There is a proverb that says not to cut off your nose to spite your face—which is exactly what you will be doing if you cannot collect your inheritance.
I’m begging you to do what’s best for Drury Lane! Because it’s also best for you.
Thank you for everything! I’ll miss you. everyone. I’ll never forget you.
Best wishes…And as always, break a leg.
Elle Sparrow.
* * *
Carter read it twice, noticing a few smudges. From tears? He couldn’t know.
She’d waited outside while he’d had his confrontation with his father, so she knew.
But she didn’t understand. If Carter gave in to his father now, he’d never work at a theater again. His father liked controlling everything around him, and once you were caught in his traps, it was nearly impossible to break free.
“She should have talked with me first,” he said, almost forgetting Mrs. Grey.
“She’s not coming back, then.” The bookkeeper confirmed her suspicions.
“She’ll be back.” Carter rubbed the back of his neck. “But I need your help.”
He’d been alone with his thoughts too long. And he’d be damned if he’d allow Elle to disappear from his life so easily. Every fiber of his being lit up. He would find her. He would bring her back—both their fathers be damned.
“I only have a few minutes. I have a prior engagement.” Mrs. Grey closed the door behind her and sat in the chair across from his desk—Elle’s chair.
“This is a mistake.” Carter turned the paper over, and then studied the envelope. How could he know he wanted to spend his life with her, but not know where she lived? “Do you have her resume?”
“She never provided one. But it’s no matter, I know where she lives.”
Of course, Mrs. Grey knew. “Where?”
The serious woman took a pencil from behind her ear and then reached for the envelope so she could write on it.
But when she finished, Carter frowned at what she’d written.
“This address is in Mayfair,” he said.
“It is.” She rose from the chair and smoothed her skirt. “Now. I promised to have dinner with the duke this evening, so if you’ll excuse me…”
Carter stared at the door even after she left.
What had he missed? He’d suspected Mrs. Grey had some sort of flirtation with Ducat, but since when did Drury Lane employees begin dining at ducal residences? And even more perplexing, he glanced down.
How was it possible that his playwright lived across from Hyde Park?
Guests
“We have guests tonight,” Elle’s mother caught her on the way to her chamber.
Elle sighed. “I’m tired. Please, Mother, can’t I retire early?”
Her mother pursed her lips, looking only partly sympathetic. “I told your father that you weren’t yourself today, but he insists you be in attendance. Just meet him. Trust your father, for once.”
“But—”
“They won’t be arriving until seven in the evening. Until then, you have plenty of time to rest.”
