“Have you spoken to the laundresses?” Lucien asked, his brow furrowing. “Perhaps you left the toy in your pocket.”
“I have searched everywhere and asked all of the maids. He’s been on my dressing table a fair amount, so they know what to look for.”
“When do you last remember seeing him?”
She fretted her lower lip. “I’m ashamed to say I’m not sure when I last had him in my possession. I remember showing the Lord Admiral to the children at the school and talking about the Battle of Trafalgar. I took him to the museum with a crowd of Alice Pinchbeck’s friends. They laughed when I showed him the Elgin Marbles. I wrote the boys that he’d observed plants from the South Sea islands in Lady Downe’s conservatory. Her ladyship was talking quite wistfully about her son, and so I shared the tale of how I had come to carry the boys’ tin soldier about.”
“Perhaps you dropped it.” Lucien was quiet a moment. Grace imagined his thoughts turning in his head, like the gears in his gold pocket watch. “Did you have the toy that night at the theater?”
“I don’t know.” She turned her hands palm up. “I fear I have grown lax about the poor admiral. I merely transfer things to my pocket or reticule by instinct…my watch, the toy wrapped in a handkerchief. It has become such a habit I rarely think about it now.”
She had spent the first month of her marriage looking backward toward The Willows. Worrying. Wondering how her brothers fared. But a gentle severing of the old life had gradually taken place. Her gaze now turned toward Lucien and the future.
Arkwright piped up. “Maybe you could buy another toy soldier to replace it without them knowing the difference. I should buy a set for you to keep here anyway,” he teased. “Considering how much time Everdene is staying at home, Uncle Rhys should start filling up the nursery with playthings. Must have it fully stocked when you provide me with a wee Harcourt to spoil.”
Grace saw the corners of Lucien’s mouth harden, and she quelled the instinctive urge to touch her stomach.
“Believe it or not,” Lucien told Arkwright, “I cannot even spare time for a chess match, let alone indulge your ridiculous urge to spoil children that do not even exist. I was about to go on an errand.”
“Excellent! I’ll come along with you.” Arkwright rubbed his hands together in anticipation and gave Lucien a crooked grin. “Where are we off to? Tattersalls? Bond Street? I could use some new boots.”
“Pinchbeck’s Factory.”
Grace’s breath caught. “Truly?” She pressed her hand to her chest, only half believing.
“Pinchbeck’s factory?” Arkwright echoed, disgruntled. “What the devil do you want to go there for?”
That smile that had grown less rare tipped up the corner of Lucien’s mouth. “Someone very wise told me I need to find out why people are rioting, see the conditions they work under for myself.”
“Oh, Lucien! Thank you!” She flung her arms around him despite Arkwright looking on.
He hesitated a moment, then returned her embrace, stroking his hand up and down her back. “I hope I might discover something about the fate of Darragh Nolan as well,” he told her.
“Will you take me with you?” she asked.
“I will learn more if you are not present. They’ll have no excuse to avoid certain subjects or areas to protect a woman’s sensibilities.”
Disappointment tugged at her, but she had to admit he was right. Much as she wanted to go, it would be better to get all of the information possible. “You will tell me everything when you return?”
He hesitated, and she got the feeling he did not want to make promises he might not be able to keep.
“You must not hope for too much,” he warned instead. “I am not certain what I will achieve by doing this.”
“I understand, but it means the world to me that you are trying.”
He gently trailed the pad of his thumb between her brows, and she knew he was smoothing out the crease that formed there when she was worried. “You look rather tired, my dear. I fear preparing for this charity event has been robbing you of sleep.”
“You needn’t worry about the ton,” Arkwright said. “I am certain you will convince them to donate to your cause. After all, you have got my curmudgeonly friend going to tour a factory.”
She stretched on tiptoe, leaning in to whisper against Lucien’s ear. “The party is not what has been keeping me awake at night.”
She loved seeing the heat flare in his gaze as he angled his head to kiss her. His mouth lingered, his hand warm on her cheek. “You mustn’t let anything trouble you. Not Lady Pinchbeck, your guest list or Lord Admiral Nelson. We will solve that mystery of the Lord Admiral together, or we will concoct an epic adventure to explain his disappearance—without Arkwright filling up rooms with toys we do not need.”
He shot a quelling look at his friend, but Grace felt a flutter of unease at his words.
Perhaps it was time to get the answer to another mystery as well, she thought, her own unease heavy in her chest. After Arkwright and Lucien left, she went to her escritoire and wrote a note and sealed it. Heart hammering, she handed the missive to a footman.
It was time to find out the truth.
