“Andrews won’t return until late this evening with the paintings from Kimpton. We’ll compare that work with the others once he returns. Most especially the Tower gate. Bring the Fawkes painting by my home. I don’t wish to be away for long periods of time.”
After a quick goodbye, Thorne made his way to Culross Street by way of the park. The wind had just enough snap to leave Hyde Park free from the normal hoard of traffic.
His gelding was impatient for a brisk ride, and Thorne was obliged to give way. He should make it home in time for tea with the ladies. Perhaps Lorelei would provide him with his need of a restorative. His cock twitched at the thought. He pushed his feet into the stirrups to adjust the sudden discomfort.
Curzon Street fed right into the park, and he let Honor have his head until they crossed Mount. “That feel good, ole boy?” Thorne pounded the gelding’s neck with a solid hand of affection, slowing further. He reached the drive and caught sight of disheveled red curls, flying in the wind. Her walk was not sedate, nor in any way could it be described as ladylike. She was bounded for the servants’ entrance—running for her life.
Too far away to call out, Thorne threw a glance over his shoulder, concerned someone had given chase to the girl. He didn’t see anyone suspicious. Just the regular Mayfair foot traffic, strolling sedately along. Still, a whisper of disquiet touched his nape.
Thorne nudged Honor ahead with a tap at his flanks.
Despite her best judgment, Lorelei turned her face up to a rare sun-filled day, eyes closed. The snippy air required a shawl, but the sun warmed her shoulders through it. She smiled, reveling in the small pleasures surrounding her. Cecilia giggled, having enticed Liza to a footrace about the garden, while Irene issued serious instructions to Corinne on the best method for relieving Nathan of bubbles in his small tummy after a sound feeding.
Ever the gracious lady, Irene positioned herself primly between Lorelei and Corinne. “Lady Kimpton?” Irene adjusted the blanket that swaddled Nathan, folding it just right about his face. Satisfied that it allowed him suitable air and sunshine, she turned those serious eyes to Lorelei. “Is there any word on my mother?”
Lorelei’s heart dipped as she clasped Irene’s small hand and shook her head. “I’m sorry, darling. I’ve had no word. My promise holds, however. Never fear.”
Irene leaned close to Lorelei, raising eyes identical to Ginny’s but for their color. “I expect she’s dead.”
“Nonsense,” Lorelei said firmly, silently appalled. “We would have most certainly have heard something to that effect.” She made a mental note to demand answers from Thorne. Today.
Irene cast her gaze around the gardens. “It’s lovely here, isn’t it, Lady Kimpton?”
Lorelei followed her gaze. “It is indeed.”
“I suppose it’s sinful to say so, but if Mama is dead, I would not mind living here with you and Lord Kimpton.”
Lorelei swallowed the sudden lump in her throat, unable to squeeze words past it. She nodded.
Flowers bloomed along the garden’s edge. Thick ivy snaked in and around the garden gate, up and over the bricked fence.
WherewasGinny? What had she endured the night Lorelei had taken ill? Her happiness in the moment faltered. Why hadn’t Ginny tried contacting her, asked after her girls? And now that she thought on it, there’d been no word from Lord Maudsley either. If something had happened to her friend that would leave these two wonderful children in the earl’s sole care… Lorelei suppressed a shudder. Ginny treasured her daughters more than her own life. She feared Irene might be right about her mother.
She watched as Cecilia chased Liza. Cecilia’s joy enchanted her.
“Lady Kimpton, would you care to hold Nathan?” Irene asked.
Lorelei froze. She couldn’t possibly. She’d grown accustomed to Irene’s confidence in holding the baby. But her own… the thought sent panic spiking through her. “Um, thank you, Irene, but…” She glanced about the garden, looking for something, anything to grasp. “Liza,” she called out. “Where did Miss Elvins disappear?”
Liza pulled up short, panting as Cecilia tumbled into her. Cecilia let out another childish shriek of joy. “I catch-ted you!”
Liza swung Cecilia up into her arms. “So you did, Lady Cecilia.” She glanced at Lorelei. “Miss Elvins?” Her expression shifted into a blank mask. “She begged off, pleadin’ a megrim, my lady.”
“I see.”
“She didn’t have no megrim,” Cecilia said. “Come, Liza. I wish to race again.Ishall win again.”
Unease teased Lorelei, raising the hair at her nape. “Cecilia, one moment.”
The blonde imp straightened at Lorelei’s seriousness. “Are you angry, Lady Kimpton?”
“Of course not, darling.” She tugged Cecilia to her. “Why do you say Miss Elvins did not have a megrim?”
“She wore her cloak, a-course. One doesn’t rest in her cloak, does she?”
Lorelei studied Cecilia’s poignant, upturned face. “Yes, darling. You’re exactly right. One doesn’t rest in a cloak.” She looked up at Liza. “Carry on with your race. I believe I shall see how Miss Elvins is faring.”
“Oswald!” Thorne tossed his hat on the foyer table and doffed his coat. The old man was losing his touch; Thorne had beat him to the door. Barely.
