I frowned. “Confessed to what?”
“That she and Honora exchanged clothes.” His jaw tightened. “My daughter wished to meet Carleton. He was with us at the theatre. Entirely unsuitable, but she is quite besotted with him.”
I inclined my head. I remembered the young man and the dangerous brightness I had glimpsed in Lady Honora’s eyes.
“The maid insisted it was nothing more than a lark,” Greystowe went on, the words gathering speed as though he feared losing them. “Honora meant to meet him in the square. He’d be waiting for her in a carriage. She intended to return before the household was any the wiser. But she did not return.”
The words failed him then. He dragged in a breath that broke apart, a raw, involuntary sound escaping his throat.
“She did not return,” he repeated, hoarse and disbelieving. “And Carleton swears he never saw her.” He drew a breath, unsteady. “It has been more than twelve hours, Steele. And there hasn’t been a single word from her.”
I leaned forward. “Have you gone to the police?”
He looked up sharply, color rising beneath the strain. “No. I can’t do that. If word spread that my daughter vanished in such a fashion, she would be ruined. No family of standing would look at her. No man of good stock, with a title—or at least the expectation of one—would marry her.”
Clearly, he expected Lady Honora to be found. And that begged the question. “Why did you come to me?”
His hands tightened around his gloves until the leather creaked. “Because you have been known to involve yourself in delicate enquiries—and succeeded where others failed. Just as importantly, you are discrete. Something we desperately require.” His voice faltered, then pressed on. “I beg you to find her, Steele. Quietly. Whatever it takes. However much it costs.”
Greystowe had inherited a considerable fortune with his title, and Lady Honora was his only child. He had likely imagined the family’s legacy—and its wealth—carried forward through her.
Yet it was not ambition that cut through him now, but fear. This was not a peer guarding his pride. This was a father clinging to hope by the thinnest of threads.
“Tell me everything,” I said, drawing a blank sheet from the stack and setting it before me.
He recounted what little he knew: the hour Honora left, the door through which she slipped away, the maid’s halting confession, Carleton’s firm denial. No one beyond his immediate family had yet been told. Honora’s mother was ill with worry, and his own mother—who lived with them—hovered on the brink of apoplexy.
“Does she have enemies?” I asked once he had finished. “Anyone who might wish her—or you—harm?”
He shook his head. “None that I can imagine. She is spirited, yes—but innocent.” He swallowed hard. “If she has been taken?—”
His throat worked, and the rest would not come.
I let the silence stand a moment, then said, “I will do my utmost to find her, Greystowe. You have my word.”
He looked at me with a gratitude so raw it unsettled me. “Thank you.”
“I will send word once I have news.” Whether it would be good or ill, only heaven knew.
After Milford showed him out, I remained seated, staring at the dark sheen of my desk.
Honora’s disappearance could not be dismissed as youthful folly. She had vanished into silence even though a carriage awaited her. God only knew what might have befallen her.
I would need help—and Caleb Finch was the man for the task. Without further deliberation, I rose and went out into the hall, asking for my coat and hat.
“Shall I have the carriage brought round, Your Grace?”
“No. I will take a hackney.” With residents constantly moving about the city—to modistes, gentlemen’s clubs, and other engagements—the better hackneys were nearly always to be found in and around Grosvenor Square.
I took the front steps two at a time and was fortunate to find one waiting nearby.
“Where to, Your Grace?” The driver recognized me from prior journeys.
“Hatton Garden. I will pay extra if you get me there quickly.”
“Very good, Guv’nor.”
He set the horses into motion, and we were off. I prayed Finch would be at his rooms. There was no time to lose.
