Your Grace,
I visited Greystowe House yesterday morning. Lord Greystowe received me at once. I learned the following regarding Lady Honora’s disappearance three days ago.
On the afternoon in question, Lady Honora complained of a severe migraine and retired to her chamber. Her maid assisted her as usual. Later, Lady Honora exchanged clothing with the maid. Dressed in the maid’s uniform and cloak, she left the house by the front door, telling the footman she was bound for the apothecary to obtain migraine powders. The household believed her to be resting upstairs.
When Lady Honora did not come down for breakfast the following morning, Lady Greystowe went to check on her and found the maid instead. The distressed girl confessed to the exchange of clothing. She believed she was helping her mistress keep an appointment with Mr. Carleton, who was waiting for her on the opposite side of Berkeley Square.
I obtained Mr. Carleton’s address and interviewed him. He stated that he waited for Lady Honora in a hired carriage for more than an hour. When she did not appear, he concluded she had changed her mind and instructed the driver to return him to his lodgings.
My conclusion remains that Lady Honora left Greystowe House willingly and intended to meet Mr. Carleton acrossBerkeley Square. She did not reach him. Somewhere between the Greystowe steps and the north side of the square, she vanished. No witnesses have yet come forward, nor has any disturbance been reported. The maid insists Lady Honora was in good spirits and carried nothing beyond the borrowed cloak.
I will continue my enquiries and will report again once I have further information.
Finch
I folded Finch’s report with deliberate care, though the tightness in my chest made the motion feel mechanical. Three days gone. Lady Honora had stepped out of her house in the evening, crossed no more than a few dozen yards, and vanished without a trace. No witnesses. No disturbance. Nothing to guide us. Lord and Lady Greystowe had to be staggering under their grief.
For a moment I stood in the quiet of my study, the weight of Finch’s report pressing hard upon me. And then, I drew a slow breath and forced my thoughts to steady. There was much to be done.
I turned to Rosalynd’s note hoping for better news.
S,
I received a report from Mr. Finch. It requires discussion, but the hour grows late. I will attend the Marwood Ball this evening. If circumstances permit, perhaps we might find a moment to speak there.
—R
I folded the note, considering. A crowded ballroom was hardly ideal, yet no better opportunity presented itself.
“Very well,” I murmured. “The Marwood Ball it is.”
Before proceeding further, I dashed off a note to Greystowe, summarizing the steps we had taken. The news was hardly encouraging—but neither was it without hope.
A father deserved at least that much.
Chapter
Thirteen
Ballroom Intrigue
As I stepped into Marwood House, the footmen bowed in greeting, their movements practiced and precise. Lady Marwood presided at the head of the receiving line, radiant in pale blue silk that shimmered beneath the lamplight.
“Your Grace,” she said warmly. “A beautiful evening, is it not?”
“It is indeed, Lady Marwood.” I inclined my head, exchanged the expected pleasantries, and took advantage of the next arrival to excuse myself sooner than etiquette would have preferred.
Music spilled from the ballroom beyond, rich and lively. Chandeliers bathed the room in gold, illuminating silks, satins, and a sweep of late spring flowers arranged with exquisite care. Peonies and lilac perfumed the air while creamy roses softened the edges of the glittering scene.
I scarcely noticed.
My attention was fixed on one thing alone. Somewhere amid the dancers and the press of guests, Rosalynd would be waiting,and every moment spent admiring the surroundings was a moment wasted.
It did not take long to find her.
She stood near the far side of the ballroom with Claire and Cosmos, her gown a deep garnet that caught the light with every movement. The rich hue set off her copper curls, drawing the eye as surely as the sound of her laughter. She was smiling at something Claire had said, her eyes bright, her posture relaxed and assured.
For a moment, I allowed myself the familiar comfort of that sight.
