Henry stared at the servant who had been with him for the past five years. Jeffries had never failed him and Miss Doyle had been in the household long enough that the servants followed her command as if it had come from Henry.
“I simply wish you would have told me. Please do not make the same mistake in the future. When something as important as the Thames River Police arriving on my door to report a death occurs, despite who the message is for, I demand to be told no matter what the hour.”
“Yes, of course, Lord Kilsyth. It was my mistake.”
It most certainly was, but Henry could hardly blame the man. Eve said she’d tell them in the morning and, of course, Jeffries trusted her word. But still, the servant should have realized that she shouldn’t have been left alone after hearing such devastating news.
“Did she happen to say what her plans were?”
“She told them to inform the coroner to give her brother a pauper’s grave because she couldn’t afford a proper burial. She then came in here. I stayed with her a few moments and poured her a brandy. That is when she asked to be alone.”
“You didn’t see her leave, hail a hackney or anything like that?”
“Of course not. Had she attempted to, I would have alerted you immediately.”
At least Jeffries would have shown sense in that instance, instead of when it failed him by leaving Eve alone to mourn her brother.
“Very well, you are dismissed.”
“Thank you, Lord Kilsyth. And, I am sorry. I will not make such a mistake in a future.”
“If you do, you’ll be sacked” he warned.
At that, the butler’s pallor paled.
Good. The servant needed to remember that Henry was the lord here and despite what Eve may have wanted, he was to be told everything that occurred beneath this roof.
“I say, Kilsyth, this may help in determining where she might have gone off to,” Pickmore said once Jeffries left and closed the door behind him.
“I believe I already know where she’s gone.” Henry took a deep drink of the brandy, irritated that he hadn’t considered the possibility already. “To her sister.”
“Sister?” Sellers asked. “You never mentioned a sister, just a wayward brother.”
“Her sister teaches at a girls’ school.” Henry pushed his fingers through his hair. “The Wiggons’ School for Elegant Young Ladies.” Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Why hadn’t he considered her sister before now?
“The school borders Norbright’s estate. I’ve met her sister.” Ashford muttered, drawing Kilsyth’s attention. “I just didn’t connect that the two Miss Doyles were related.”
“We leave now,” Henry announced. “I’ll not waste another moment before going after her.”
“We?” Pickmore questioned.
“Yes. You and me along with Ashford and Keegan. They know the way so I won’t lose time in searching the proper location, and you to talk sense into Miss Doyle if my reasoning should fail.” Henry strode for the entrance to the library. “Jeffries. Have my carriage brought around and tell my valet to pack for a trip and do the same for Pickmore. We are traveling to Cornwall.” Then he turned back to those gathered without waiting for a response. “Go ahead Ashford and Keegan, I’ll be around to fetch you as soon as we are ready to leave.”
The Devils just sat there staring at him.
“What?”
“We may have had other plans,” Keegan announced.
“Cancel them,” Henry barked.
“Perhaps you should consider asking,” Sellers offered dryly.
Bloody hell. Henry rubbed the bridge of his nose again. “I apologize, gentlemen. The disappearance of Miss Doyle has left me unusually distr...unbala...upset. I would greatly appreciate it if the three of you would accompany me on this journey in finding her.”
Slowly they all began to grin. It was Ashford who stood first. “Of course, I’ll go along, as well as Keegan. Far be it for us to stand in the way of love.”
“I assure you this is not love. She is my ward!”
