There was a growing feeling of coldness spreading through Cecilia. It was a thick, viscous dread. Peggy’s cheeks were scarletand she was chewing her lip. Finally, she looked up, eyes bright and even a little defiant.
“Forgive me, Cecilia. But I was sworn to secrecy by my mother and by Mr. Blackwood. I was told how much trouble I’d be in with the Duke if I spoke out of turn. They said he would be back long before you woke up. But he is not. And now Mr. Blackwood has gone out in the middle of the night to look for him.”
“Where has Lionel gone?” Cecilia asked, quietly.
“I was not told. I would not lie to you, Your Grace. Just that he was leaving the house and would be back and not to tell you.”
Cecilia nodded to herself. “And Mr. Blackwood is also absent?”
“Yes, this past hour,” Peggy admitted.
“And he gave you no indication as to where he was going?” she asked.
“None.”
“Did he leave on foot?”
“No, he summoned a cab.”
“He would not follow Lionel unless he was concerned for his safety,” Cecilia murmured, “so Lionel was heading out to puthimself into danger and now Mr. Blackwood has followed. And he promised me to remain by my side…”
“I have spoken out of turn…” Peggy began.
“No, Peggy, you have not,” she assured, “I thank you for your loyalty. I need someone in this house who is on my side. You know, for some wives, finding their husbands vanished while they were incapacitated would, I’m sure, have only one answer. But for Lionel, I am not worried about that. I am far more concerned that he has put himself at great risk for the sake of his obsession with revenge. And he promised me!”
There were tears pricking at her eyes and choking her words. She blinked them away. Anger was pushing them out but also worry. She had visions of Lionel lying dead in some rookery, Lord Thorpe standing over him. And she had no way of knowing where she would need to begin looking.
“Please take this away, Peggy. I do not have the stomach for food,” she muttered.
Peggy removed the tray with some hesitation and Cecilia threw aside the bedclothes. She swung her feet to the floor and tentatively pushed herself upright. There was a tremor in her legs but nothing worse than the general feeling of unsteadiness after more than a day without food. Nodding to herself, she strode across the room to the door that led to what was now her dressing room. There were her wardrobes containing the clothes she had brought with her from Hamilton Hall, but also the much more numerous garments that Lionel had ordered to be madefor her upon their marriage. She selected a dress of dark blue, something well-made and dignified without being ostentatious, and allowed Peggy to help her dress.
“I am not sure you should be out of bed, Cecilia,” she protested.
“Nonsense. Morning sickness is not an illness. It is part of carrying a child and it comes and goes. I will not lie idle in bed while Lionel is gallivanting on his damnable mission of revenge. Who knows what trouble he might have gotten himself into.”
Worry was warring with anger within her, fighting for supremacy. She was furious at Lionel for making a promise to her and then promptly breaking his word. How could she trust her husband if he lacked the strength to remain true to his word? She was also angry at him for putting himself in jeopardy. If he expected to be home before she awoke, then something had happened to prevent it. She could not think of many things that could do that other than injury or… death.
That thought was one she refused to dwell on, instead stoking her anger to keep it at bay. If Lionel was going to put his quest for revenge above her, then she owed him no loyalty when it came to her own quest.
Penrose was very much on her mind.
Before leaving Thornhill, she had availed herself of the library and, with the help of a copy of Debrett’s and William Darton's map of the city of London, Westminster, and Southwark, shehad located the London residence of Gordon Locke, Count of Thorpe.
Sir Gerald Knightley had been lodging with Lord Thorpe at his country residence. If Thorpe was now in London, and Cecilia had to assume he was or else why had Lionel gone off without a word, then there was a chance that Sir Gerald was in tow. If not, then Thorpe might have some light to shed on Penrose.
Cecilia looked at herself in the mirror, seeing a woman who was calm and dignified. The suitable appearance for a Duchess? It was hard to tell. She hoped so—the success she hoped for all depended on Sir Gerald taking her seriously. And she was sick and tired of nobody taking her seriously.
First, it had been her aunt and uncle. A sheltered existence that inevitably led to her learning that they had likely conjured a plot to have her brother’s true will burned and her inheritance denied. Then, it had been Sir Gerald Knightley, the man who stole and promptly burned down her family home. Now, it had been her husband, who was so focused on his revenge that he’d broken his promise and risked their future together.
So be it. She would go through with this, forherself.
“Peggy, I will need a carriage. One of ours, not a cab,” she said.
“Yes, Your Grace. Might I ask where to?” Peggy asked nervously.
“An address in Regent’s Circus,” Cecilia told her, suppressing the note of uncertainty in her voice.
“And to whom might I say you have gone to visit? If His Grace returns before yourself,” Peggy quickly added.
