The modest study at Longbourn was dimly lit, the candle on Alexander's desk flickering as he leaned back in his chair. The night was still, save for the soft scratching of his pen against parchment and the distant creak of the house settling. His gaze flickered over the notes he had made earlier that day—snippets of conversation from the marketplace, a list of names from the local militia records, and a few curious details about the coming harvest.

A pattern was forming, but he had yet to see the full shape of it.

His musings were interrupted by the arrival of a letter, its wax seal bearing the familiar crest of the Earl of Ashbourne. Alexander exhaled sharply, knowing his old friend would have words for him. He reached for his penknife, slicing through the wax and unfolding the paper.

Ravensworth,

I have long suspected you take pleasure in vexing me, but truly, this time you have outdone yourself. I have written to you twice, and yet, you remain silent as the grave. If I did not know you better, I might assume you had taken some foolhardy notion into your head and run off to god-knows-where on some ill-advised adventure.

In any case, I trust you have not been shot, imprisoned, or otherwise rendered incapable of responding to me. And if I am wrong, then let your ghost be assured that I shall take great pleasure in haunting you in return.

Now, on to matters of the capital. The ton is much the same as when you left it, though my patience for its absurdities diminishes by the day. There has been talk of French sympathizers—though as usual, most of it is the empty chatter of people who know nothing of the world beyond their drawing rooms. Still, I suspect the whispers are not entirely without cause. I have written to our mutual acquaintance in Whitehall, but as of yet, I have received nothing of substance.

More importantly, your sister arrived in London last week and promptly made a spectacle of herself upon discovering your continued absence.Viscountess Worthinghamis of the firm opinion that you have abandoned all sense of propriety and responsibility, and as you well know, once she forms an opinion, nothing short of divine intervention can change it. She has informed me—at length—that your failure to be found at your London house is an unforgivable slight. I leave it to you to mend that particular rift, as I have no intention of serving as the mediator of your quarrel with her.

And now, my friend, I must ask—where the devil are you?

And do not insult my intelligence with evasions. I will uncover the truth, whether you wish it or not.

Yours in exasperation,

Ashbourne

Alexander chuckled as he folded the letter. Thomas had always been a sharp observer, but thankfully, he had not yet pieced together the full truth. His suspicions about the French whispers were well-founded, though. If word was already circulating in London, it meant that whoever Alexander was hunting here in Hertfordshire was not acting alone.

But the matter of his sister was another issue entirely. Alexander had long been accustomed to his sister's sharp tongue and unwavering opinions, but she had always been a force of reason in his life. He would have to write to her soon—if only to prevent her from taking more drastic measures.

Dipping his quill into ink, he composed his response.

Ashbourne,

Your ability to persist in your pestering is nothing short of remarkable. Rest assured, I am quite well, and though your concern is noted, I have no intention of ending up shot, imprisoned, or otherwise incapacitated.

London's theatrics sound as insufferable as ever. As for your suspicions regarding certain whispers—perhaps you are not entirely wrong. However, I trust you to handle matters in the capital as ably as ever. My current occupation requires a measure of discretion, and thus, I must remain vague for the time being. But know this—I have not lost my wits, nor am I in immediate peril.

As for my sister, I will send her my sincerest apologies. Though I suspect nothing short of my immediate appearance in London will satisfy her, I hope a well-worded letter will, at the very least, postpone my execution.

Until we meet again,

Ravensworth

He set the letter aside, watching as the ink dried. The thought of his sister, no doubt incensed by his absence, brought a faint smirk to his lips. He had never been the dutiful brother she wished him to be, but she had long since accepted that he would never fit neatly into the life society expected of him. Still, he owed her a letter, if only to assure her he was alive.

With a sigh, he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple. The walls were closing in. The Darcys were coming, Ashbourne was growing suspicious, and the trail he followed in Hertfordshire was growing colder by the day.

Time was running short.

Alexander stared at Ashbourne's letter for a long moment before sighing and reaching for a fresh sheet of parchment. His sister would expect more than a passing mention in his reply—particularly after she had taken the trouble to travel to London only to find his house empty.

Dipping his quill into the inkwell, he began writing with the practiced ease of a man well-accustomed to soothing tempers without entirely relinquishing his own independence.

Eleanor, My Dearest Sister,

I find myself quite incapable of deciding whether I ought to begin this letter with an apology or a defense of my actions. That you are displeased with me is no surprise—I would expect nothing less from a lady of your temperament—but I do hope you have not made a spectacle of your grievances before half of London. I imagine Ashbourne has delighted in recounting the tale to anyone who would listen.

Know that I did not intend to cause you any distress, nor did I mean to be absent when you arrived at my residence. My departure was necessary, though I cannot, at present, disclose the particulars of it. I assure you, however, that I have not vanished into ruin or disgrace, nor have I taken vows in some remote monastery, though I suspect you might believe either to be possible.

You need not worry. I will return to London before long, and when I do, you may lecture me to your heart's content—though I would entreat you to exercise some restraint in the presence of our dear Ashbourne, lest you encourage him further in his habit of mocking my every decision.

How are my niece and nephew? I trust the boy has not yet developed his father's alarming sense of self-importance, nor the girl your unfortunate skill at persuasion. I have no doubt that both are growing into entirely too much mischief under your watchful eye.

When I return, you must tell me everything that has transpired in my absence. I shall require your assessment of all matters of importance—who has married, who has fallen from grace, and who has made a spectacle of themselves at Almack's. Spare me no details; I shall pretend, for your sake, that I find society as diverting as you do.

You may rest assured that I am quite well, and I promise—though it is not a promise I make lightly—that I shall see you soon.

Until then, I remain,

Your ever-elusive and wholly incorrigible brother,
Alexander

Alexander set the quill aside and allowed the ink to dry before folding the letter carefully and sealing it. His sister would still be vexed, but at least she would know he had not fallen off the edge of the world.

Still, the weight of unfinished business pressed heavily upon him. His time in Hertfordshire was growing short. If he did not uncover the truth soon, he might be forced to leave without the answers he sought.

For now, he pushed the thought aside, ringing for a servant to ensure the letter was sent—one thing at a time.