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"He'll be waiting for it." Wells gave an emphatic shake of his head. "It's not only implausible that you could manage to intercept the note without being spied, it's hardly worth your effort to try. Think about it. The viscount and his snitch have been holding their late-night meetings for months now. My guess is that their meeting place has remained the same. Why, then, would they bother spelling out the address in a note? Their communications are probably cryptic—stating the time they should arrive and the urgency of the topic."
"You're right." Breanna gave an exasperated sigh. "But I've got to…" Abruptly, she broke off, her jade green eyes darkening with resolve. "Fine. I'll accomplish this in a bolder manner. The instant Father exchanges a message with this courier or informs you that he'll be going out late at night, tell me. I suspect we haven't long to wait until that happens. Things being as they are, I'm sure Father will want his answers right away, either tonight or tomorrow night."
"Why are you so eager to know when this meeting is going to take place?" Wells asked cautiously.
"Because whenever Father goes, I'm going, too."
Wells sucked in his breath. "You're going to follow the viscount to…"
"Yes. It's the only way I can learn who Father's meeting, how much he assumes we know, and what he's planning."
"Miss Breanna." Wells looked ill. "Do you understand how dangerous that is?"
"I understand it's the only way we're going to get the information we need quickly enough. Even if Darren figures out the name of my father's contact by tomorrow, all we'll have is an uncooperative snitch whose confession we can't count on. And even if his confession is genuine, there's no guarantee he can piece together the whole plot. Damen, Stacie, and I know aspects of my father's plan that this informant might not. I need to hear Father's conversation with him firsthand, hear what his instructions to him are. Then, I can combine what I learn with what I already know, and figure out the full scope of what Father's done—and what he plans to do next. Especially the latter, if we're going to ensure Stacie's safety and bring this nightmare to an end."
She hesitated, searching for the right words to explain to Wells how deeply, how personally, she felt about all this. "I'm his daughter, Wells," she said in a small, dignified tone. "It's up to me to stop him." Her chin set, and she met Wells's gaze with unyielding conviction. "Please don't try to deter me. It won't work. I can be as stubborn as Stacie when I want to be, if I believe what I'm defending is important enough. And this is important enough. It's more precious to me than anything else in my life. It's my family."
Wells cleared his throat, his lips pursed as he contemplated his reply. "I'll make sure the second phaeton is ready, both tonight and tomorrow night," he declared, the essence of efficiency. "We can follow behind, at a discreet distance, so we won't be spied."
"We?" Breanna's jaw dropped.
One of Wells's brows raised ever so slightly. "You didn't think I'd let you do this alone, did you? Now…" He continued as if that subject were closed. "Neither of us can go in our customary attire. Certainly not you, who'd be devoured by the pub's lowlifes, before your father could even recognize you to thrash you. And I…" He glanced down, scowling at his dignified uniform. "…I look far too stately to fit into the crowd we'll be mingling with, certainly if I hope to do so without being spotted by your father." A decisive sniff. "I'll borrow the necessary clothing, have it ready. We can leave at a moment's notice."
Emotion clogge
d Breanna's throat, made speaking difficult. "It's obvious that Grandfather realized something I've only just begun to comprehend," she managed. "Something that explains why Stacie and I are still blessed enough to have you looking out for us: that family isn't necessarily defined by ties of the blood. Family is defined by ties of the heart." She crossed over, abandoning protocol entirely to give Wells a huge hug. "Thank you, my dear friend. Thank you for being part of our family."
* * *
George stormed up the front steps of Medford Manor, pounding on the door with his fist.
Wells opened it, stepping aside to allow his employer to enter. "Good evening, sir. I didn't know you'd arrived."
"Obviously, I have." George marched inside, trying for the fifth time to smooth the wrinkles out of his coat. He hated wrinkles. They looked damned untidy, even if one had been drinking.
Besides, whatever liquor he'd consumed had long since worn off. As had its dulling effect.
"Is my daughter home?" George demanded, peering about as if expecting to see Breanna awaiting his return.
Wells stifled a cough. "She's in her room, sir."
"And the mail—did you put it aside for me?"
"Just as you asked, yes."
"Good. Were there any private messages delivered to Breanna?"
"No, my lord." This time, Wells relented, giving one or two raspy coughs. "But Miss Breanna did have a visitor."
George's head shot up. "Who?"
"Lord Sheldrake."
"Sheldrake." Suspicion and fear clouded George's eyes. "He came to see Breanna?"
"Actually, he was looking for you, as well. Something about business you two had to conduct. But I told him you'd be gone all day, so he said he'd return in a day or two to meet with you."
"That's all he said?"
