“Find out where she goes,” Godric commanded, his voice hard. “Who she meets with, what she does, everything. But ensure that she does not know she is being followed. If she discovers your presence, she will only become more difficult to track.”
“Understood, Your Grace. We will get to the bottom of this.”
“See that you do.” Godric dismissed him with a wave of his hand, but as Dante turned to leave, he added, “And Dante? Double the men assigned to her. I want someone watching that house at all hours. If she so much as steps out of her front door, I want to know about it immediately.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
After Dante had taken his leave, Godric sank back into his chair, the concern that had gripped him showing no signs of fading. If anything, it had only intensified, a tight knot in his chest that refused to give no matter how hard he tried to relax.
What was Nora thinking, sneaking out alone in the dead of night? Did she have any idea how dangerous London could be after dark, especially for a young woman of proper upbringing? She could be robbed, or worse. The very thought made his blood run cold.
He tried to imagine what could possibly be worth such a risk. A clandestine meeting with a lover? The thought sent a surge of jealous anger through him, but he dismissed it almost immediately. Nora was many things, stubborn and impulsive chief among them, but he believed that she was not foolish enough to compromise herself in such a manner. Not when she was actively seeking a husband.
Then what?
The question plagued him as the hours wore on, even as he tried to turn his attention to other matters. Some letters needed to be answered, accounts that required reviewing, and plans that had to be refined for better execution. But time and time again, his mind wandered back to Nora, to her secret nocturnal excursions and what they might mean.
By the time he finally retired for the evening, exhaustion weighing heavily upon him, one thing had become crystal clear.
He needed to know where she was going and what she was doing. And once he had those answers, he would ensure that she never put herself in such danger again.
Even if he had to lock her in her room to accomplish it.
Meanwhile, down the street, Nora was preparing for yet another late-night adventure.
She long since changed out of the dress she had worn to the garden party and had donned a more casual attire with comfortable shoes in preparation for the long walk ahead of her. Then, she waited patiently in her room until she was certain the entire household had retired for the night, listening intently for any sounds of movement in the hallways.
Her father had been out when she arrived from the party and had not returned home, which was a blessing. He would not notice her absence, and the servants would be too deeply asleep to hear her quiet departure.
When she was satisfied that all was silent, Nora rose from her bed and gathered the things she had prepared to take with her in a basket, draping her cloak over one arm. Then she slowly made her way to the door, opening it with painstaking care to avoid any telltale creaks that might betray her. The hallway before her was dim and empty, exactly as she had hoped.
Moving like a wraith through her own home, Nora navigated the familiar corridors with practiced ease. She knew the house as intimately as she knew the backs of her hands. She was well aware of which floorboards groaned, which doors had squeaky hinges, and which stairs were likely to expose her presence themoment it was introduced to her weight. Years of playing hide and seek with Cecil had taught her well.
The servants' entrance at the back of the house was her usual preferred exit point. It was hardly ever locked from the inside, as the staff seemingly assumed that no one of consequence would have any reason to use it. They were wrong, of course, but Nora saw no need to correct their assumptions.
She slipped outside into the cool night air, pausing to let her eyes adjust to the darkness. The moon was only a sliver in the sky, providing barely any light, but Nora had walked this path enough times that she felt that she could make her way through with a blindfold over her eyes.
Still, she took no chances. She moved carefully, keeping to the shadows, alert for any signs of being caught. Even with her mind mostly focused on ensuring that her movements were swift and able to avoid detection, she took a moment to revel in the freedom of being outside.
There was something freeing to look up at the night sky, to breathe in the cool night air, to know that her life was hers alone in that moment. No matter how great the urgency, she always took a few seconds to appreciate the feeling of freedom her late-night excursions granted.
Tonight, she employed her usual sneaky tactics and set off, armed with her basket. She wove through back streets and narrow alleys, doubling back on herself more than once, taking unexpected turns that would confuse anyone attempting tofollow her. By the time she reached the market square, she was confident that she had shaken off any potential observers that might have picked up her trail at some point or another.
The market carried less of its regular hustle and bustle at this hour; most of the stalls closed and shuttered for the night. A few late-night vendors remained, selling food and drink to those who preferred the cover of darkness for their transactions. Nora passed through the sparse crowd with ease, just another anonymous figure going about her business.
It was only once she had navigated through the thickest part of the remaining crowd that she ducked into a narrow alley and pulled out the cloak she had tucked in her basket after she left her house. The heavy, dark fabric settled over her shoulders, and she pulled the hood up to conceal her face and hair before continuing her journey, now properly disguised.
The streets grew progressively less maintained the further she went, the fine townhouses and shops giving way to more modest dwellings and eventually to buildings that showed clear signs of neglect. This was not a part of London that young ladies of quality were supposed to know existed, let alone visit.
But Nora had never been particularly good at doing what she was supposed to do.
Finally, she arrived at her destination: an old, weathered building that looked as though it might collapse at any moment. The windows were dark, but Nora knew that was only because the occupants were conserving their precious candles.
She knocked on the door in a specific pattern, three quick raps followed by two slower ones.
A moment later, the door cracked open, and a weathered face peered out at her. Recognition dawned immediately, and the door swung wide to receive her.
“Miss Nora!” Mrs. Brighton exclaimed, her tired face breaking into a delighted smile. “Oh, you've come! Children, children, Miss Nora is here!”
