“I am well,” Clarissa said, but her words betrayed her true emotions.
Once they were situated in the coach, it jerked forward and Emilia found herself seated close to Fredrick. She couldn’t help but notice the subtle scent of his shaving soap, with a delicate hint of orange, lingering in the air around him.
Calvin sat across from her and wore a pleasant smile. “It is a beautiful day for a carriage ride, is it not?”
“It is,” Emilia agreed.
Calvin continued. “It isn’t often that we have the pleasure of spending time with our father’s prized godson, is it, Fredrick?”
Fredrick visibly tensed, but his next words sounded cordial enough. “It is true. I have been off fighting in the war for many years.”
“Father always spoke highly of Fredrick, even to a fault,” Calvin shared, his voice taking on a hint of bitterness. “No one could compete against him, despite my many attempts.”
“Calvin…” Clarissa interjected.
Her brother spoke over her. “But we mustn’t dwell on the past. It is much better to look towards the future.”
The atmosphere inside the carriage grew tense as they entered Hyde Park through the south entrance. Emilia sighed inwardly, wondering if the situation could possibly get any worse.
Fredrick stood in the shadows, keeping a watchful eye on Lord Drycott’s whitewashed, three-level townhouse. The entire building remained in darkness, without a flicker of light or any signs of movement, which was a promising sign.
He retrieved his pocket watch from his waistcoat. The time was nearing midnight, and Miss Delacourt was nowhere to be seen. For someone that had encouraged him to be on time, he found her delay somewhat surprising.
In the distance, he saw a hunched and slow-moving figure shuffling towards him. A beggar, no doubt. He turned his attention back towards the townhouse, but his thoughts soon drifted back to the events of their earlier carriage ride.
He hadn’t realized that Calvin held such animosity for him, but the carriage ride only seemed to get worse as time went on. Despite the efforts of Emilia and Clarissa to keep the conversation lively, Calvin remained critical of him.
Fredrick had never taken a liking to Calvin, especially given he only seemed to care for himself. He couldn’t help but find Calvin’s sudden interest in Emilia to be rather disconcerting. What did he hope to gain by his association with her? A happy family seemed unlikely, so what were his true intentions?
“Do you have any coins, sir?” the beggar asked.
Fredrick reached into his pocket and removed a few coins. As he extended them towards the beggar, he suddenly noticed a familiar pair of wide, expressive eyes staring back at him from beneath a tattered cloak that covered her head.
“What are you wearing?” he asked, his eyes roaming over her dirtied face.
Miss Delacourt revealed herself, a hint of a smirk on her lips. “I thought it was appropriate, given the circumstances,” she said. “Besides, no one gives a beggar any heed, no matter day or night.”
Fredrick had to admit that she wasn’t wrong. “You are late,” he said.
“No, I am right on time,” Miss Delacourt corrected. “The last light went off in the study about an hour ago.”
“How long have you been waiting?”
Miss Delacourt shrugged one shoulder. “Long enough to determine everyone seems to be fast asleep.”
“Then let us be quick about this,” Fredrick stated. He crossed the street and reached the gate that led into Lord Drycott’s gardens.
After opening the gate, he gestured that Miss Delacourt should go first. She entered, and he followed her inside, taking care to close the gate behind him.
They stayed close to the building as they made their way towards the rear of the townhouse. Fredrick was familiar with the configurations of these townhouses and knew that the study had a window that faced the gardens.
Upon reaching the study, Miss Delacourt quietly opened the window. “It isn’t locked,” she whispered.
She climbed through the window, and Fredrick waited a moment before he followed suit, making his way into the study.
A desk sat near the windows with stacks of papers covering the surface. It was no better than the desk at Lord Drycott’s factory.
Miss Delacourt stepped over to the desk and pulled out the drawers. “This is odd,” she muttered.
