The Case of the Season

Chapter Twenty-Six

The next weeks passed in a blur. Sherlock and Enola chased down leads on Lady Whistledown while Robin wrote her novel and escorted Cecilia to ton events. She enlisted the help of her Aunt Violet to acclimate Cecilia to the politics of the ton at this late date while she searched for a suitable match for her.

Daphne approached Robin about the grand party she and Simon were holding for the end of the season. She wanted it to be a celebration of both of their marriages. Robin accepted after making Daphne promise that she'd let Robin help with the preparations.

Sherlock returned home one evening to find her sleeping on the fainting couch, her latest pages abandoned on her desk. He smiled as he sat down beside her and gently smoothed back her hair. She was wrapped in his favorite blanket, and her nose was buried in it. She'd told him several times this week that she liked that it smelled of him.

"Robin?" he asked softly.

"Mmm," she hummed, stirring slightly, her eyes fluttering open. "Sherlock? What time is it?"

"Almost six," he told her. "Did you sleep well?"

"I completely forgot to make dinner," she realized with a gasp, sitting straight up quickly.

"Don't worry about that," he calmed her. "You've been running yourself ragged to get everything done, and you're going to be even busier this week because of Daphne and Simon's party. I'll go pick something up from the pub."

"The rabbit pie?" she requested hopefully.

He chuckled. "You've wanted that for dinner every night this week," he observed.

"We can have something else," she assured him.

He shook his head. "You're getting the rabbit pie, Robin. Keep resting. I'll come back with it shortly."

He bent to kiss her. She held him to her for a moment, burying her nose in his curls after the kiss and taking a deep breath. "I love the way you smell, Sherlock," she whispered.

He kissed her one more time and stood, making sure she was properly tucked in. He was more than pleased to take care of his wife.

When he returned, she was sitting up and waiting for him. He set their meal down in front of her, removing his shoes, jacket, vest, and cravat before joining her.

"I'm going to Daphne's tomorrow to make food for the ball."

He laughed. "You're going to scandalize everyone when you put on an apron and take over her kitchen. I wish I was going to be there to see it, but Enola and I are still trying to find Lady Whistledown."

"I can't believe I didn't think of it before, but you should look into where her pages are printed," Robin suggested through a mouthful of pie. "They have to be dropped off by someone. Even if it isn't her, there's bound to be a clue there."

"A brilliant thought, my love," he replied. "Enola and I have been so focused on rooting out her actual identity that it didn't even occur to me to take that route. Admittedly, we've eliminated quite a few people from the list, but our suspect pool is still too large. This will help narrow it down."

"Well, I'm glad I could finally help," she admitted. "I've been feeling rather useless."

"Useless?" he scoffed. "You've done plenty, Robin. You aren't responsible for everything."

"I'm aware," she argued. "But still."

"None of that now," he admonished her affectionately. "You are contributing more than enough. Too much, in fact. I'm looking forward to being back at Norland Park. It won't be nearly as busy, and there will be plenty of people to help with the work."