couldn’t be a coward about it.

“I will be thoughtful,” she said.

“I wasn’t suggesting you wouldn’t be.” He sighed and took her hand as she was trying to peel off a glove. “I can call on Lady Susan later this afternoon. You don’t need to go.”

The rapid thump of footfalls sounded from above, and then Sir appeared at the top of the stairs, followed closely by Basil’s tall, trim figure.

“I know I don’t need to. I want to go.” Again, Audrey tugged her hand from his.

Never had she felt cornered by her husband’s touch, but right then, the sensation of being trapped suddenly overwhelmed her. At Hugh’s confused expression, she realized he’d felt her pushing him away and experienced instant guilt for it. But she would not yield.

“Tobias needs help,” she said. “I am not incapable, and I will not act as if I am. I can manage a call on Lady Susan. Trust me with this, Hugh.”

Sir had bounded into the entrance hall and snapped his coat and hat from Rivers, while Basil had come off the steps more primly. He held one of Hugh’s jackets.

“Where’re we off to, Mister Hugh?” the boy asked.

“If you are going out again, may I suggest a change in attire?” Basil raised the jacket in his hands: a deep umber, double-breasted tailcoat, cut of warm velvet.

“What is wrong with the coat I’m wearing?” Hugh grumbled, peering down at his buckskin morning coat.