“At least I intrigue you.” I rose, returned the kiss on her lips, then pressed her hand and left her to it.
Donata’s industriousness brought to mind my own correspondence, to which I was woefully inattentive. Not that I had many letters to write—most of my close acquaintances in London lived within walking distance, and I preferred conversations to shutting myself in my study and laboriously scribbling sentences.
I did like to pen a note to Peter as often as I could, and I needed to answer a letter from my cousin Marcus in Norfolk about what he wanted to do with the farm this year. He had much more experience than I did on agrarian questions, but he sent inquiries to me as a courtesy.
Also, Mrs. Beltan had interested me with her tale of the woman who’d asked for me, whom she’d directed to write to me at South Audley Street. I didn’t recall any such letter reaching me, but if I’d not recognized the hand, I might have pushed it aside and forgotten about it.
I requested coffee from Barnstable, who’d instantly appeared when I’d left Donata’s chamber to assure himself I’d returned home without harm. I also asked him where Gabriella had gone—the house was too quiet to have her in it. Barnstable relayed that she was walking with Lady Aline Carrington, a robust lady who strode heartily though London’s parks every day.
Happy Gabriella was in good hands, I accepted the coffee, shut myself in the study, and made myself attend to work.
Barnstable had already left any letters delivered today on the desk for me. One of them was in Marcus’s hand, prompting me to answer his first missive, no doubt. He must be growing impatient with me. Another was a thin letter from Grenville, and a third was penned by a gentleman from whom I’d asked to borrow a tome on Bonaparte’s discoveries in Egypt.
I set these aside and dug through my pile of unread correspondence. I was rewarded when I found a small letter folded into a neat rectangle and sealed with a tiny dab of wax. It was addressed to me in neat, feminine handwriting I did not know. The seal had no imprint—the sender had simply dribbled wax from a candle to keep the letter closed.
I opened it, finding a short missive written between the lines of a shopping list that had been crossed through.
A most humble greeting to you, Captain Lacey.
I make so bold to write to you, remembering the kindness you showed me and those I call my sisters, when you were inquiring into the whereabouts of another.
I wish to consult you now in a similar matter, though I hope in not so dire a circumstance. If you leave your answer as to whether you will or will not meet me with the proprietor of the bakeshop beneath your old rooms, I will call there to seek any response from you.
Mrs. Beltan indicated you had moved up in the world, making a fine marriage, for which I congratulate you.
I wait in hopes of your reply, but I fully understand if you affix no importance to my inquiry. It is a private matter of my own, and I thought to take a chance.
With my most sincere good wishes on your new circumstances, I remain, respectfully, a young woman you know only as
Lady.
Chapter 7
Memories poured at me as I stared at the letter, dumbfounded.
Nearly four years ago, Marianne Simmons had taken me to a house in a lane off Holborn, where women who’d been made belly-full by their trade had their lyings-in.
At the time, I’d been searching for a young woman who’d been abducted and forced into this business. Marianne had told me of a genteel young lady who’d ended up there and had granted me an entrée to the house.
The woman I’d met had not been the one I sought, though she’d been distressed to hear of my quest. The others in the house had called her Lady, and she’d refused to give me any other name.
Lady confessed that she’d gone there to have a child and had decided to stay on after that and help the others. She’d been well-spoken, very likely gentry or even aristocratic in origin, but she’d declined to tell me her story. I’d expressed rage that an oaf of a man had inflicted his seed on her, and offered vengeance, but Lady had only smiled and said she’d made the choice and paid the consequence.
I still longed to find whoever that gentleman had been and remove his limbs from his body.
I’d sought her again when my daughter, Gabriella, had gone missing for a harrowing time. The few years between my visits had not changed Lady, who’d still lived in the house where she’d claimed to have found a purpose.
After that, I’d not heard from or about Lady. Now, she requested my assistance. Which, of course, I would give.
I took up my pen and wrote a reply, proposing that we meet at the bakeshop, whenever she was able, to discuss the matter. I’d take the note to Mrs. Beltan today or send Bartholomew if I couldn’t manage the journey myself.
Once I’d folded and sealed this letter, more intrigued than I admitted, I made myself peruse the other letters. Marcus, indeed, had sent more thoughts about the farm, which I set aside to deal with later. The gentleman with the Egyptian book said he’d be happy to lend it to me and would send his man to deliver it later this week.
Grenville’s short note declared he’d heard of Denis’s arrest this morning. If I would be so good as to make my way to his home, he’d receive me to discuss it.
When I’d first met Grenville, his sardonic demand would have angered me. Now, I realized his perfunctoriness meant eager impatience to learn of this latest problem.
I summoned Bartholomew, my tall valet, and gave him the response to Lady to deliver to Mrs. Beltan’s. I knew Donata would be hours at her correspondence, and Gabriella had not yet returned, so I took myself the short way to Grenville’s elegant town house in Grosvenor Street.
