The men coming toward them proved Liz had run out of time. And now Lord Barton would learn her real identity and whatever story the men were sharing as to their reasons for seeking her out.
He might hate her. And he would certainly dismiss her from his employment. The thought of losing his regard hurt worse than her fear of unemployment, but both weighed heavily on her. She remembered her mother’s letter and was at a loss. What exactly did these men want with her? And what did it have to do with the inheritance her mother had mentioned? Liz couldn’t be forced to return, could she?
Cold fear filled her. Her fingers turned to ice, and she returned to Jeremy in their hiding place off the kitchen. “Thank you for coming to warn me. I must leave. I have to hide. Have you someplace?”
“You could stay on the ship. We don’t set sail for a few weeks.”
Remembering the closed quarters on the ship, she shook her head. “Perhaps for a few nights, but not for long. Surely the captain or someone would discover me before long.”
He shook his head. “I could hide you on board. I know a place they wouldn’t look.”
She considered his offer for only three breaths, nodded, and ran upstairs to grab her satchel, for where else could she go?
***
Anthony kept silent while he studied the likeness in his hands. Heidi. Only, the men who had barged into his home were telling him her name was Lady Elizabeth Davenport, daughter of that cretin marquess, Lord Davenport, infamous for his gaming hells. The man’s activities were never common knowledge amongst the ladies but certainly well-known to those lords who could not resist the draw of chance.
Anthony now remembered Lady Davenport’s first ball. He was only briefly in attendance and had heard talk that Lord Davenport’s daughter was for sale to the highest bidder. Disgusted, he had not even made her acquaintance and had felt no small amount of pity for the girl.
Heidi, his housekeeper. He shook his head. “I don’t know her.” He looked from the police officer to the men and back. “I see a resemblance to my housekeeper, but it cannot be her. I know Lord Davenport, and my housekeeper is not his daughter. Mrs. Worthing is the daughter of a baron who has since passed away, leaving her nothing.”
The constable studied Anthony’s face. “Are you certain? This woman’s father is rightfully worried and has sent these men in search of her—said the last place they had contact from her was here, in Philadelphia.”
“I am certain. I could call her forward, but she has since been injured in the face and would hardly be recognizable at any rate.”
One of the men snatched back the likeness. “I would like to see her. That is why I came, now, isn’t it?”
The constable frowned. “Could you present the woman? And then we will be on our way.”
Anthony considered the request. This could be the perfect opportunity to dispel all doubt as to Heidi’s story. He pulled aside a footman and gave him instructions in low tones.
While they waited, the officer said, “I’ve been meaning to meet you. Leo Simmons says you’re a decent fellow.”
Anthony smiled. “He is the best driver I’ve employed. How are you two acquainted?”
“Our families hid revolutionaries from redcoats throughout the war.” He chortled. “We were happy to see the backs of those red uniforms.”
Anthony nodded. “I would have been too, I imagine.”
The door opened, and a maid—Franny, if he was not mistaken—walked in, her face half wrapped in bandages covering her nose. Her mobcap covered hair a similar color to Heidi’s. Heidi had won over the servants, heart and soul. All were on her side, even when the police was involved.
After a few questions, which she answered admirably, regarding her family and her father, the baron, they left satisfied . . . and disappointed. As they walked out the door, one said, “I felt sure it was her. We have no other leads. Pinweather isn’t gonna be happy when we tell him.”
“No sense sticking around when she ain’t here. I say we return home.”
As soon as the door shut, Fenley approached. “Were they fooled?”
“Yes. How long have you known?”
“Known? I do not understand to what you are referring.”
“Come, man. Heidi’s identity. Her real name.”
Fenley cleared his throat. “I feel the best way to know a person’s identity is to come to know them, not their story or from whence they come.”
“Too true, Fenley. Now, where is she? Is she well enough to be visited?”
“I believe so. Cook attended to her.”
“Could someone ask that she return downstairs to my study?”
“My lord, remember, you have guests.”
Anthony’s heart fell. “Of course!” He had forgotten. “I’ll speak with her this evening, then.”
Straightening his jacket, he hurried back into the dining room. His guests were engaged in cheerful discussion. Mrs. Smithson entertained them with a story.
He slipped back into his chair as they laughed. “It seems I have missed an engaging bit of news. I do apologize for the disruptions this evening.”
Miss Vincent sniffed. “You cannot help it if your servants are inadequate. They will soon learn, or we can seek out assistance in finding new people to fill their places.”
Anthony relied on years of annoying conversation to aid his composure. “The situation is quite beyond their control. A police officer is looking for a woman and thought she might have been here, among my staff.”
Miss Vincent’s face took on a calculating expression.
“They were disappointed rather quickly and moved on to other places.”
Mrs. Smithson smiled and changed the subject. “Dessert was delicious. This whole evening has been delightful. Thank you for including us.”
“I am grateful you could come. I hope to spend much of my life here and grow my business so generations of Bartons can call it home.”
Mr. Vincent shifted in his seat, and Miss Vincent jumped and pain crossed her features. “Oh! I am happy to hear that, Lord Barton.”
“As am I.” Mr. Vincent nodded. “Mutual cooperation can be quite profitable in this area.”
“I look forward to whatever joint ventures we can all accomplish.” Anthony looked around the room, happy he would be spending some time with these people.
“Let us move into the parlor. I believe we have tables set up for whist.”
Happy exclamations of agreement followed that remark. They spent the remainder of the evening in an enjoyable enough fashion, but Anthony was distracted by thoughts of Heidi. What had happened to bring her here? How could she not have confided in him? The more he remembered the lies she’d told him, the less pleased he became. Was she like her father? A swindler, an expert at turning a tall tale when it benefitted her? Her story had flowed so easily. And the whole bit about earning money for her dear mother and aunt—so much of his respect and admiration for her had stemmed from thinking she had been so noble in her sacrifice.
But an excitement simmered under all doubt about her character, an excitement motivated by the provident reality that she was not, in fact, a lowly, indigent baron’s daughter fallen from grace. She was a lady who quite outranked most he knew; her mother was from one of the oldest bloodlines in all of England, and her father, though he indeed participated in nefarious dealings, owned so many of the lords’ pocketbooks that he himself was well respected or feared. If he wasn’t respected for that, he certainly was for his position in the House of Lords and reported dealings with the Crown. Anthony nearly snorted into his cards. Lord Davenport’s dealings with the Crown were likely motived solely by the Prince Regent’s participation in his hells.
But if Heidi—Lady Davenport—was so titled, nothing stood between them. She was not a servant. They were an eligible match, if he so desired it. If she could be trusted. If he knew her. If she would have him.
There would be plenty of time to discover their suitability. Anthony congratulated himself that she was living under his roof.