“I call it realistic. One of us has to leave off the rose-colored glasses,” Garrity said wryly.
Garrity’s hypothesis about kidnapping sparked a thought in Severin.
“How would one go about seeing if a babe, likely from a wealthy family, went missing in London twenty-two years ago?” Severin asked.
“Good question.” Kent stroked his chin. “Back then, before the establishment of the police force, I suppose a family with means would hire Bow Street Runners or other investigators to look into the case.”
“The Charleys might have sounded the alarm that a child had gone missing,” Garrity added.
Charleys were the night watchmen who had patrolled the streets prior to the establishment of Sir Robert Peel’s policing force. There were still a few around, mostly in wealthier enclaves where the householders could afford to pay the parish fee for additional security.
“I could have my men locate Charleys who were working at the time,” Severin said. “It won’t be easy, given that it was over two decades ago, but if Fancy was indeed taken from a wealthy family, that would narrow down the neighborhoods at least.”
“You could concentrate on the Charleys of the most affluent parishes,” Kent agreed. “St. James’s, St. George Hanover Square, and Piccadilly.”
“Even so, it will be no small task hunting down the old watchmen,” Garrity remarked. “I’ll lend you some of my men.”
“My brother Ambrose runs an investigative agency,” Kent said, “and he has old contacts who were Bow Street Runners. He could see if any of his cronies recall a case of a missing child fitting our time frame.”
“I am in your debt, gentlemen,” Severin said.
He wasn’t someone who accepted help easily. Perhaps because help had been so rarely offered. He would, however, do whatever it took to ensure Fancy’s safety.
“We shall call it even,” Kent said. “After all, you helped Tessa and I in our time of need.”
“As much as I would like to accept your marker,” Garrity said, “my wife will not hear of it. Mrs. Garrity has taken a liking to Her Grace, and she has this strange notion that favors amongst friends should come for free.”
Although Garrity had adopted the tone of a long-suffering husband, Severin didn’t miss the pride in the man’s eyes as he searched out his redheaded wife.
Across the drawing room, Mrs. Garrity, Fancy, Mrs. Kent, and Viscountess Carlisle occupied a cluster of curricle chairs. The four ladies looked like frolicking nymphs from an oil painting, their pretty heads bent together, their expressions merry. As Severin watched, Viscountess Carlisle said something, and all four burst into laughter.
“What do you think they are giggling about?” he mused.
“We don’t want to know,” Kent said ruefully. “My sister Violet may be a viscountess and mama of three, but that hasn’t stopped her from being a hoyden. Carlisle indulges her quite shamelessly. That last comment she made was probably outrageous.”
“You do realize that is not tea they’ve been drinking?” Garrity’s gaze narrowed on his pink-cheeked and, indeed, rather tipsy-looking wife.
Severin studied his own bride. Fancy was also flushed, her eyes sparkling as she finished a glass of champagne. He thought back to the breakfast…how many glasses had she had? Before his bemused gaze, she whispered something to Mrs. Garrity, and the pair dissolved into a paroxysm of giggles.
“Gentlemen,” Garrity said. “I do believe it is time for us to collect our wives.”
“Probably a good idea,” Severin muttered. “If Fancy doesn’t stop now, she will have a megrim on the morrow.”
“The trick, Your Grace, is to take good care of your lady this eve,” Garrity said silkily. “Adieu.”
He advanced toward his wife, his stride distinctly predatory.
A wolfish gleam entered Kent’s gaze as well as he headed after his own lady, murmuring under his breath, “Devil and damn, I like weddings.”
“You don’t ’ave to carry me up the stairs, Knight,” his wife said, giggling. “I can walk.”
Glancing at his duchess’s languid, rosy features, Severin hid a smile.
“Since you nearly toppled out of the carriage, I am not taking any chances,” he told her.
“I tripped,” she said blithely.
“Over your own feet.”
