Page 77 of To Seduce a Stranger

These unexpected expressions of regret, of sympathy, almost caused her to stumble on the steps. Perhaps not everyone thought Robert was in the right, after all.

“Where to, ma’am?” the driver called down.

Somewhat self-consciously, she jingled her reticule. She had sufficient funds to last for quite some time, if she was frugal. Enough to take her anywhere. She thought fleetingly of France, and the little cottage in the Lake District of which she had once dreamed—had it been only two weeks ago?

But those were no longer the destination she had in mind.

* * *

Fairfax was as good as his word. Edward had just finished scraping the last flecks of shaving foam from his jaw and was donning a fresh shirt when his friend knocked on the door.

“We’re going to Blakemore House.”

Edward’s fingers fumbled the knot of his cravat. “Why?”

“She’s been sighted.”

“By whom?”

“Langerton’s valet,” Fairfax explained as they hurried down the stairs. “I assumed he was hanging about the kitchen to flirt with the new parlor maid. He’s a preening dandy—probably has girls in every servants’ attic in Mayfair dreaming of him.” Out the door and onto the square, without even stopping for their hats. “But this time, he was fit to burst with real news: The Disappearing Duchess just paid a call on the duke.”

“Is she there still?” His own breathlessness alarmed him. It had nothing to do with their hurried pace.

“He didn’t know,” Fairfax said as he rapped on the door.

The man who answered his knock replied to their inquiry with a butler’s typical restraint. “I’ll see if His Grace is receiving callers.”

Then he held out a salver for their cards, and Edward was brought up short.

Fairfax, however, quickly withdrew one of his own and dropped it on the tray. “Accompanied by Lord Beckley,” he instructed the butler to add, and in another moment they were alone in the entry, which was every bit as stately as that of Sutliffe House—more so, perhaps, as there were no precocious little girls, or costumed cats, or toy perambulators in sight. In fact, Edward might be tempted to call the space cold. Difficult to imagine Charlotte here, in a mud-spattered dress with her hair half tumbling down. But perhaps that had only been her country costume. No doubt she had worn quite a different one as Duchess of Langerton.

Still unsure as to why she had left Ravenswood, he could invent no explanation for why she had come here, of all places. Unless, of course, she intended to boast to her stepson of how she had taken a lover and thwarted his plan.

“Don’t worry, my friend,” Fairfax said, misinterpreting his expression of uncertainty. “If Langerton knows where she’s gone, we’ll get it out of him.”

Before Edward could reply, the butler had returned to show them upstairs. Behind a door opened by a footman, Langerton sat at breakfast, dressed for riding, the day’s post spread around him. With a nod to dismiss another servant standing by the sideboard, Langerton peered over his table at them with shrewd eyes. “Lord Fairfax,” he said with a nod. “I believe I’ve seen you around town.” Fairfax bowed. “And . . .” The duke fingered the edge of Fairfax’s card as he studied Edward.

“Edward Cary, Duke. Heir to the Earl of Beckley.”

“The one who’s been missing for twenty-odd years?”

“The same.”

With a skeptical twitch of his lips, Langerton resumed eating. “What can I do for you gentlemen this morning? I know nothing of the late earl’s estate, or any claimants to it.”

Shaking his head at Edward, whose expression had deepened into a scowl, Fairfax said, “We came to inquire about the duchess.”

“My wife is well. In general, however, she does not see callers at this hour.”

“Not your wife,” Edward explained, drawing something like patience from the steadier presence of his friend, but unable to keep the edge from his voice. “Your stepmother. The one they call the Disappearing Duchess.”

Langerton ceased to chew, although he did not lower his fork. “You’ll not find her here.”

“Do you know where might we find her?” Fairfax asked, all politeness.

But Edward spoke at the same time. “Did not the terms of your father’s will name this house as her place of residence?”

If the table had not been solid mahogany, the force with which Langerton pushed away from it would have sent it scraping across the floor. “What do you know of my father’s will, Mr. Cary?” he demanded as he rose and stepped toward him. He was not an especially tall man, but he was wiry, and fit enough to stand his ground.