“Would you care for a drink?”
“No, thank you, Your Grace. I don’t drink while I’m working.”
“Wise man,” Oliver said, deciding not to pour another for himself. He wanted to stay sharp for this conversation.
“Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s note only said that it was urgent. How can I help you, Your Grace?”
“Call me Weston, please. I appreciate how quickly you came. What I want to hire you for, and what I tell you, must remain confidential.”
“Understood. I only share with my colleagues, if necessary.”
“Good. I hired Mrs. Dove-Lyon to find me a wife. Miss Phoebe Windham, niece of Lord and Lady Greenwich and residing in their home, also went to her looking for a husband.” He explained everything in great detail—from the first night he met Miss Windham to the last time he saw her at Hudson Hall, omitting only their later tryst.
“She had no reservations about marrying you, considering your history?”
“None whatsoever. At least not that she let on. She was very relieved that her time living at Greenwich House was coming to an end.”
“I see. When I leave here, I will pay a visit to the earl and countess. Do I have your permission to say you hired me to find Miss Windham?”
“Yes. But I must warn you that Lady Greenwich will not be cooperative.”
“Noted. Do you think they will let me question the servants? See if anyone noticed anything.”
“You can try.”
Burns stood. “I will send word later today.”
“Thank you, Mr. Burns.”
“Burns will do, and you are most welcome, Weston,” Burns said as he bowed, turned, and opened the door to find Edwards standing at attention.
“Edwards, please see Burns out.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
When he was alone again, Oliver poured a brandy and sat staring into the amber liquid, hoping to find answers to Miss Windham’s disappearance. His body shivered as cold dread settled over him. Anything could have happened to her. Would the countess dump her in St. Giles without a coin to survive? Dosomething so vile as to sell her to a brothel? “Bloody hell,” he bellowed out suddenly, sick to his stomach. He had to find her. The seedier parts of London were no place for a young lady with no means. And if she weren’t still in London, where could she be?
His mind wandered as he tried to think of reasons why the countess hated her niece. What was the history between Lord and Lady Greenwich and Miss Windham’s parents besides the fact that the men were brothers? He had a strange feeling that it all went back to the past.
He jumped up from his chair, bolted out the door, down the hallway, into the entryway, and yelled to a startled Edwards, “I’m going out. No need to send for Wind—I’ll get him.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Edwards said as he handed him his hat and riding crop.
Oliver pushed the door open himself, not giving Edwards the chance, and practically jumped down the stairs leading to the pavement. With his heart racing, he hurried to the mews, and between him and the groom, they had Wind saddled and ready to go in minutes.
Mounted on Wind and heading to Greenwich House, he hoped to sit in on the meeting between Burns and the earl and countess. When he arrived, he dismounted, handed the reins to the same groom as before, and hurried up the stairs two at a time. There was no time to knock, as the butler had it open when he reached the landing. “Back so soon, Your Grace.”
What an insolent man. “Yes. Is Mr. Burns with Lord and Lady Greenwich?”
“Yes.” He narrowed his eyes and frowned. “Come with me.”
“I know the way,” Oliver said as he sprinted up the stairs and entered the drawing room. “Forgive the intrusion, Lord and Lady Greenwich,” he said as he swept into the room and bowed.“I wished to be present when you speak to Mr. Burns, a Bow Street Runner I’ve hired to look into the disappearance of Miss Windham.”
“Please sit, Weston,” Greenwich said, looking stymied. “She hasn’t disappeared. She ran away.”
“Has she?” he questioned with one brow raised. The earl turned his head and looked at his wife. A chill crept up his spine at the look he gave her.
Before the earl could speak, the countess said, “Your Grace, we spoke of this in this very room this morning. You even read the note my dear niece left, attesting to why she ran away.”
