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“No, Your Grace. Only that it had come from Scotland.”

Meikle. It could only be him. But did a special delivery from the Scottish inventor mean good news or bad? “Where is the satchel now?”

“In your study, Your Grace.”

Sebastian nodded. If Meikle felt that the communication was significant enough to warrant a courier and it had been awaiting Sebastian’s attention for over twenty-four hours, he had best see to it posthaste. “Thank you, Vickers.”

His butler bowed. “You will find several other items of correspondence on your desk, Your Grace, and Mr. Grayson has asked to speak with you at your earliest convenience.”

Sebastian’s steward undoubtedly had a great deal to discuss—not least of which was the need to replace the bridge between Finley Park and the tenants’ cottages. They would have to work swiftly if they were to beat the upcoming winter weather.

“Send word to Grayson, asking him to come by the house tomorrow afternoon,” Sebastian said. “In the meantime, I shall examine the contents of the satchel as soon possible.”

Vickers bowed again. “Very good, Your Grace.”

Rosalind exchanged a few last words with the youngest scullery maid and then joined him at the base of the stone steps. He offered her his arm.

“I am impressed. I believe you may have won over every member of the household before setting foot through the front door.”

She placed her hand on his arm, and they started up the stairs together. “I fear I will only remember half their names.”

“Since that number is well over ten, it is still highly commendable.”

She glanced at him, one eyebrow raised, and his heart warmed to see a familiar hint of humor in her eyes. “Really, Your Grace? Are there so many servants in your employ that you have lost track of their number? There were eighteen in line today, half of which would be nine.”

“True enough,” he said. “But you neglected to count the coachman and the grooms currently taking care of the horses, not to mention my steward and gamekeeper, who are undoubtedly away from the house.”

“Keeping employees hidden from view is cheating,” she huffed.

“As is wheedling top-secret information about me out of my cook.”

Her lips twitched as though she were fighting a smile. “Do not worry. I shall be sure to ask her to make Chelsea buns occasionally.”

They had reached the main doors. Vickers pushed them open, and Sebastian led Rosalind inside. If she had intended to continue their banter, the words died on her lips as she gazed around the vast entrance hall. She had given him the impression that she remembered very little about the house from her visit here as a child, so Sebastian tried to imagine how it would be to see this room for the first time.

Portraits of his ancestors in large gilded frames covered the walls, and a huge chandelier hung suspended from the decorative ceiling. Tall urns adorned the pedestals standing in each corner. Notwithstanding the splendor of the decorations, however, the most imposing feature in the room was the staircase. It swooped into the lobby from the floor above, the intricately carved wooden banister rail as highly polished as the marble floor beneath their feet.

Two passages led off from the hall, one leading to the east wing and one to the west. Sebastian glanced to his left now, toward the east wing. His study was not far away. Indeed, he could see the closed door from where he stood. Perhaps he could retrieve the satchel and check on its contents before dressing for dinner.

“Mrs. Frost.”

The housekeeper was standing near the staircase, orchestrating the return of the staff to their assigned places in the house. At Sebastian’s call, she looked up. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“Would you be good enough to show Her Grace to her rooms so that she may freshen up and dress for dinner?”

“Of course.”

Rosalind gave him a puzzled look. “Are you not also coming upstairs?”

“I have some business that I must see to first. When you are ready, one of the servants will show you where the dining room is located. I shall join you there at five o’clock.”

“Very well.” Rosalind removed her hand from his arm and stepped away. A mask of politeness covered her normally expressive face, and Sebastian experienced a flicker of unease. Had he misstepped? Surely it was not important that he personally walk her to her rooms. Especially when his housekeeper was just as capable of the task.

“Whenever you are ready, Your Grace,” Mrs. Frost said.

Rosalind crossed the hall to join her and started up the stairs. Sebastian watched her until she was almost to the landing. She did not turn around. Pushing aside his misgivings, he headed for his study.

The large satchel was lying on his desk. He crossed the room quickly and released the leather straps. Lifting the flap, he put his hand inside and withdrew a large scroll tied with string. A quick look in the satchel revealed a small envelope. He took it out and opened it. It contained a single sheet of paper covered in a barely legible scribble. Sebastian grimaced. Meikle must have rushed to write this note. Although the Scotsman’s penmanship lacked finesse, his writing was not usually so ink blotted.