Chapter Twenty-Eight (Enola POV, Autumn 1889)

"Your Grace," The Duke of Montagu's timeworn butler called into what Enola assumed was his study, "Viscount Tewkesbury and a Miss Enola Holmes to see you, sir."

She could see the duke's shiny blonde hair over the back of his leather chair, and noted a half-filled decanter of amber liquid on the table next to him. He raised his hand and made a gesture towards the butler that conveyed 'Let them in.' without him having to say anything.

Enola tried her best to walk patiently and professionally on Tewkesbury's arm to the chairs further from the door, scanning the room for evidence as she sat.

"I'm supposed to call him Your Grace, correct?" she whispered in his ear. Tewkesbury nodded an affirmative before turning to his friend.

"Tewkesbury, thank you for coming so quickly." The duke finally spoke, his voice gravelly either from emotion or from the alcohol he was using to dampen it.

"Of course, Francis," Tewkesbury said comfortingly, "When I got your telegram, I knew Eno… I mean Miss Holmes would be happy to help."

"Fighting for workers' rights in the house of Lords, engaged to a detective, all before the age of twenty, are you hiding any more modern surprises up your sleeve Tewkey?" Francis quipped, wearily.

"I'll send you a letter if I think of one." Tewkesbury countered, blushing slightly.

Having enough of being ignored, Enola stopped holding her tongue. "Your Grace," she interjected, "I believe you are in need of my help to find an associate of yours?"

The duke's face turned serious again, his freckled nose flaring with stress. "I am Miss Holmes," he explained cautiously, "Her name is Adelaide, and she's a very good friend of mine." He looked suspiciously towards Tewkesbury who seemed to understand.

"Enola understands the situation." Tewkey confirmed.

' I certainly do not understand the situation, Viscount Taciturn.' She yelled inwardly.

Outwardly she managed "How long has your friendship with Adelaide been going on?" through gritted teeth.

"Since Christmas 1887, we were introduced at Lord Forsyth's Yule Ball," Francis reminisced, "I started providing for her that Spring."

"And when did you last see her?" Enola asked, trying to create a timeline of events.

"She was here a week ago," The tired man explained, "I thought she had missed our usual Saturday meeting because she was unwell, but she wasn't in her apartment, and then I received this with some flowers yesterday."

Francis handed Enola a folded piece of paper that was littered with tear stains. She opened it and started reading, feeling Tewkesbury's breath on her neck as he read over her shoulder.

Francis,

Thank you for your support over the last year, I am supremely grateful. I have enjoyed every day in your company, and hope that your future wife will be just as happy here as I have been.

After a lot of thought, I have decided that since you will not make me your bride, I can no longer be party to your transgressions.

I have gone to my aunt's in Nairn if you find any of my possessions and wish to send them onwards.

Please forget that I ever entered your life.

Adelaide.

Enola nodded in thought as she reread the details of the letter. "I am not quite understanding why I have been called in, Your Grace," Enola queried as politely as she could manage, "It seems as if Adelaide has simply moved away?"

The duke swallowed and clenched his jar before speaking, "Adelaide does not have an aunt in Nairn," he explained going back and forth between angry and worried, "Her family are from Coventry, and after her brother disowned her, he threatened scandal on any living members – of which there are very few – who even spoke to her."

"That certainly complicates matters," Enola allowed, searching for hidden meanings in the letter, "You said she sent flowers as well."

"Yes, it was dreadfully strange," Francis thought aloud, "The girl has always been terribly afflicted by allergies and suddenly she's sending me rhododendrons."

"Rhododendrons?" Tewkey cut in, "They are very hard to get to bloom here, especially in Autumn."

"Tewkesbury, while I adore your botany facts," Enola placated, "I fail to see how that could lead us to the whereabouts of your friend."

The duke gave Tewkesbury a look that anyone except Enola would have read as 'You'll have your hands full with her.'

"They might give us other information," he argued back with a charming but smug smile, "Because rhododendrons are not in season, she would have had to order them specifically."

"That would not be too hard for her," Francis retorted, confused, "The stipend she receives allows her to live rather comfortably."

"While solving puzzles is not exactly my greatest skill," Tewkesbury admitted, "I do suspect that Adelaide chose rhododendrons specifically for their meaning."

Instantly a page from her floriography book flashed into Enola's mind as pieces of an unpleasant puzzle all came into focus.

Rhododendron: Caution, danger, distrust.

Whatever colour was left in the Duke of Montagu's face drained as he appeared to see the same image.

"Is it a warning or plea for help?" Enola wondered aloud, studying the page for any other clues."

"A warning?" Tewkesbury countered, his eyebrows creasing.

"That the Duke may be in danger." She explained quickly.

"That would be preferable honestly," Francis admitted, still looking as if he might cast up his accounts at any minute, "I can defend myself, but I can't imagine how scared I would be for Adelaide if she had to do the same."

"Either way," Enola announced, "Whoever is in Nairn, wherever that is, might have more idea than I."

"From memory, it is the seat of the Earl of Cawdor," Tewkesbury explained holding his chin in thought (a mannerism he had surely learnt from Sherlock), then turned to alarmed curiosity, "Wait, are you suggesting going all the way to the Scottish Highlands to hunt down someone who might know whether Adelaide is in danger?"

"I suppose I am, now that I know that Nairn is in the highlands," Enola argued, knowing that Tewkesbury hoping she wouldn't put herself in danger, "For all we know, she might actually be there, perfectly fine, with an Aunt you don't know about."

Both men appeared to be in thought; the duke staring out the window, and Tewkesbury staring Enola down as he wondered whether he had any chance to convince her not to throw herself headfirst into a possibly dangerous situation.

"Do you know the Earl of Cawdor?" Enola asked, interrupting his thoughts.

"Of course," Tewkey answered as if it was as obvious a question as 'do you lay awake thinking of me?', "His son was one of our school chums, I stayed with them one Summer."

"Wonderful, you will be my escort." She declared.

"Escort? As in go with you?" Tewkey stuttered out, not expecting that turn of events.

"Unless you want me to investigate a possibly dangerous situation on my own?" Enola countered, knowing how easily he could be swayed.

In any case, she was correct, another sweet, pleading look in Tewkesbury's direction and he was writing a telegram to the future Earl of Cawdor, asking for permission to visit. While he was doing this, Enola was haranguing the duke for any more information on Adelaide's family and friends that could be helpful.

The last words he said once Enola and Tewkesbury were finally ready to leave shocked both of them; "Please bring her home safely, she is carrying my heir."