Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Rose challenged him with some frequency, and so did Leo, albeit only when it came to business. No, nobody other than Rose stood up to him, at least not in a long time.

  A heavy melancholy threatened to crash over him when he suddenly rose and extended his hand to the investigator.

  “I shall leave you to your work, and I will return to mine. Please send word when you have news.”

  Markham bowed, and when he rose once more, gave a nod of the head.

  “I shall, Your Grace.”

  Seth spun on his heel and stalked out of the room when the man called after him.

  “Your Grace?”

  “Yes, Markham? What else is there?”

  The man cleared his throat. “Just this. Take care of yourself.”

  The words chilled Seth to the core as he remembered the last time he’d heard them spoken with such seriousness, such conviction.

  No, I must not let the past catch up to me. Not today. Not when my sister’s life and that of my friend depends on it. I must keep my wits about me and press on. Dwelling on the past will do nothing but hinder and distract me. Just like Winnie would hinder me. I must do this alone. I must solve this puzzle alone. Just as I always do.

  As he walked down the road toward his carriage, he pondered the events of the past few days once more. Nobody had seen his sister in almost two weeks now. The servants hadn’t alerted him until his arrival home when they found she wasn’t with him. He glared at the coachman as he pointed to the carriage door, and the man took a step back after opening it.

  “Your Grace,” he bowed. “Has there been any word on Lady Rose?”

  Seth closed his eyes and swallowed, forcing the rage down into the depth of his stomach.

  “No, Bradford. Nothing.” He stepped up to climb into the carriage but then thought better of it.

  “Bradford, why would the servants not alert me to my sister being missing for nearly two weeks?”

  “I…” The man stammered as his eyes darted from Seth to the road and back, in a desperate attempt to avoid his eyes. “I do not know. I was in Devon, with you, Your Grace.”

  “I’ll be deuced, Bradford. I know that. But you are a servant, you eat in the servants’ hall. You hear them talk. Why did they not alert me?”

  The coachman’s eyes focused on Seth, and he shrugged. “They assumed she’d gone to Devon with you.”

  “Without letting even her lady’s maid know, without asking a maid to pack?”

  The coachman took a deep breath. “There… There was a bit of fiddle-faddle among the servants that perhaps she’d….”

  “By Jove, Bradford. What is it? I haven’t all day.” Seth’s patience was running out, and the coachman’s evasiveness vexed him profusely. He knew the servants were keeping secrets, but he wasn’t quite sure why. Or what. “Bradford, if I must, I will call the constable and have every one of you questioned.”

  “That will not be necessary, Your Grace. The servants were aware of the argument between yourself and Lady Rose, and there was an assumption that she’d either gone to Devon on her own, via coach to make things right with you, or…”

  “Or?” He prompted the man, although much gentler than before. He knew he could be hot-headed and reckless and didn’t want to take his terrible mood out on the poor coachman who wasn’t even present when Rose disappeared.

  “Or that she’d perhaps run away to stay with your aunt, as she sometimes does.”

  Seth’s shoulders dropped. His aunt Ophelia kept an estate in Kent, and upon discovering Rose not home he, too, assumed she’d gone there. A messenger was at once dispatched and returned with a reply in the negative. His sister wasn’t in Kent. Along with the message came a lengthy letter, disparaging Seth’s guardianship over Rose as though she were a small child, not a young, accomplished lady.

  “She is not in Kent. I dare say I would have rather she stayed with Lady Ophelia—which is not a sentence I expected to utter in all of my life.”

  The coachman smiled, and for a moment, so did Seth. His dislike of his aunt was well known among the servants—none of whom cared for the harsh, arrogant, prideful woman, either.

  “I do not understand how my dear mother was related to such a woman,” he muttered, more to himself than anything else.

  “Your mother was a well-loved lady, adored by all.”

  He placed his hand on Bradford’s shoulder and gave him a nod. “Thank you, Bradford.” As he sat, the coachman shut the door and tilted his head to one side.

  “Home, Your Grace?”

  Seth was about to nod when he remembered the letter he carried in his pocket and shook his head.

  “No, not yet. First, we must make a stop. St. Giles.”

  Bradford’s eyes grew wide, and he swallowed so hard his Adam’s apple bobbed visibly.

  “Are you sure, Your Grace?”

  “It is daylight, Bradford. We shall be quite safe, and we will not remain long.”

  The coachman climbed onto the box seat, and as the carriage set into motion, Seth turned up the collar of his coat. It did nothing to chase the chill from his bones, and no wonder. The weather didn’t cause the shivers that ran down his spine; it was a glorious day after all. No, the ice in his veins had quite another cause.

  Fear. For Seth knew one thing for sure. He’d just lied to his coachman, for where they were going, it was never safe. Day or night. But he had no choice—not if he wanted to see his sister again alive.

  Chapter 4

  “I do not need Seth Dunn, Mary. No, I certainly do not. Neither do I need Victoria. I am perfectly capable of finding Leo on my own. With Mr. Markham’s assistance, of course,” Winnie proclaimed when she returned home.

  Mary, her maid and trusted companion for more than five years, followed her up to her chamber as she recounted the events of the day.

  “To think he calls himself my brother’s friend. Can you believe it? Surely, not. You ought to have heard him, Mary, he acted as though I proposed the storming of St. James’ Palace.”

  “But why do you suppose that is, Miss Keating? It would benefit him, would it not? Working with you?”

  “You and I have more wisdom than a Peer of the Realm, it seems.”

  Winnifred glanced at her maid. Mary was ten years her senior, and in many ways looking at her friend made Winnifred somewhat uneasy. At Mary’s age, one was considered a spinster. It was doubtful that she would ever marry, and her future would be the same as her present—a maid for all of her days.

  Winnifred knew she would never end up as a maid, but she was headed toward the shelf, that was certain. Unless she set her cap on someone with conviction in the next year or so, she’d be an ape-leader herself.

  The thought scared her. To be old and childless, entirely dependent upon the charity of her brother… She gasped. These past two weeks, her thoughts were occupied with finding her brother, not what his absence meant to their future. Now the idea was in her mind, and she could not shake it.

  “Mary, if we do not find Leo, I do not know what will become of Victoria and I.”

  “Surely, your uncle would assume control of the estate. Would he not?”

  Winnifred cringed at this, for Mary was right.

  “Indeed. As Leo does not yet have children, the title and the estate which are in entailment will go to my father’s nearest relative, my uncle Ezekiel.” She shook her head. “Why did my father not break the entailment? I do not understand. He would never have wanted us to rely on his brother. He does not care for him. Did not, I meant to say.” Even after all of these years, sometimes she spoke of her parents as still living.

  “It is well known,” Mary said carefully. Winnifred knew the servants talked; there was not much that could be kept secret in a small household such as theirs. Not that she would have told Mary such private details if they weren’t such close friends. Sometimes she wished Mary was not a maid at all so that they might be friends. Genuine friends who attended the opera or the theater.

  “Would he have been able to break the entailment, your father? I didn’t know that was possible.”

  “It is possible. One must consult with a barrister, and they will take it to the Court of Common Pleas. I suppose the person next in line for the entailment would have to be consulted and agree, but of course, that person was my brother, and he would gladly have agreed. The title would have gone to him anyhow, entailment or no entailment.”

  Winnifred narrowed her eyes and leaned forward. In a quieter tone, she added, “Leo planned to do this, break the entailment. He didn’t have a chance to do so yet, but it was his intention.”

  “Do you suppose it has something to do with his disappearance?” Mary asked. She, too, spoke in a low tone. They both knew nobody could be trusted at this time, not until they solved Leo’s disappearance. “Who would benefit from such a maneuver?”

  Winnie shrugged. “Only myself, Victoria, and my uncle. My uncle would still inherit the title if Leo were gone, and Leo would have generously compensated my uncle for agreeing to it. Although I must say, Uncle Ezekiel never did seem keen on being Baron himself. He is forever teasing Leo about producing an heir. He thinks holding the peerage is more trouble than it is worth.”

  Mary chuckled. “Your uncle was always known as a bit of a dandy in his younger days. At least that is what’s on-dit.”

  “And he still is now. I do not think managing an estate is something he desires, nor would he succeed at it. He and my aunt are always in need of funds, and thus breaking the entailment would have greatly benefited them. It would benefit Victoria and me as we would be able to inherit lands in our own right. So, to answer your question, we all would have benefitted, thus I do not know why Leo did not yet set it in motion.”

  “But now that Lord Drayton is missing, what will happen to the estate if….”

  Mary swallowed as her eyes grew wider. Winnifred’s blood ran cold the moment she realized what Mary’s next question was going to be.

  “What if he is not found?” The maid’s eyes were full of compassion, and her countenance marked by worry for Winnie.

  “I do not know. If he remains missing then I suppose we will have to find a barrister to manage things? We do not have a steward since the retirement of Mr. Henson, as you know. If Leo were to… if he were …. If he were the be declared deceased, then my uncle would inherit, and who knows what would become of us. But as it stands, the entire family will be in limbo for a very long time. The courts move ever so slow, I hear, and everything is tangled up with the business and such.” She cleared her throat. “Let us not speak of such unimaginable events. Come, I wish to search his chamber again and more thoroughly this time.”

  Mary grimaced but followed Winnifred down the hall. They turned sharply right at the end of the hall, past the library and the upstairs sitting room, and then she pushed open the double doors that lead into her brother’s chamber.

  The chamber always felt cold to her. There was a draft coming through the windows, she knew this, but there was something else about the chamber that gave her chills every time she ventured there.

  This space used to belong to her parents. After their death, it remained empty for years. None of the Keatings ever ventured there unless it was by design—to retrieve an item or for some other reason. They never went here without purpose as they might wander into the library or drawing room.

  It wasn’t used again until her brother claimed it—as he ought to, given he was the new Baron—four years ago. When Leo decided to merge their father’s spice and tea company with the Duke of Cambarton’s sugar venture, he required a larger study. Soon after claiming their father’s study, he’d moved his belongings into their parents’ chambers. In the process, much of their belongings were given away to charity. He’d also re-opened several of the windows their father had bricked up to avoid the dreaded window tax, resulting in a draft throughout the chamber.

  To this day, Winnie never came here unless specifically requested by her brother. He knew better than to ask Victoria to call on him in his chamber, for she outright refused.

  “It does not look anything like when my parents occupied these rooms,” she said as she ran one hand along the windowsill. “I used to sit here with my mother every night at sunset. We climbed up on the windowsill, and she would read to me. I remember watching the sunset in the distance over the park, the orange glow. My mother always said that when the sun set, it spread slumber over the earth and the moon would rise to keep us safe.”

  “She was a lovely creature, your mother. So beloved. As was your father.”

  Winnifred nodded. It was true. Both of her parents were greatly adored, not just by the servants but by society in general. Her father was an exceedingly generous man who gave freely to many good causes. The Foundlings Hospital was one of his most cherished charities, and he was one of the governors of the institution. Meanwhile, her mother acted as a benefactor for The Asylum for Orphaned Girls. Leo continued to donate to both generously in their name, to this very day.

  A lump formed in her throat. She swallowed hard to push it down. Whenever she thought of her parents, sadness overwhelmed her. She hoped one day to think of them without the desire to cry, but that day seemed impossibly far away. Most days, it was easier not to think of them at all.

  Such as today. She had no time to waste on nostalgia or grief. Leo had been gone for two weeks already; every moment counted. She spun on her heels.

  “Mary, look on his desk. I already searched it, but I did not look inside his books. Look through them while I search his bed chamber. I know he keeps a notebook, I just have not found it yet.”

  “But Miss Keating, what am I looking for?”

  “Anything containing his handwriting. You may read anything you find, I permit you and—”

  Mortification took hold of her as her hand flew to her mouth.

  “I am sorry, Mary, I forgot.”

  Mary shook her head and looked away. “No matter, Miss Keating, many of us servants don’t know how to read and write.”

  Winnifred felt awful. She knew Mary couldn’t read or write. She’d attempted to teach her years ago but to no avail. Winnifred wasn’t quite sure if it was because Mary had trouble retaining what she told her, or if she, Winnie, was simply a terrible teacher. She suspected the second—teaching was not one of her accomplishments.

  In either case, Mary discontinued their studies soon enough and no longer showed any desire for it. The awkward silence between them grew thicker and thicker, so much so Winnie wanted nothing more than to escape it.

  Winnifred rushed to her brother’s desk and retrieved a handwritten note. His brother habitually kept notes, notepads, and expensive pencils scattered throughout the house in case an idea struck him.

  “Here, his penmanship looks like this. Find anything like this and collect it. I shall read it. Thank you, Mary.”

  Mary nodded and stepped to the large bookshelf. It was heavy with books about spices, teas, herbs, and their origins. While Seth managed the relationships with their partners, Leo devoted much of his time to the products they sold. He was a wealth of information about teas and herbs—not that Winnie had much interest in such things. She preferred her animals, and to a lesser degree, her novels.

  She stepped into his bed chamber. Her stomach clenched when her eyes fell onto the neatly made bed and the stack of books on his nightstand. Everything looked so neat, so perfect—so unlike when her brother was home. He was a bit of a foozler who tended to drop and spill things as he went. Seeing his chamber so tidy made her want to cry.

  I cannot be so sentimental. It will not bring Leo back. Perhaps this is why Seth did not wish for me to work alongside him. Maybe he thought I would find myself overcome by emotion at the most inopportune times. Well, I shall show him. I do not need Seth. I will find Leo on my own and perhaps Rose, too, should their disappearance be connected somehow.

  She used the footstool to climb onto her brother’s high bed and opened the drawer to his nightstand. She’d glanced at it before, but looking through his things didn’t strike her as the right thing to do—until now. And when she pushed back an old, worn copy of the Holy Bible—a gift from their grandmother—she gasped.

  There it was. The leather-bound notebook she’d given him as a present for his thirtieth birthday. She knew he kept it close by as he loved the intricate floral design on the front. Her heart raced as she opened it and flicked through the pages.

  “Leo, Leo... This is all just about tea and spices... What am I to do with this?” She was about to toss the notebook back into the drawer when a loose page fell out of the back. She gripped it between her fingers so tightly the paper almost tore in half.

 

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