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Julius’s grin widened into genuine affection as he linked arms with his beloved relation, assisting her carefully up the broad stone steps, the chill of the autumn evening drawing the scent of turned earth and damp leaves from the hedges flanking the walkway. The heavy oak doors stood open ahead of them, a welcoming blaze of candlelight spilling out to the drive.

Abbott puffed along behind, exhaling through his nose as he followed with the frail husband, resisting the temptation to offer his arm while the gentleman shuffled upward with careful, halting steps.

Soon, they found themselves in the long receiving line in the grand entrance hall, the black-and-white marble floor polished to a gleam under chandeliers heavy with wax tapers. Julius chattered amiably with his great-aunt, ensuring she had no time to reflect on his earlier evasions.

Abbott loomed beside him, peering over the powdered heads of gathered nobles and the swooping feathers of ladies’ turbans, his gaze scanning the space with the intense focus of a military scout on the march. Julius noted the flicker of interest in Abbott’s eyes as he fixed on something beyond the throng, but chose to keep his own attention on charming Aunty Gertrude with reminiscences of country summer fêtes and mutual acquaintances.

At last, they reached a shadowed side corridor leading away from the bustle of the main hall. Julius gently transferred Aunty Gertrude’s fragile arm to that of her husband with courtly precision, murmuring an excuse while bowing slightly.

“It is time to go.”

Abbott, who was still staring toward the head of the receiving line, seemed slow to comprehend that the statement was directed at him. Julius studied him in mild impatience, tapping the gilt handle of his cane against the polished marble floor with a muted click. He wondered what spectacle had so riveted Abbott’s attention—some fluttering silk skirts, no doubt—but he refrained from glancing in the same direction, lest he draw notice to their impending, rather unceremonious, departure.

Instead, Julius tilted his head slightly—a silent command—and bobbed it toward the dimly lit side hall. Chandeliers hung overhead, crystal droplets catching the candlelight and throwing soft glimmers onto the polished walls. Abbott shifted uneasily, casting one last glance at the hall before following in reluctant obedience.

They slipped away into the corridor, the crowd’s chatter fading behind them. And then they stood in the hush of the library, its tall mahogany shelves looming like silent sentinels. A smoky scent of tallow candles mingled with the fusty perfume of old vellum and leather bindings. The single lamp on a side table cast long shadows across the rich Aubusson carpet, which muffled their footsteps in plush detail.

“Do you have any notion how ridiculous you look in this …?” Abbott gestured broadly, fingers splaying to take in Julius’s entire ensemble of gold brocade and immaculate cravat.

“Now, now, Little Breeches. There is no need to tell Banbury stories … I am unduly handsome in my brocade, which we both well know.” Julius let his gloved fingers flick imaginary lint from his lapel, the gold thread catching the lamplight with a rich gleam.

Abbott snorted, the sound low and irritable, echoing faintly in the cavernous space.

Julius narrowed his eyes, amusement warming their green depths as he regarded the taller man. Though Julius was hardly slight himself, Abbott’s broad shoulders and imposing stature made him appear like a statue in evening black. “Did a certain young woman capture your eye out in the hall? You seemed rather bemused.”

Abbott looked away, the stiff line of his jaw betraying his refusal to discuss what, or who, had caught his attention. He examined the spines of nearby books instead, fingers twitching as if longing to pull one down and hide behind it.

“Is Aunty not surprised at our departure? I thought you were to catch up?” Abbott’s sneer was thin, an ill-fitted mask to deflect the conversation.

Julius merely grinned, leaning one hip against the heavy oak table cluttered with correspondence and an ivory-handled letter opener. “Aunty will quite forget she saw me tonight by the time she reaches the head of the line. She and Uncle are easily distracted these days, especially with a full assembly of acquaintances to greet. I saw an opportunity to proceed with our plans.”

“What is the plan?” Abbott asked, folding his arms tightly over his broad chest, the wool of his coat straining across wide shoulders.

“I think I shall wander about and gather information while you search Smythe’s study.” Julius adjusted his signet ring thoughtfully, eyes glinting in the low light as he studied Abbott’s discomfort.

He could see Abbott struggling with the roles Julius had assigned. After all, sneaking through another gentleman’s private rooms was not the most honorable pursuit. Yet they both knew Julius was better suited to the arts of subtlety, misdirection, and carefully spun lies.

There were six men to investigate, but Smythe topped their list. As the heir to a barony, he was a promising suspect, given that the murdered Baron of Filminster had been seated with other barons on the day of his death.

Rumors in the clubs whispered of Smythe selling off family assets. Filminster himself had pointed out that a man with mounting debts could be driven to a passionate act—murder—if the late baron had threatened his hoped-for inheritance.

Abbott finally relented, his gaze flicking to the door as if already planning his route. “I shall meet you in the ballroom when I am done.”

Julius nodded, suppressing the urge to laugh outright, and offered a courtly bow that made the gold embroidery on his coat shimmer like captured firelight. “Have fun, Little Breeches. You may learn interesting things when you search through a man’s private belongings.”

Abbott frowned, lines deepening on his usually impassive face, but before he could respond, Julius left him to his own devices with a clipped turn of his polished heel.

He slipped back into the crowded ballroom, where warm candlelight glowed against gilt moldings and the press of dancers made the air thick with perfume and sweat. Chandeliers shed flickering light over the sea of jewel-toned gowns and embroidered coats. Julius forced a bland smile, circulating through dull conversations with peers whose powdered wigs and thin lips spoke of ancient family money.

All the while, his sharp gaze tracked Smythe, standing in a corner among older gentlemen with heads inclined in conspiratorial closeness. Not the moment to approach.

Julius scanned the crowd for someone more amenable to loose tongues. Thirty feet away, Lord and Lady Astley and their set were drifting toward the terrace, feathered fans flicking as they laughed behind gloved hands. The heat of so many bodies made the ballroom stifling, the scent of roses wilting in heavy air.

Excellent.

Astley would be easy to pump for information, especially given his connection to Lord Snarling.

Julius adjusted his gold-embroidered coat and moved swiftly after them, navigating around swirling skirts and nodding graciously to matrons he passed. He slipped through the tall glass doors, inhaling cooler air that smelled faintly of damp grass and distant river.