Mr. Lockley grimaced.
“Come now, my good man,” Owen urged him. “You seem inclined to tell me. Why don’t you get on with it?”
Flaring his nostrils with distaste at possibly breaking the sacred trust of his position, Mr. Lockley looked positively tortured.
“As a rule, my lord, I do not give out private information on the whereabouts of my mistress or master.”
A prickle of alarm coursed over Owen’s skin. “If Lady Adelia is in some kind of distress, perhaps she would want you to tell me.”
The butler, bound by professional etiquette, raised his eyes to the ceiling, then down to the floor—obviously a man warring with himself. Owen knew the feeling well. Additionally, Mr. Lockley could lose his position if he said something he shouldn’t and word of it got back to the Smythes.
“Come along,” Owen urged him. “Out with it, man. Or must I threaten you with bodily harm?”
Mr. Lockley, eyes wide, took a step back.
“I am quite the pugilist,” Owen added. “And people know me for my temper, which is rising as we delay. Tell me where Lady Adelia is for her own good and for yours, so I don’t have to twist your brittle old arm.”
“If I were not alarmed at her destination, I would let you beat me rather than disclose my mistress’s whereabouts,” the butler declared.
“I have taken note of your loyalty and discretion. If Lady Adelia asks me, I shall defend you.”
“Very well, my lord. Her ladyship has gone to the East End. To be precise, as I heard her say to the driver, to Whitechapel and Osborn Streets.”
To the home of the earl’s lover!
“Surely, she didn’t go alone,” Owen said, heart pounding with fear and fury at her stupidity for going to such an area after dark.
“No, my lord. She took a footman and one of our maids.”
That did little to quell his trepidation. He was down the step, yelling the address to his coachman, and climbing in his carriage before the butler had closed the front door.
“And hurry,” he ordered out the window. His ponies lurched to a start and began at a good clip through Mayfair.
*
Adelia had waiteduntil after sunset to catch Miss Moore at home, knowing the young woman had a job by the sheer fact of her inhabiting a flat by herself.
It felt quite different to be in the East End without Owen or her brother. More than a little frightening, in fact. By the time she reached the street upon which Miss Moore lived, just off Whitechapel High Street, she had only the driver with her, as she’d allowed her two servants to visit their respective family.
Of course, she realized her folly too late. She could not take the driver with her, leaving her horse and carriage unguarded. Having Henry draw up as close to the building as possible, Adelia alit from the carriage and kept her head down, trying to look as if she knew what she was about. In a couple steps, she dashed through the doorway and up the stairs to the bedsit.
“Miss Moore,” she called through the doorway, knocking at the same time. Realizing her gloved knuckles made little sound, she wrenched off her right one and wrapped on the door again.
Hoping the woman was home and that no other door opened along the passage, Adelia waited, shifting from one booted foot to the other.
“Who is there?” came Miss Moore’s voice.
Relief flooded over Adelia. “It is Lady Adelia Smythe, Thomas’s sister. Won’t you please let me in?”
Immediately, the door opened, and Adelia was met by the surprised visage of Miss Moore.
“What on earth are you doing here?” She looked past Adelia. “And by yourself?”
With that, the young woman reached out and grabbed her by the arm, yanking her inside, making Adelia squeak with surprise.
“I am sorry to…to come uninvited and unannounced,” she began when she regained her footing.
“That’s no matter, my lady. You are very welcome, but it isn’t safe for the likes of you to be roaming around the East End.”
