“Er, well, I was actually about to head off, to see something through…”To pummel Charles Sharples until he vows to cease and desist this campaign.
Matthew frowned. The viscount was no longer looking him in the eye, but rather in the direction of his hand. Matthew followed his gaze, glancing down to the letter he’d penned to Cressida, with the simple, brutally honest valediction he had decided on:With all my love, now and always, Matthew.
He flipped the letter around, holding it against his chest. The mischievous glint in the young aristocrat’s eye, however, informed him he’d been too late.
Middlemiss returned, collapsing his lanky form into another armchair with a yawn into the back of his hand.
“Heading off? Pity, I’ve so been looking forward to making your acquaintance. Henry never ceases to speak of you.” Caplin eased back into the chair with all the insouciance afforded by his age and rank.
Matthew paused. He didn’t wish to act in any way that might offend Henry, were it to get back to the lad. And he’d nothing against Viscount Caplin either; the youth seemed rather friendly and charming. Especially considering he would be well within his rights to be uncharitable in these circumstances.
“And besides,” Caplin said, his expression suddenly shifting to one of unease, “perhaps you might be able to answer a pressing question for me, seeing as you and my—Lady Caplin—get on so well.”
Matthew stepped forward, steeling himself for what was to come.
“What’s that, then?” Middlemiss piped up in genuine confusion. “What’s the question?”
“Where in the blazes is she?” Caplin answered his friend, his voice steady but still staring skeptically at Matthew.
“Where is she?” Matthew repeated, heart pounding, time slowing.
“She’s been gone nearly all day. Left no word, no explanation. No groom with her, either. Henry hasn’t a clue as to where she might be.” His voice slowed, his confidence faltering. “Not even Wardle has a guess.”
“Chin up, Caplin. It’s not time for dinner yet. Why, I godayswithout seeing my own mother. In fact, I can’t recall seeing her at all this past fortnight, so rarely is she about when I stumble home,” Middlemiss declared proudly, before joking, “Perhaps it’s time for you to cut the leading strings.” He chortled.
But neither Viscount Caplin nor Matthew smiled.
Instead they stared at one another; Matthew clenched his hands into fists, his head feeling heavy. But he knew they shared the same thought: Lady Caplin was not about her usual business.
Middlemiss’s laughter halted. He frowned, glancing to Caplin and then back to Matthew.
“What? Why has everyone gone serious all of the sudden?”
“My mother has been unaccounted for these past several hours. Keep up.”
“So? I still don’t understand the cause for concern. Why, I only wish my mother would—”
“Midder? Do shut it.” Viscount Caplin stood and began pacing, rubbing his mouth with one hand.
“Did she say anything at all when you last saw her?” Matthew asked, feeling like his head was in a vise.
“Only that she needed to finish some business in town. We’re planning on leaving the city within the week.”
Finish some business.
Suddenly everything came together, the series of moves on the chessboard necessary for checkmate revealed as clear as day.
No one as capable and clever as Lady Caplin would allow a threat of blackmail to go unanswered. The woman could be brutal, her mind sharp and unyielding. Matthew was overcome by a surge of affection.
“What?” Caplin said. “What is it?”
“I know where she’s gone.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
For once in heradult life, Cressida was not angry.
She moved with purpose through the stinking streets, her head held high, her spirits light. Happiness might not be meant for the upper classes, but perhaps she could at least claim some measure of it, some form of relief, for herself.
