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"Thank you for understanding," Sammy said quickly, already scurrying up the stairs to alert Cynthia. It had just occurred to her that, in the process of comforting Stephen, she might learn something of Goddfrey's whereabouts. "I'll be home before you have time to miss me."
"This Viscount Anders—is he another of your beaux?" Cynthia questioned curiously as their phaeton raced toward the docks.
"Perhaps in his mind. Not in mine." Sammy replied.
"Yet you're rushing to his side."
"No, I'm offering him friendship. Besides," Sammy's eyes sparkled, "I might learn something from him... something that could help Drake."
"Ah, your Gothics again."
Sammy shot her a sidelong glance. "I just happened to recall that it was Stephen I first heard discussing Lord Goddfrey's dilemma."
"Who is Lord Goddfrey?"
Sammy filled Cynthia in on what she'd overheard at her first Almack's ball and subsequently at the dock. "Stephen might know where Lord Goddfrey is. If so, perhaps that will lead us to the truth. Then all would be well and Drake would be out of danger."
Cynthia rolled her eyes. "Samantha—"
"We're here. Come." Sammy sprang from the barely still phaeton,
dragging Cynthia along with her.
"This is even more odious than Shadwell!" Cynthia surveyed London Dock with distaste.
"You'll get used to it. I've been here countless times, so I barely notice the riffraff anymore. Besides, we have no choice. This is where the warehouses are located. Now all we need to do is find Stephen's."
"How do you know he's at his warehouse and not his home ... in his bed, for that matter? It's only mid-morning."
"Because he's just lost a ship. If Drake's received the news, so has Stephen. He'll rush right down to his warehouse to get the full details. There it is!" Triumphantly, Sammy pointed to a corner building with the sign anders shipping company. "I'm going in. You wait here."
"Just a minute." Cynthia stayed Sammy with her hand. "You're not going in there alone."
"It's possible that Stephen will refuse to confide in me ... but he'll certainly refuse to do so if I bring a chaperon. I'll be fine, Cynthia. Just wait here. If I need you, I'll yell." She grinned. "The way you suggested at Vauxhall."
"And we both know how that evening turned out," Cynthia muttered. "Very well. I'll stand guard."
Sammy marched up to the door and knocked.
"Yes?" A ruddy-complexioned foreman opened the door.
"Good morning. I'm here to see Viscount Anders. I realize I haven't an appointment, and it is a bit early, but I do hope he's in and he can see me."
The man scratched his head, drinking in Sammy's delicate curves and earnest expression. "He's here. As for seeing you . . . who are you?"
"Forgive me, sir." Sammy curtsied. "I'm Samantha Barrett, a friend of the viscount's."
"A friend, huh?" The foreman grinned, watching Sammy's formal curtsy as if uncertain exactly how to respond. Ultimately, he shrugged. "Well, come in, little lady. You might be just the medicine Anders needs today."
Sammy's guide led her through the warehouse, stopping before a heavy wooden door. "That's his office. Good luck."
"Thank you, sir." Sammy knocked.
"Who is it?" a slurred voice called.
"Stephen? It's I... Samantha."
Silence, followed by a murmur of male voices and the muffled sound of drawers closing. An instant later Stephen himself opened the door.
