“Very well, Miss. But should you need anything, anything at all, the doors of Perpignol’s are open to you. Any time.” He winked at her, then Pen watched his purple turban disappear in the crowd.
She returned to the Turkish pavilion, her head in a whirl. Alworth waited in front, tapping his stick on the ground impatiently.
“Where have you been?” he growled. “I’ve been searching high and low for you. In this crowd it is virtually impossible to find anyone.”
“It is fine. We can go now.” Pen trotted beside him, repressing the turmoil she felt inside.
Alworth shot her a look. “You seem to have an air of excitement about you.”
“I found him.” It burst forth from her.
Alworth stopped in his tracks. “Rochford?”
“No. Maybe. His valet.” Pen dropped her head. “His former valet. You were right that Marcus is Rochford. Fariq confirmed it. He will give him a message from me. If he remembers.”
“I’m sorry, brat. You’d have deserved a worthier guardian.” There was a look of sympathy on his face. Pen looked away.
For the first time, she did not rise to Marcus's defence. Something kept her from telling him that Fariq was the owner of Perpignol’s. And that she planned to go there.
Alone.
