Lorelei’s locket had been missing.
He paced his chamber until he couldn’t stand himself any longer. He finally sent for his valet at five.
An hour later, Thorne made his way back to the Peachornsbys, not bothering with his horse in the frigid air. He scanned the waiting carriages and spotted the Maudsley’s coat of arms right away. The fact that the carriage was at the end of the line was telling. The driver hadn’t returned immediately after dropping Lorelei at the Lewkes mansion. He strolled over and ran his hand over the neck of the closest horse. It was damp.
“Mornin,’ guv.”
Thorne grinned up at him. “Lady Maudsley still dancing the night away?”
“I wouldn’t know, m’lord. I’m just here to take the lady home when she’s ready. Ah, there she is.” The man tipped his hat and flicked the reins and maneuvered his way into the open lane to pick up his charge.
She lifted her head in his direction.
Thorne raised his arm in a wave but didn’t approach her. He turned and made the walk to White’s with a plan to visit the duchess after breakfast. He didn’t care if she was up or not. Sick or not. He wanted answers.
“Remind me to never pine away for a trip to London again,” Lorelei told Brandon. She reached for her locket before remembering she no longer possessed it. Pain pinched at her. Blinking back a sting, she forced herself to recall that some things were worth the sacrifice. Perhaps she would eventually believe it if she kept repeating it to herself. “It feels as if we’ve been on the road for days.”
“You just have to look at this jaunt as an adventure,” Brandon said. The farther they drew away from London, the lighter his demeanor became. He had an open sketchpad on his lap and his pencil worked fervently over the page.
“How can you draw a straight line? The road is horrid.” She looked out the window at the drab day.
He laughed. “I never draw a straight line.”
“I guess that’s true.” She fiddled with her black skirts. “Now that I’m not to marry, we are going to have to do something to bring in funds. Spixworth is a disaster, you know.”
Brandon groaned. “Do we have to speak of that now?”
“We’ll have to sooner or later.” She loosened her fingers and sat back, looking at him. “At least you can’t run off and hide from me.”
His nose wrinkled. “You always find the worst in every situation.”
“Hmm. I suppose we can start making a list of heiresses for you to consider when you reach your majority. That’s only four years from now.”
That got his attention. His head shot up and his mouth hung open. “You… you can’t be serious.”
She shrugged one shoulder. “Why not? It was expected of me. Why not you?”
“But everyone knows it’s the daughters who marry for property and money. I’m the son. I’m theviscount.”
“You heard Aunt Isobel say on numerous occasions that I had no dowry.”
“She’s a batty old witch.”
“Perhaps. But she was right. Not many men will look at a woman with no dowry.”
He shut his sketchpad with a snap. “All right. What doyoupropose we do?”
It was her turn to wrinkle her nose. “I don’t know. We can’t sell the hall. It’s entailed.”
“You could marry the vicar. He likes you.”
“That won’t bring in funds.” The man’s lined face and cadaverously thin frame flooded her mind, and she shuddered. “Not an option. I should rather have stayed and married Lord Shufflebottom.”
“There was something off about that bloke.” He tapped his pencil against his thigh. “There must be something we can do. Maybe create a school or something. You’re positively brilliant.”
She reached across the carriage, took his free hand, and squeezed. “You are my favorite brother in the whole world.”
A blush tinged his cheeks. “You’re so daft. I’m your only brother.”
