T
horne tossed and turned, his mind whirring with images of Ladies Maudsley’s and Lorelei’s heads’ together. The two sneaking into that empty room. Their low voices at the theater. His dreams had been filled with the images of the expanse of Lorelei’s creamy white décolletage bare of jewels—
He shot to sitting, realizing exactly what had been bothering him all night. Perspiration dampened his forehead. He crawled from the bed, snatching his watch fob from the bedside table, and carried it to the hearth. Three o’clock.
Lorelei’s locket had been missing.
He paced his chamber until he couldn’t stand himself any longer. He finally sent for his valet at five.
An hour later, Thorne made his way back to the Peachornsbys, not bothering with his horse in the frigid air. He scanned the waiting carriages and spotted the Maudsley’s coat of arms right away. The fact that the carriage was at the end of the line was telling. The driver hadn’t returned immediately after dropping Lorelei at the Lewkes mansion. He strolled over and ran his hand over the neck of the closest horse. It was damp.
“Mornin,’ guv.”
Thorne grinned up at him. “Lady Maudsley still dancing the night away?”
“I wouldn’t know, m’lord. I’m just here to take the lady home when she’s ready. Ah, there she is.” The man tipped his hat and flicked the reins and maneuvered his way into the open lane to pick up his charge.
She lifted her head in his direction.
Thorne raised his arm in a wave but didn’t approach her. He turned and made the walk to White’s with a plan to visit the duchess after breakfast. He didn’t care if she was up or not. Sick or not. He wanted answers.
“Remind me to never pine away for a trip to London again,” Lorelei told Brandon. She reached for her locket before remembering she no longer possessed it. Pain pinched at her. Blinking back a sting, she forced herself to recall that some things were worth the sacrifice. Perhaps she would eventually believe it if she kept repeating it to herself. “It feels as if we’ve been on the road for days.”
“You just have to look at this jaunt as an adventure,” Brandon said. The farther they drew away from London, the lighter his demeanor became. He had an open sketchpad on his lap and his pencil worked fervently over the page.
“How can you draw a straight line? The road is horrid.” She looked out the window at the drab day.
He laughed. “I never draw a straight line.”
“I guess that’s true.” She fiddled with her black skirts. “Now that I’m not to marry, we are going to have to do something to bring in funds. Spixworth is a disaster, you know.”
Brandon groaned. “Do we have to speak of that now?”
“We’ll have to sooner or later.” She loosened her fingers and sat back, looking at him. “At least you can’t run off and hide from me.”
His nose wrinkled. “You always find the worst in every situation.”
“Hmm. I suppose we can start making a list of heiresses for you to consider when you reach your majority. That’s only four years from now.”
That got his attention. His head shot up and his mouth hung open. “You… you can’t be serious.”
She shrugged one shoulder. “Why not? It was expected of me. Why not you?”
“But everyone knows it’s the daughters who marry for property and money. I’m the son. I’m the viscount.”
“You heard Aunt Isobel say on numerous occasions that I had no dowry.”
“She’s a batty old witch.”
“Perhaps. But she was right. Not many men will look at a woman with no dowry.”
He shut his sketchpad with a snap. “All right. What do you propose we do?”
It was her turn to wrinkle her nose. “I don’t know. We can’t sell the hall. It’s entailed.”
“You could marry the vicar. He likes you.”
“That won’t bring in funds.” The man’s lined face and cadaverously thin frame flooded her mind, and she shuddered. “Not an option. I should rather have stayed and married Lord Shufflebottom.”
“There was something off about that bloke.” He tapped his pencil against his thigh. “There must be something we can do. Maybe create a school or something. You’re positively brilliant.”
She reached across the carriage, took his free hand, and squeezed. “You are my favorite brother in the whole world.”
A blush tinged his cheeks. “You’re so daft. I’m your only brother.”
Thorne sipped at his coffee, biding his time. White’s was quiet at this juncture of the morning. People were still recovering from the different routs, soirees, and musicales they’d attended the night before. He perused the Gazette, then the Times, even resorting to the rags. He dawdled over coddled eggs, bacon, and kippers. Finally, at ten he rose to his feet, took his hat and walking stick and strode back to Grosvenor Square prepared to have his say with the Dowager Duchess of Lewkes.
“Her grace is not receiving at this time,” the butler told him.
“Then I will see Lady Lorelei.”
The butler opened his mouth to refute Thorne, but Thorne held up his hand, palm out, cutting him off.
“Right. Now.”
The butler let out a resigned sigh. “Lady Lorelei is not in at the moment.”
Another thread of the hovering guillotine snapped free. “I see. And where, precisely, is she at ten in the morning? And before you make the unwise decision of lying to me, let me tell you, I shall shout my concern for the woman from the rooftops, starting with the stoop on which I presently occupy.”
Abject dread paled the man’s features.
Thorne had no care who heard him. The duchess would see him. Would acknowledge him. Would listen to him. He had every intention of marrying Lorelei himself.
“You’d best come in, my lord. I’ll inform her grace of your presence.”
The butler disappeared behind the drawing room door, leaving Thorne to survey the roses he’d sent that littered the foyer. He bent down and retrieved one of the petals and brushed his thumb over its velvety softness that felt remarkably like Lorelei’s lips.
“She’ll see you, my lord.”
Thorne strode into the drawing room. The duchess was so pale, Thorne feared she was on her last breath. “I see Lorelei spoke the truth regarding your wellbeing, your grace. My apologies for disturbing you.”
A coughing seizure took hold her of her.
He moved quickly, pouring a cup of tea, and dousing it with brandy. He lowered beside her and placed the cup within her cold hands, his own wrapped about hers so nothing spilled. Also wrapped about her fingers was the gold chain that led to Lorelei’s locket. He brought the tea to her thin lips.
Her coughing bout eased.
“Where is she, your grace?”
“I don’t know. Lady Maudsley’s I imagine.”
That was a terrifying thought. “I spoke to Lady Maudsley last night. She said she sent Lorelei home in her carriage. What of Lord Harlowe?”
“He is missing as well. She coddles that boy to the extreme.”
“Why did she run, your grace? Lorelei seemed to care greatly for you.”
“That boy made her do it. He had it in for me.”
“I sincerely doubt that is the case,” he said. “He seems a bright chap. Just young. I’ll ask again, where is she?” He set her cup on the low table and moved to another chair, assessing her.
She looked down at the locket, and he was shocked to see tears pooling in eyes that had appeared sharp and cunning only two nights ago but were now fogged. She lifted the gold chain, setting the locket dangling between them. “She left this in place of taking a few coins she’d found. I suspect she and that delinquent brother of hers are making their way back to Spixworth Hall.”
“A three days’ journey from here?” Fear and outrage simmered beneath his skin. He inhaled a steadying breath. Anything could happen to a young woman traveling alone with a young boy. “That is not an answer to my question.”
“No man will have her after this stunt she’s pulled.”
“You’re wrong, your grace. I’ll not only have her, but I’ll also care for her brother.” He stood up, took some coin from his pocket. “How much did she take from you?”
“Nothing I couldn’t afford. I just wanted to see her settled before… before—” Another coughing fit overtook her. She handed him the locket. “Get this back to her,” she choked out. “It was a fool thing she did, if she even makes it all the way to Spixworth.”
The last piece of rope broke, the guillotine fell. His exact worry.
Thorne had one last stop before retrieving his horse. The Maudsley residence had a stable attached which was exactly where Thorne located Lady Maudsley’s driver from the night before.