The following morning, Anne and Michael headed back to the Bow Street Offices. Samuel was due in court, but he’d sent Anne a note confirming he didn’t find anything of interest on Pottery Lane last night.
The good news, Anne mused, was that the condescending clerk, Mr. Hewitt, now saw fit to receive them immediately.
The bad news was that neither the Bow Street Foot Patrol nor Anne’s footmen had discovered anything of value while out canvassing last night.
“And so we see,” Mr. Hewitt said, “that the exercise was a complete waste of time.”
Michael moved into looming range. “I beg your pardon?”
“That is…” Mr. Hewitt stepped back and busied himself straightening his jacket.
Anne stepped up to the counter. “What are your plans to continue the investigation?”
Mr. Hewitt shook his head. “We can make no progress with our investigation while Lord Gladstone remains in hiding.”
“I agree,” Michael said.
“You do?” Mr. Hewitt said, his head snapping toward Michael. “I mean, good. Once he is located, we shall question him.”
Michael leaned in, causing Mr. Hewitt to recoil. “I believe what you meant to say is that Bow Street will therefore exhaust every effort to locate Gladstone. What have you done so far?”
Mr. Hewitt looked affronted. “We have questioned his servants, as well as his particular friend Lord Scudamore.”
“Did you speak with Mrs. Mariah Brownlee, who is his aunt? With Lord Ryland, his godfather? He’s also good friends with Andrew Tomlinson, Matthew Beckett, and Percival Thistlethwaite. I’m given to understand he boxes at Gentleman Jackson’s, gambles at Brooks’s, and takes coffee every afternoon at the Cocoa Tree. If I was able to learn all of that with a single note sent to a mutual friend, imagine what leads the famed investigators of Bow Street will be able to uncover if they give the matter the proper attention.”
Mr. Hewitt was scowling, but he pulled out a sheet of paper and took up a quill. “Would you mind repeating all of that, my lord?”
A few minutes later, having extracted a promise from Mr. Hewitt to send a runner ’round to question Lord Gladstone’s intimates, Michael handed Anne into her carriage and climbed in behind her. “What a windbag,” he grumbled.
Anne slumped against the cushions. She was trying to keep up hope, trying not to listen to that little voice in the back of her head kept saying none of it mattered because Nick was probably dead. “I’m used to much worse.”
“I don’t see how you hold your tongue.”
“Out of necessity, more than anything. No one would donate to the Ladies’ Society if I said what I was really thinking. I constantly remind myself to hold my temper. But I do appreciate the way you supported me.”
Michael took her hand in his. “Of course. It is my intention to support you every single day for the rest of our lives.”
Anne swallowed. That sounded wonderful, truth be told. It had been less than a week since his return, but already she had grown so used to having Michael in her life again. She didn’t know how she was going to survive without him.
Don’t think about that now.
“Thank you, Michael. What do you have planned for today? My mother has invited us to dinner tonight. I need to spend today getting caught up on Ladies’ Society business. I hate to even imagine the mountain of correspondence I’m bound to have.”
“You receive a lot of mail, then?”
“I do.”
“And you handle it all yourself?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
“I’ve been trying to figure out how we’re going to make things work when we’re married—”
“If we marry,” she amended.
“When we’re married,” he said, giving her his full Obstinate Face, “and there are a few questions I need to ask you.”
Anne gestured for him to proceed.
“You see,” Michael said, “I had always assumed I knew what you wanted your future to be like. I see now that there’s been a lot I’ve missed. Perhaps your wishes have changed over the years. So, let there be no further confusion between us. When we were younger, we always used to talk about all the adventures we wanted to have, the places we wanted to go, the things we wanted to see.” He smiled wistfully. “When I was passing through Niagara, all I could think about was how much you’d always wanted to see the Falls.”
Anne grabbed his forearm. “Did you truly see Niagara Falls? What was it like, Michael? Is it as spectacular as everyone says?”
“It’s almost indescribable. It kicks up so much water, you get soaked to the skin just looking at it.” His smile was wistful. “I stared at it for hours while I was waiting for that last ferry to take me to my uncle, wishing so badly you were there with me.” He cleared his throat. “I take it that you still want to see Niagara Falls?”
“Yes.”
“And the lakes?”
“Yes.”
“And the northern lights?”
“Yes.”
“And yet, you will never see any of those things if you continue with your current schedule.”
Anne sighed. “So many people are depending on me.”
“I understand that. But let us continue. You wanted to have children. A whole pack of them, you always used to say. Is that still your desire?”
“It’s what I want more than anything.”
“And do you wish to spend time with your children? Or do you plan to hand them off to the nurse and inspect them once a week?”
Anne’s mouth fell open. “Of course I want to spend time with them! Hand them off to the nurse—how could you even ask such a thing?”
He held up both hands. “I ask only because your current schedule does not seem to allow time for anything else.” He continued over her sputtering protest. “You currently spend upwards of twelve hours a day on your charity work. What do you plan to do once our first child comes along?”
Anne rubbed her forehead. “I… I don’t know. I suppose I’ll have to scale back. But if I cut back on fundraising, I’ll have no choice but to reduce the size of the Ladies’ Society. And I hate to even consider that.”
Michael was studying her face. “It would make you sad.”
“It would make me sad,” Anne agreed.
Michael took her hand. “I cannot bear for you to be sad.”
“I don’t see any way around it. I’ll have to either give up my dream of starting a family or gut the Ladies’ Society.”
“I refuse to have you do either.”
“But Michael—”
“Which is why the first thing you need to do is hire a secretary.” Anne blinked up at him in surprise. He continued, “Do you think Archibald Nettlethorpe-Ogilvy opens his own mail? Of course he doesn’t. He employs a secretary. You must have the same.”
Anne sighed. It wasn’t as if the idea had never occurred to her before. “Secretaries don’t work for free. And the Ladies’ Society runs on a tight budget.”
“Money will be less tight after my father makes his donation.”
“Donation?” Anne frowned. “What donation? Your father has a subscription.”
“Oh, did I forget to mention it? My father is planning a donation to the Ladies’ Society in honor of our marriage. For twenty thousand pounds.”
Anne blanched. “Twenty… did you say twenty thousand pounds?”
“I did.” Michael laughed at her gobsmacked expression. “How much do you want to marry me now?”
Anne rolled her eyes. “As much good use as I could find for twenty thousand pounds, it ranks very low on the list of reasons I wish to marry you.”
“You have a list, do you? Allow me to speculate what’s pushing my twenty thousand pounds out of the top spot—perhaps that thing I did to you last night, with my tongue?”
Anne swatted at his arm. “Fishing for compliments, Michael Cranfield? I suppose you deserve one, because that thing you did last night with your tongue was rather spectacular. But it’s not at the top of my list.”
“Then what is?”
She swallowed. “Spending every day of the rest of my life with my favorite person in the world.”
Michael pulled her into his lap and started kissing her. And there they were, driving through the streets of Mayfair at ten o’clock in the morning, and anyone who happened to look through the carriage window would have seen them kissing as if the world were about to end.
She felt a tear sliding down her cheek. Michael pulled back. “What’s all this?” he asked, brushing it away with his thumb.
“I don’t want to lose you. I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed you until you came back. And now—” Anne broke off, unable to speak around the lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat.
Michael rested his forehead against hers. “We’re going to work everything out. I refuse to consider any other possibility.”
“I don’t see how we can. If you’re still bent on returning to Canada—”
“Which I am.”
“—then it’s impossible.”
The carriage came to a halt. Glancing out the window, Anne saw that they had arrived at Cranfield House. She hastily slid off Michael’s lap.
“It’s not impossible. Don’t look so glum. I’m going to figure something out. You’ll see.” He pressed a kiss into her palm. “I’ll come and collect you tonight, and we can drive to your parents’ house together.”
Anne forced a smile to her lips. “Tonight, then.”