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“Why?” she found herself asking.
His smile grew. “Typically, when someone agrees to do you a favor, you just reply with a thank you.”
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Lord Hawthorne dropped his arms but remained close. “If you don’t believe it was suicide, then how do you believe that Miss Hardy died?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted, “but I believe the people who abducted her must have killed her.”
“People are killed in the rookeries all the time, and the coroners can’t handle the workflow,” Lord Hawthorne said. “Most likely, the coroner didn’t give her autopsy the time it deserved.”
“I am sure that was the case.”
Lord Hawthorne glanced up at the sky. “Unfortunately, I have business I need to attend to this evening, but I will go speak to the coroner first thing tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” she responded, hoping her words conveyed her sincere gratitude. “This means more to me than you will ever know.”
He brought his gaze back down to meet hers. “It is just a trivial thing, Miss Dowding.”
“Not to me,” Madalene replied softly. “To me, it is everything.”
“You are giving me far too much credit,” he said, a tender smile on his lips. “I’m afraid it shall make me full of myself.”
Madalene ducked her head as she felt the familiar warmth return to her cheeks, finding it hard to find something clever to say when she was standing so close to him.
“I’m afraid I must depart,” Lord Hawthorne said, taking a step back.
“Must you?” she asked boldly.
Lord Hawthorne chuckled. “I would much rather stay with you than go to the House of Lords and listen to boring men ramble on.”
“You flatter me,” Madalene joked, meeting his gaze.
“That was my intention.” He offered his arm. “May I escort you back inside?”
“You may,” she replied as she placed her hand on his.
As they walked back towards the townhouse, Madalene said, “Thank you for coming when you did, my lord.”
“That is what a good friend is for,” Lord Hawthorne replied, patting her arm.
Madalene smiled up at him. “I’m glad that we are friends.”
“As am I.”
In that moment, Madalene realized that she cared for Lord Hawthorne more than she was letting on. She was falling in love with him, and that scared her.
With the moonlightbrightening his path, Baldwin hurried along the cobblestone street as he headed towards the Blue Boar. He was dressed in a tattered white cotton shirt, a waistcoat that was too small for his muscular frame, and trousers held up by twine. He had yet to replace the jacket that he had given to the beggar on the street as he was racing away from the Bow Street Runner.
He arrived at the Blue Boar, ignoring the rowdy men who were lingering in front of the pub, and stepped inside. He didn’t acknowledge anyone as he headed towards the back room and knocked on the door.
Baldwin was surprised when it was opened by Morton, who ushered him in.
“Good, you have finally arrived,” Morton said as he latched the door closed. “We have been expecting you.”
Baldwin glanced around the room and counted only six people, a far cry from the crowd that had been here just a few days ago. A woman sat at the table in the corner, her features shadowed.
“Where is everyone?” Baldwin asked.
