Hetty rose, too. She swallowed to moisten her scratchy throat. “Would you advise me as soon as you have news, Lord Strathairn?”
“I promise.” He took her hand. “Try not to worry, Miss Cavendish. He is a capable fellow.”
After the door closed, Hetty rubbed her arms and paced the room. All the life seemed to have been sucked out of her. Through the window, Lord Stathairn climbed into his carriage. “Horse Guards in Whitehall,” his booming voice instructed the jarvie.
Aunt Emily entered the room, adjusting her lace cap. “I listened at the door. I didn’t want to greet him in my wrapper.”
“Why would Lord Strathairn go to the Horse Guards?” Hetty asked.
“Likely he seeks help from his fellow officers.”
“I wonder if he suspects Guy is not what he purports to be.”
“You don’t doubt him, do you?”
“No, I do not. But there’s something Lord Strathairn didn’t want to tell me.” Hetty turned away from the window, massaging her aching temples. “Someone wants Guy dead, but it doesn’t seem possible he was attacked at the ball. A guest would have witnessed it, and his body…” She swallowed. “…found.” She moaned. “I must try to find out what happened.” She covered her face with her hands. “But I don’t know where to begin.”
Aunt Emily patted her arm. “Hush, my dear. Be patient. I’m sure there is a quite logical explanation for his absence. We shall hear soon enough. I must say, when you first told me of these attacks on him, I put it down to coincidence. England can be a very dangerous place if you are wealthy and go about unprotected. But no one attempts to kill without a reason. And what reason might there be?”
“I wish I knew,” Hetty whispered.
The hours passed in excruciating slowness which became almost unbearable. At times, Hetty feared she might lose her fragile hold on her emotions. She had hastily dressed, barely eaten, and jumped at every sound.
When the knocker rang through the house, it took Hetty a moment to realize she hadn’t imagined it. She rushed into the hall to find Aunt Emily’s maid, Sarah, at the door open-mouthed. A glamorous, dark-haired woman in a striped pelisse of Mexican steel blue stood in the porch.
“Mademoiselle Cavendish? Je suis Duchesse la Châteaudunn, la sœur de Lord Fortescue.”She put a gloved hand to her flushed cheek, her green eyes anxious. “Oh, pardon! English!”
Hetty sank into a curtsey. “How nice to meet you, Your Grace. Will you come into the parlor?”
Guy’s sister reminded her of a tiny bird. The Frenchwoman barely reached Hetty’s shoulder. But there was a family resemblance in the resolute look in her eye. She settled her skirts around her on the sofa.
“May I offer you coffee or tea, Your Grace?”
“No, merci.Geewrote to me of your engagement. I wish we’d met under more pleasant circumstances. I am looking for him. I called at the address whereGeewas staying but Lord Strathairn is away from home. The servants couldn’t help me. A young lady said he had left without giving his direction. She gave me your address.”
“I’m sorry, Your Grace. I’ve no idea where the baron is. I wish I did.”
“You… you are worried, too. I can see.”
“I must confess to becoming a little concerned.”
“Geehas always been most reliable,” the duchess said with a stricken look.
“Yes, that’s what makes this so surprising,” Hetty said. She resisted expressing the full force of her fears aloud, for the duchess looked close to tears as she fidgeted with her stylish reticule.
“He would never be…” She waved the reticule about as she frantically sought for a word. “So negligent.”
Her concerns were compounding Hetty’s. She wanted to rush right out to find him. “Could you furnish me with your address so that might I contact you, should I hear any news?”
“I’ve taken a house in Portland Place.” She shook her head, causing the soft feathers on her bonnet to flutter. “But we must act, must we not? Where might we begin, Miss Cavendish?” She motioned to the street beyond the window where a luxurious carriage and four matched gray thoroughbreds stood restlessly, their heads held by a liveried groom.
Hetty stared at the lady opposite, who chewed her bottom lip awaiting her reply. She might be a duchess, but she was Guy’s sister and shared Hetty’s anguish. “We might go to Hampstead.”
“That is in London, no?”
“That is where the ball was held at Lord and Lady Taylor’s home. The last place where Guy was seen.”
“Then we must drive there at once.” The dainty woman rose on feet encased in blue suede half-boots the like of which Hetty had never seen, trimmed with silk rosettes.
