“My lady,” he said, retrieving his cane, “we wish you good day. His Grace of Walden is delivering a long overdue birching to Stapleton’s conscience and to his exchequer. Duncan Wentworth will document the agreement reached, and I’d advise against disturbing them. You will have complete control of your son’s upbringing by the time they are through.” He offered a bow, though Harmonia wasn’t looking at him.

Abigail did not curtsy, and neither did Harmonia. Something female and complicated was afoot between them, which was to be expected. Stephen opened the door and escorted Abigail to the waiting coach.

“That went rather well,” he said, handing her in. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I have the letters,” Abigail replied, taking her place on the forward-facing seat. “I thought…I don’t know what I thought.”

Stephen took the place beside her, when he wanted to ruck up her skirts and share with her the most primal of joys.

“We vanquished all comers.” He kissed her hand, which reminded him that she yet wore gloves. Those he dispensed with—his and hers—and after he’d kissed her knuckles, he kissed her cheek. “My mood has turned affectionate. This happens when I have a breakthrough with a design. Does solving a case have the same happy result in the inquiry business?”

“Sometimes.”

And apparently, sometimes not. Stephen tucked an arm around Abigail’s shoulders and she subsided against him. Perhaps she too was plagued by a niggling sense of overlooked details, or puzzle pieces that had fallen off the table. As long as the letters were in hand, those puzzle pieces could be picked up later.

“I should have focused on the dates sooner,” he said, stroking her hair. “Should have known that’s what had Stapleton in such a swither. The butler mentioned that the boy’s birthday is next week, and that jostled something in my brainbox. Ned pointed out that Champlain wrote to you every Monday and Thursday, which was also a helpful nudge in the direction of noticing the dates.”

Stephen paused long enough to kiss Abigail’s temple. “By the by,” he went on, “you are soon to be comfortably well off as inquiry agents go. Both Fleming and Stapleton will offer you reparation in the form of bank drafts. I know your pride will tempt you to reject these sums, but I must advise you—advise only, of course—to consider that you are owed every penny.”

He was babbling, mostly for joy, because Abigail’s enemies had been thoroughly routed, but also from a growing sense that something with Abigail was amiss. What had he overlooked about the situation relating to her?

“You aren’t arguing with me. My darling Miss Abbott never misses an opportunity to air her opinions.” His darling Miss Abbott didn’t take that bait, so he blundered on. “Fleming is off for an extended tour of the Continent, or maybe his papa will force him on the diplomatic corps, though he’ll probably start some minor wars, given his dunderheadedness.”

Abigail put her fingers to Stephen’s lips. “Hush. The day did not go as I’d planned. I was sure Fleming had taken the letters.”