Dalton, the ancient butler, offered them a characteristically stoic greeting. “Miss Carlisle. I trust you had a pleasant trip to the continent. Lovely to have you home.”

“Thank you, Dalton,” Lottie smiled. “I’ve acquired a maid along the way. Can you send Valentina to Mrs. Houston?”

Before the butler could answer, Mr. Wetherby pulled her aside. “Mrs. Houston remains at the house in Surrey. Only a skeleton staff has been kept on. Your uncle did not want his illness to become known.”

Lottie could not hide her shock. Her uncle was normally so exacting that he insisted Mrs. Houston keep house wherever he was in residence. That he would send her away now, when he was in such a state, was unimaginable.

“I will gladly show the young lady to your room, Miss Carlisle,” Dalton intoned behind them.

“Thank you,” she called over her shoulder. Mr. Wetherby was already herding her toward the stairs. She briefly exchanged a glance with Valentina, whose worried brow only unsettled her further.

“Mrs. Houston should be here. Forgive me, but this makes no sense.”

Mr. Wetherby didn’t even look at her. “That isn’t your concern.”

Lottie gritted her teeth. This cloak-and-dagger business was becoming ridiculous. Over the last few years, Uncle Alfred had constantly worried about his influence. If it were anyone else, they would have been called paranoid. But not Uncle Alfred. He merely claimed to be cautious. It was exhausting.

They made their way down the darkened hallway toward her uncle’s suite of rooms. Mr. Wetherby paused by the door. “You should prepare yourself, Miss Carlisle,” he warned. “By all accounts your uncle has made a remarkable recovery, but he is still much changed. He has lost the use of his right arm and his speech is slurred at times, particularly in the evening hours.”

Guilt swelled in her chest. Over the last few days she had barely thought of her uncle with anything other than anger. “I see.”

Mr. Wetherby began to soften ever so slightly, but then he caught himself and stood even straighter. “I’m afraid I can allow only a short visit today. The best time to speak to him is in the mornings, as that is when he is most alert.”

Lottie bristled at his high-handedness. Mr. Wetherby was her uncle’s secretary, a trusted employee, certainly, but here he was acting like the head of the family. Like Uncle Alfred’s heir. “I have no desire to exhaust him, sir. I myself have had a tiring journey.”

Mr. Wetherby’s face remained hard, but his words were oddly gentle. “Of course you have. I’ll see to it that your maid has everything you require.”

Lottie nodded. “Thank you.”

Mr. Wetherby gave a soft warning knock and entered the suite’s sitting room. All the curtains were drawn and a fire was lit in the hearth, while a gas lamp provided a warm glow. The air was stifling and filled with a familiar medicinal aroma. Lottie instinctively held her breath. Once as a child she had spent weeks in the sickroom while ill with a fever. The smell of astringent still turned her stomach. An older nurse sat in a rocking chair leafing through a magazine. The door to Uncle Alfred’s bedchamber was open, and Lottie caught a glimpse of his massive four-poster bed.