His father had mortgaged nearly everything, even the townhouse in Grosvenor Square, which Lex had been forced to sell at a loss. The family’s investments had vanished—liquidated, squandered, or simply lost to poor judgment. Lex himself had sold his own shares in tradingships and modest business ventures just to keep the wolf from the door.
When he’d first learned of the near fifty-thousand-pound debt load, he’d been incandescent with rage, not just at his father’s carelessness, but at his own blindness.
Still, rage did little to solve problems. He’d worked with his family’s solicitors, relied on Basil’s counsel, and drawn up a plan. Pay the worst debts first—particularly the ones owed to criminal lenders who charged blood for interest. Keep the estates afloat. Prioritize the tenant farmers, the household staff, the people who actually mattered.
Basil had offered him money. Of course he had. But Lex had refused. He would not borrow from friends. His father had done that—shamelessly, repeatedly—and left nothing but resentment in his wake.
He’d also refused Basil’s more recent suggestion: sell his mother’s jewels. Those belonged to Tess, his younger sister. They would one day be hers to wear, or to sell if her own life demanded it. He would not touch that inheritance.
Time, however, was running out. John was preparing a comprehensive financial report, and Lex would have to make some difficult decisions upon his return—deciding which of the smaller properties to relinquish to preserve the rest.
But for now, his focus was on Edwina.
He reached Berkeley Square and paused in front of the Sinclair townhouse, its façade stately and serene in the soft morning gloom. He removed his hat, smoothing his windblown hair, and squared his shoulders.
He had to see her.
He needed to know why she had left. Why had she said nothing? And—if his heart was not entirely mistaken—whether she felt even a fraction of what he did.
Because if she did…
He would ask her to be his wife.
He climbed the stone steps and knocked on the front door of the townhouse.
The Berkeley Square home was distinguished but not ostentatious—a handsome Georgian façade with symmetrical windows, a fanlight above the door, and wrought-iron railings that bordered a tidy front garden. Ivy crept neatly along the lower brickwork, and the brass knocker gleamed despite the damp.
A moment later, the butler opened the door, his expression composed but curious.
“Good morning, my lord. May I help you?”
“Yes,” Lex said. “Lord Capel, here to see Lady Sinclair.”
The butler seemed to hesitate, then gave a slight bow and stepped aside. “Please, do come in.”
As Lex crossed the marble-tiled foyer, he glanced up just in time to see Edwina’s cousin descending the main staircase, a newspaper in one hand, his cravat only half tied, as if he’d just abandoned his morning toilette.
“Capel, my good man!” Charles called with easy charm as he stepped off the last step. “What brings you to Berkeley Square?”
“Sinclair,” Lex replied, offering his hand. “Good to see you as well.” He clasped Charles’s hand briefly—firm, but not overly familiar—and hesitated for the barest of moments before tossing his pride to the devil. “Truth be told, I was hoping to have a word with Lady Sinclair.”
Charles’s easy smile faltered just slightly. He exhaled, folding the newspaper under one arm. “Ah…yes. That might prove difficult.”
A knot twisted in Lex’s chest. “Why is that?”
“She’s not here,” Charles said, frowning. “Nor is my great-aunt, for that matter. They left rather unexpectedly yesterday afternoon to return to Wiltshire House.”
Lex stiffened. “Without notice?”
Charles gave a shrug. “I was at my solicitors for the better part ofthe day, buried in paperwork. When I returned, I found a note from them—vague, at best. Something about a pressing matter that required their attention back in Middlesex. No details, no explanation. Just…gone.”
“Without even a reply to my notes,” Lex murmured.
“I see. I can imagine your consternation,” Charles said, with a sympathetic shake of his head. “Naturally, it’s nothing compared to my own.”
Am I the reason she fled like a sparrow running from a hawk?
“Basil and I are returning to Essex tomorrow,” Charles added. “If you’d like to accompany us, we’re staying at Brown’s—as you know—and we’d be delighted to see you back to Middlesex.”
