He bent his head toward her. “Around half-past eleven. I had not planned to tell your mother, but she saw me standing in his doorway.” He sniffed. “Sherry?”
Eloise sighed. “Yes. I’m sorry.”
He gave a slight shake of his head. “No need. We would not have noticed your tardiness had this not happened. And you deserve a good friendship.”
She pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling and nodded. “What is that drink?”
“Tea with whisky and a drop of laudanum. She needs to sleep.”
Eloise raised her eyebrows. “That should do it.”
It did. Grace continued to mourn her missing son for a while, then fell silent. Eloise and Percy helped her into bed and waited for sleep to draw her in. Knowing neither of them would sleep, however, they retreated to Percy’s study to prepare messages and discuss possibilities. Percy wrote to Bow Street and the parents of the other two boys. Eloise’s missives were directed to Adrienne and Lady Rose Ashton, whose information network was well known among Society women. She wrote to Lydia with the information that she would not be attending the Marsden Ball. She signed and sealed each and added them to her father’s stack. The one to Bow Street was sent out immediately via a hallboy who normally kept the evening watch in the house. The others would be delivered as soon as possible in the morning.
Eloise sat by the fire in her father’s study, fighting a deep-seated urge to send one more note. The drive to do it tugged at her, but it warred with an ingrained sense of propriety instilled by her mother, a series of governesses, and a gradual but thorough understanding of how thetontended to turn on itself when scandal threatened. Unmarried ladies did not, under any circumstance, initiate contact with unmarried gentlemen. Ever.
Yet this particular unmarried gentleman had access to resources that not even Lady Rose’s network could touch. If anyone, anywhere in Covent Garden knew what had happened to her brother, the man who was Robbie Green could find out.
But Timothy had only been gone a few hours. They should give him time to come home and face the punishment she knew her father would wield toward his beloved son. And should she draw on her newly acquired knowledge about Lord Robert—violating all sense of propriety—if there was no need?
The battle raged until a sharp ache developed between her eyes, and Eloise rubbed her forehead, trying to ease it. From behind his desk, her father spoke quietly. “Daughter, you should try to sleep.”
She shook her head. “I cannot.” She sat up straighter. “When the constable comes, I want to be there.”
Percy hesitated. “I’m not sure what he will say would be appropriate—”
“I don’t care.” She stood. “If you bar me from the room, I will listen at the door. I want to know what they will do to find Timothy. I want to hear it from him.”
After a moment, Percy nodded. “All right.” He gestured at the stack of letters. “I see you wrote to Lady Rose. She will be leaving for her honeymoon trip soon.”
“If she can just give me some names—”
“I do not want you taking chances, Eloise. This is not your responsibility. You did what you could to stop him by letting me know his plans.”
“Father—”
“No. Promise me.” He sighed. “I do not want to have to worry about two of my children.”
The strain in his face, the shadows around his eyes, touched her. “Of course, Papa. I won’t make you worry about me.”
“Good. Now please lie down. Rest, even if you cannot sleep.”
Eloise gave him a quick hug, then returned to her bedchamber. She lay across the bed, still in her day gown, her mind fuzzy but spinning in circles. She had forgotten that Lord and Lady Newbury—Rose and Thomas Ashton—would be leaving on a honeymoon trip. That they had, in fact, married just the day before. So she probably would not hear back from Rose. Another salvo in the battle—but this one landed hard. And Eloise finally made a decision.
If they had not received news by noon tomorrow—or if Timothy had not returned home—then she would send that final note to Lord Robert Ashton.
Propriety be damned.
Chapter Five
Sunday, 17 July 1825
Ashton House
Ten in the morning
Bill Campion’s responsearrived first, already on the entry hall table before Robert woke Sunday morning. This came as no surprise since, as far as Robert knew, Bill almost never slept. A small bedchamber adjacent to his office provided a spot for short naps. Bill owned an elegant town home in the Bloomsbury section of the city, but it was primarily the residence of his wife, Nora, and their daughters, Hannah and Prudence. Bill ate an early supper with his family each evening before the gambling floor became too active, but some of his businesses, especially the brothel, ran almost around the clock, and he liked to be available. Nora sometimes visited him after their daughters were safely tucked into bed, coming and going through a private entrance that led straight to the bedchamber.
As expected, Bill’s response was compassionate and succinct—one sentence expressed sympathy for the Ashton family and well wishes for Emalyn. The second requested an update on Robert’s availability as soon as possible. The missive typified his relationship with Bill—straightforward and efficient. Robert had never had a friendship so valued, yet so free of the trappings of Society’s multilayered machinations and flowery propriety. Probably why Robert loved the man as much as he did his own father.
