And if Philip could not do it?
Robert felt the urge to see his parents again, and he trotted up the stairs, where he found Grant, their butler, setting up a full tea service on a table outside the duchess’s bedchamber. He nodded at Grant’s efforts. “I suppose we are in for a long night.”
Grant looked surprised. “Oh, sir! She’s awake. She roused just after everyone left. They have just sent for the doctor.”
Robert barely heard the last words as he shoved through the door. “Mother!” Inside, Emalyn’s eyes shifted to him, but they seemed wild and unfocused, and the left side of her mouth drooped. The room remained silent, a heaviness in the air borne out of despair. Philip had Emalyn’s hand pressed to his cheek, tears streaming down his face, but her arm looked limp, almost without form. Rose stood behind Philip, one hand gripping his shoulder, the other over her mouth. Thomas sat on the bed at Emalyn’s feet, rubbing her legs.
Robert dropped down on the bench at the end of the bed, leaned over, and grasped his brother’s arm. Thomas looked around at him, the pain etched so clearly in his eyes Robert almost gasped. Whatever had happened tonight was not over and would take a long time to unravel. But it was clear that their beloved mother wasn’t the only one who needed to heal.
*
Sunday, 17 July 1825
Pentney House, Mayfair
Half-past one in the morning
Eloise and Deliecovered their mouths to stifle giggles as they entered through the servant’s door near the kitchen. They leaned on each other for balance, almost not succeeding, as they slipped off their shoes and headed up the back staircase. Adrienne had been exceptionally generous with the sherry the last hour, and Eloise suspected she would sleep till at least noon. It would still give her time to get ready for the Marsden Ball, even if her head pounded. But Adrienne’s monthly budget was done, the money set aside in secure locations, and Eloise had almost managed to forget about the dark-haired man in the purple suit who had set her heart to racing much more than she wanted to admit to herself, much less to her best friend.
You are too old to be infatuated with a dandy-boy, especially one set to marry Lydia Rowbotham.But then she thought about the way he’d snatched off his top hat when he realized who she was, causing most of his curls to stand on end. Those bright eyes that flashed when she’d challenged him about what the Duke of Makendon wanted from him. The way his gaze had lingered on her hair, her hands. Eloise smothered another giggle and stepped out onto the third floor, while Delie continued up to the servants’ quarters.
“But what if they arebothgone? Percy! What will we do?”
Eloise stopped. Her mother’s panicked voice echoed down the hallway. Ahead, a bright light shone from the open door of her mother’s bedchamber.
Her father’s voice, lower in pitch and calmer, sounded as if he were trying to soothe his wife, but even his words held a slight note of fear. “Grace, they are not both gone. Eloise went to Adrienne’s shop. She had Cordelia with her, along with the coachman and a footman. She’s simply late. I’m sure she’ll be home soon.”
“But Timothy—!”
Eloise’s head cleared as a spike of worry tightened her stomach.Timothy?She headed for the bedchamber and stepped into the doorframe. “I’m here. I apologize for being late. Where’s Timothy?”
Her mother gasped and rushed toward her. Grace Surrey—Eloise’s precise and proper mother—was in complete disarray, her nightclothes disheveled. Strands of her braided hair had pulled loose. Eloise accepted her mother’s hug, murmuring more apologies. As her mother stepped back, Eloise asked it again, focusing on her father. “Where’s Timothy?”
He shook his head. “I talked to him after you came to me. I told him I would take him to White’s, to introduce him to real gentlemen, in a respectable club. He agreed. He agreed!” Percival Surrey, known even on the floor of Parliament for his unflappable demeanor, ran his hands through his graying hair. “But he lied.”
Eloise felt her knees weaken. “He’s gone?”
Her mother let out a sob and headed for a chair near the fireplace. Her father gave one nod. “I went to his room, to thank him for being reasonable, to promise him I’d make arrangements soon.”
Eloise took several deep breaths, trying to think, trying to calm the fear that surged through her. “He’s only been gone a short time. He said he was meeting his friends.” She searched her brain for the names. “Galpin. Mowbray. We could ask their parents.”
Her father nodded, his hands fidgeting. “Yes. I know their fathers. I will send messages in the morning. I’ll contact Bow Street, although what can I tell them about a boy of five and ten who left his home willingly in the middle of the night?”
“That he’s a child!” Grace Surrey’s face had turned gray.
Eloise went to her mother, dropping to her knees in front of her. She clutched Grace’s hands in hers. “He’s been at Eton for more than two years. He’s learned to box. Fence. He’s with at least two of his friends. They are older. They will help him.”
The sound of a throat being cleared sounded from the doorway, and Eloise looked around. Their butler stood in the doorway holding a small silver salver with a cup and saucer on it. “My lord,” he said quietly. “You asked for this.”
Percy nodded. “Yes. Of course.” He gestured to his wife, and the butler approached her slowly as Percy explained. “Grace, please drink this. It’ll help calm your nerves.”
“I do not want to be calm!”
Her mother’s wail broke Eloise’s heart. She squeezed Grace’s hands again. “Please, Mother. The calmer we all are, the more clearly we can decide what to do. Please.”
Grace stared at her, her eyes glistening with tears. After a moment, she nodded, released Eloise’s hands, and motioned for the butler to move closer.
Eloise went to her father, her voice low. “When did you check on Timothy?”
