Oliver had never seen Phoebe’s handwriting, so he could not say if it was hers or forged. But he would bet everything he had in life that the person sitting across from him had written the note or had a maid write it. There was no way Miss Windham—no, Phoebe—would leave him. His stomach knotted, and he felt sick. He didn’t believe she feared the curse or him. The only thing that gave him hope was the possibility that she might have gone to Mrs. Dove-Lyon for help.
“Did she say anything to Lady Emma?”
“No. She spoke of this to no one. We are all shocked and saddened by this. Lord Greenwich and I would never have forced her to marry you. So she ran away for naught.” She sobbed and dabbed at her eyes again. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but I wish to be alone. The footman at the door will see you out.”
Just as Oliver reached the doorway, she said, “Please call on us in a few days. The offer of one of my daughters still stands.”
“Of course it does,” he grumbled to himself. Without Phoebe, he would never step foot within these walls again. But he did worry about Lady Emma. Surely the countess wouldn’t hurt her own daughter? He left the house and was stunned to see Lady Emma standing near his horse.
“Your Grace,” she said, looking frantic, her eyes red and swollen. “Come with me.” She led him away from the prying eyes and ears of the groom, then came to a stop. “Phoebe would never run away. She was excited to marry you. My mother is lying,” she said softly.
“I figured as much. I hope she’s with Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s at the Lyon’s Den.”
“Can I come with you?”
“I don’t think that’s wise. Stay here and go along with your mother’s lies. Don’t let her think you suspect anything. I will send word when I know something.”
“I will as well.” She grabbed his hands firmly. “Please find her. Something bad has happened, I know it.” She let go of his hands, turned around, and went into the house.
Oliver watched her go as a heaviness settled on him, making breathing even harder and more painful. If he didn’t find Miss Windham at Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s, he would go to Bow Street and hire a Runner, or a dozen Runners—whatever it took to find her. In the short time he’d known her, she had wrapped around his heart and touched his soul. Most people would think it crazy, but he knew deep down that she was the lady for him, that they recognized each other and belonged together as one. Yesterday, he wouldn’t have found it easy to admit this, but today he didn’t hesitate. He loved her.
He took Wind’s reins from the groom, mounted, and rode off to the Lyon’s Den. He knew the Den would be closed, but he hoped someone would be there to let him in to see Mrs. Dove-Lyon. He stopped at the nearest mews to the Den, dismounted, and handed the reins and a coin to the groom. Then he walked quickly to the front of the Lyon’s Den, where two guards stood at the main entrance and said, “May I help you?”
“Yes.” Oliver handed one of the men his calling card. “I’m hoping to have a word with Mrs. Dove-Lyon. It is of an urgent nature.”
“She is receiving callers this morning. Go inside and speak with Puck.”
Oliver entered through the main doors and recognized Puck from the other day. “May I please have a word with Mrs. Dove-Lyon?”
“Come with me.” He was led to the same room where he had met Mrs. Dove-Lyon several times before.
“The Duke of Weston.”
“Thank you, Puck,” said Mrs. Dove-Lyon. “Please take a seat, Your Grace. Forgive me for being blunt, but you seem on edge.”
Oliver took off his hat and seated himself in a chair facing Mrs. Dove-Lyon, who was dressed in her usual widow’s weeds, including her well-known black veil. “I am beside myself. I’ve just come from Greenwich House, where I was told that Miss Windham ran away last night.”
“What!?” The teacup in Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s hand trembled, sloshing tea over the rim.
“Lady Emma said she would never run away. She was excited about marrying me.” His hands shook as they held his hat on his lap. “I was hoping she had come to you.”
Mrs. Dove Lyon exhaled. “She did not. This isn’t right. Something’s wrong. I agree with Lady Emma that she would never run away.”
“Indeed. I am most concerned about her well-being. I’ll go to Bow Street and hire a Runner or two. I won’t stop searching until she is found.”
“I have a Runner I work with. His name is Mr. Stephen Burns. No need for you to go to Bow Street. I will send a note right away asking him to go to Weston Hall immediately.”
He rose and bowed. “Thank you for your help. I’ll be in touch when the whereabouts of Miss Windham are known.”
“See that you are. Puck will see you out.”
***
When the door closed behind the duke, Bessie went to her desk and wrote a note to Mr. Burns requesting his help. She planned to have Puck deliver it immediately.
It wasn’t the first time a supposed lady client of hers had disappeared, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Bessie hada special fondness for Miss Windham, and the thought of her being in danger twisted her insides in knots. She agreed with the duke and Lady Emma. She wouldn’t have run away, and if she needed help, she would have come to see Bessie as she had before.
It was time to talk to Lord Greenwich. He owed her a significant amount of money, and she had been waiting for the right moment to collect. If Lady Greenwich was involved, tonight would be the perfect night to demand payment. Men tended to loosen their tongues when faced with financial ruin and scandal.
