Abigail gasped, eyes wide.
“Is something wrong?” Duncan asked from the doorway.
She turned, smiling weakly. “No, of course not. Just more cluttered than I realized.”
“Easily addressed, I’m sure,” Duncan said. He gazed out a window that overlooked a cemetery.
Abigail stared at Ian, eyebrows arched.
His gaze met hers, pleading for help.
She moved away, bumping into the coat rack, and knocking a garment to the floor.
“Do you need help, Mrs. St. Clair?” Duncan asked, taking a step toward her.
“No, Colonel, I’m fine,” she said, using his title so Ian knew who was there. She picked up the coat and rehung it, arranging it so it hid more of Ian. She didn’t know why he was there, but she suspected the British were behind it.
Duncan came closer. “Is the second room similar to this one?”
Sh
