Page 9 of The Cutthroat Countess
Quite honestly, Elliot was bloody well on the verge of putting a betrothal announcement in one of the newspapers—staking his claim in a most obnoxious, public way—just so he could officially visit Jo at her house without her cousin Edi giving him the evil eye. At least he’d had the foresight to ask Jo to save the supper waltz and a later waltz for him, although he’d not received a response to his second letter. Hopefully, she’d received it, and her reply was just slow in making its way to Paris. He dearly hoped he’d be ensured of a few minutes of her company tonight.
“If I don’t, I shall have to kidnap her,” he muttered as he finished tying his neckcloth.
“I beg your pardon, sir?” Crisp asked as he returned with Elliot’s coat.
“Nothing, I was”—a loud rap on the door interrupted him, and he frowned at his valet. “Am I expecting anyone?”
“No, sir.”
“Help me into that and then go see who it is.”
After a brief struggle with his tightly tailored tailcoat, Crisp left the room.
Elliot had just slipped on his grandfather’s ring—a gift that his grandmother had given twice: once to her beloved husband many decades ago, and then to Elliot upon the old earl’s death—and was choosing a cravat pin when Crisp popped back into the room.
“I think you should come right away, sir,” his valet said, visibly agitated.
“Who is it?”
“It is Mr. and Mrs. Richard Townshend, sir. And they’ve come to talk to you about their cousin, Lady Packenham.”
* * *
“Nothing?” Elliot asked for the third time, even though he knew he was being more than a little obnoxious.
Edith Townshend wrung her hands in a way that he might have found affecting if she’d not snubbed him at every turn for the past weeks. “She left nothing—no message or note. Her maid attempted to accompany her to that place where she used to work, but Josephine dismissed her and said she’d be spending the afternoon packing. When she didn’t show up in time to dress for dinner, we sent a footman to inquire after her.”
“Whom did he speak to?”
Edith and Richard looked at each other and shrugged. “I’m afraid we don’t know,” Richard Townshend admitted. “But our servant said the person he spoke to told him that she hadn’t been there all day long. That he’d only seen her briefly this morning.”
“Is Angus at home?” he asked, without much hope.
“No,” Richard said. “That is what made us start to worry. Usually the creature is in and out of her room—via a window—several times a day.”
“People have begun to notice,” Edi added in a censuring tone that made Elliot grit his teeth with annoyance.
“But nobody has seen the animal today—not her maid, who was occupied in Lady Packenham’s dressing room, or even down in the kitchen, where she sometimes brings the bird to eat.”
If Angus was missing, that meant they’d both gone somewhere.
“Is any of her clothing gone? Her valise?”
Edith shook her head. “No, we thought about that.” She pulled a face. “I know she has not been . . . content these past weeks, but surely she’d not simply run off, would she?”
Elliot ignored the question—not because he wanted to punish the worried woman, but because he couldn’t bear to consider that possibility himself.
“What should we do?” Richard asked. “We’d hate to go to the authorities. Do you think we should say something to Sir Stanley? He is quite taken with Josephine—perhaps he might help?”
“Here is what we should do,” Elliot said. “You and Mrs. Townshend should attend the ball and make Jo’s apologies for missing the affair—say she is home, in bed, sick with an influenza.”
The older couple nodded uncertainly.
“I will go to the Fayre and talk to the owner. If Jo went there today, Helen will know about her visit. If I don’t get any information there, I will go see Sir Stanley and ask for his help—he will know how critical it is to keep any inquiries discreet.”
“And will you let us know what you find?” Richard asked.
“I will send word as soon as I learn anything.” Elliot gave them as much reassurance as he could spare and then said, “Now, the sooner I am on my way, the sooner I will have information.”
