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Chapter Twenty-Five
“Are you certain?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Mr. Foster, the private investigator Harriet had hired to follow Stephen sipped loudly at his tea. “She looks exactly like that image.”
“And you are certain you saw them together?”
He nodded. He uncrossed his legs, resting his arms on his knee. Harriet nearly turned her nose up at him, but she looked back down at the paper in her hand instead. It was a copy of theLondon Times, folded only to show the image of a young lady and the words below. “Reward offered to anyone who has information about her whereabouts,” it read.
The woman was quite a beauty, based on the picture. Harriet curled her hand into a fist. Her son had been fooled by a woman with a pretty face. Just as her husband had been.
“This woman seems to be on the run, Your Grace, considering the reward for any knowledge about her whereabouts. Just this morning, I witnessed her with the Duke on the porch of a home in London.”
“What were they doing?” she asked him without looking up. She studied the face, the curves of the woman’s jaw and the curled hair.
Mr. Foster cleared his throat and shifted uneasily. Harriet looked up at him with a raised brow. “You are comfortable following a man around and reporting his every activity and yet you hesitate when it is time to describe his actions with a woman?”
“O…of course not, Your Grace,” he said quickly, sitting up straighter. “They were only holding hands and I was too far to overhear what they were saying. I imagine that it must have been something she enjoyed, however.”
“I see.” Harriet looked back down at the paper. “Is there anything else of interest you think I should be aware of?”
“They went inside shortly afterwards, Your Grace. She is not living there alone, however. Another woman exited the house and left. She also seems to have a limp.”
“I don't care about those stupid details.” Annoyed, Harriet waved her hand dismissively. “You may leave. I will have your payment sent to your office.”
Mr. Foster got to his feet and bowed low. “It was a pleasure working with you, Your Grace,” he said before he made his leave.
Harriet tossed the paper aside in anger. She could hardly believe the disrespect. She’d spoken to Stephen about marrying the Dowager Duchess of Fernridge and the first thing he thinks to do is to see his mistress? A woman who is on the run? How dare he!
If he thinks I will sit still after this, then he is sorely mistaken.
* * *
Stephen spent longer at the Stanton house than he meant to, but he’d enjoyed every minute of it. He’d stayed by Hannah’s side the entire time, even sitting at the table with her while Anne attempted to teach Hannah how to make a few dishes.
Spending time with the Stanton family and Hannah always put a smile on his face, but the moment he walked through the door and spotted his mother waiting for him in the foyer, he heaved a sigh.
“Mother, must we do this so often?” he asked tiredly. “I’ve already said everything I wanted to this morning. You will not change my mind about the Dowager Duchess.”
“You will not, will you? Are you certain about that?” His mother narrowed her eyes at him. Stephen shook his head and attempted to pass by her. “I will not have you making a mockery of our family name, Stephen,” she seethed as he passed.
“I sincerely doubt that refusing to marry a widow will make a mockery of this family. And if she is truly upset about my hasty departure the previous night then I will happy issue an apology if that is what will make you happy.”
“What will make me happy is seeing you settle down with a proper partner rather than sneaking around with a lady who’s on the run!”
Stephen paused in his tracks. Slowly, he turned to face her. “What?”
“Stephen, I am your mother. It is was already quite clear to me what you were doing outside of this manor but now I have all the confirmation that I need.”
“What do you mean?”
She threw something at him. It was a piece of paper, that seemed to have been torn from a newspaper. It fluttered to the floor between them. Stephen frowned at his mother before he bent to pick it up. His frown deepened when he saw the image of Hannah. “Where did you get this?”
“It was in theLondon Times,” she said in a matter-of-fact voice. “Someone wishes to find her and is willing to issue a reward to anyone who has any information about her whereabouts. A friend of mine showed this to me and told me exactly who she was, since they had met at last year’s Season. Her name is Lady Belle Sinclair and she is the daughter of the Duke of Auldwood.”
Stephen studied the picture, confusion swirling through him. It was surely Hannah and yet she looked different. He quickly read through the writing underneath and once he was finished, he felt as if he could no longer breathe.
“You look as if you have seen a ghost, Stephen,” his mother said, but she sounded so far away that Stephen could hardly focus on what she was saying.
