“The vicar gave it to me. He said it was clenched in Rowena’s hand.” She let out a sigh. “It’s a coin of some sort.”
Thorne snapped his head around. “Let me see that,” he demanded. He snatched it from Miss Hollerfield, ignoring the women’s horrified gasps.
“Thorne! That was most rude—”
Flashes of a cruel, sneering mouth seared his brain; narrowed suspicious eyes, staring out from the Tower gate; images of the practiced toss, caught in midair. Everything fell into place in perfect, terrifying precision.
The carriage rolled to a stop.
“Ready the household for London, Lorelei. We leave tomorrow.”
“But, Thorne, Miss Hollerfield isn’t quite up to—”
The alternative was worse if Maudsley was still about. “Tomorrow, Lorelei.”
Seventeen
F
rustration filled Edward at every turn. Precious time had been wasted searching that damned cottage. Not to mention the effort exerted in avoiding Kimpton’s steward, and still he’d come up empty-handed. Turned that drawing room inside out.Nothing.His lucky piece had disappeared.
Fury surged through him with nothing to vent and no one to listen. The delay of his trip to Essex had cost him another four days in visiting Hannah’s grave.
He calmed some. At least the visit had proven fruitful. While the rector had been shocked by his request, they’d nevertheless found a couple of sturdy lads to dig up the child’s coffin. And just as he’d suspected. Empty.
The resentment flared, sending his heart palpitating against his ribs. And where the hell had Virginia disappeared to? She’d hidden well—this time. She wouldn’t be so lucky the next. She would regret the anguish she’d caused her faithful, loving husband.
The air was heavy, and Edward pushed his horse hard, even knowing he wouldn’t make it to London. But the Pear and Dragon eased into sight. He secured a room. The minute he ordered stew and whiskey, the downpour let loose, and a deluge of travelers converged upon the inn.
“Maudsley, old man.”
Edward suppressed a groan as Baron Welton’s heir, George Welton, called his name. He stumbled over, deep in his cups. He slapped Edward on the shoulder, something the lad would never have attempted sober. Edward clenched a fist and stifled an urge to plant it in the younger man’s face.
“Shufflebottom’s been spreading the word that Harlowe was dumped on a vessel for Spain. Wondered if you’d seen him about. Kimpton’s been looking for him, but I’ve not seen either of them about. You don’t mind if I sit, do you?” Welton didn’t wait for an answer and plopped down on the bench across.
“Of course not,” Edward said. His sarcasm was lost on the impudent drunkard. Edward slugged back his whiskey, and motioned to the tavern chit for another.
A shadow from the overhead candles spilled over the table.
“Maudsley, haven’t seen you since the Martindales’ masquerade.” Edward glanced up into Griston’s face. “Had a run of bad luck that night, as I recall.” Griston spun a chair from a neighboring table and sat down uninvited.
“So I did. How are you, Griston? I seem to remember the same about you.”
“Yes. Lord Brockway happened as the lucky dog that night. Most intent, he was. Cleaned house. Bring another round,” Griston barked out. Griston turned a shrewd gaze on him. “What brings you into the Pear and Dragon, Maudsley? This isn’t quite your neck of the woods.”
Edward forced himself to remain motionless. A wave an anticipation stole over him. More glasses hit the table. “On my way home from Essex. Had some business there.” Edward picked up one of the glasses, rolling it between his palms.
“Is that so?”
“Word is Rowena Hollerfield has vacated the city. Closed up her town house and disappeared. I heard she is…enceinte.” Welton shuddered.
“I happen to believe Rowena Hollerfield is not the one with child,” Griston said.
Welton leaned in, his theatrical whisper reeking of gin. Rotgut. “Another woman?”
Griston leaned against the back of his chair, folding his arms over his chest. “A beauty too.”
More glasses filled with whiskey landed on the table. Edward dipped his fingers into his pocket and froze, remembering once again that his lucky piece was gone. His fist clenched. He tamped down another he urge to hit someone, and Welton’s flaccid face was the most tempting target. In the bastard’s inebriated state, he likely wouldn’t feel a thing.
