He was the most annoying, irritating, misguided, and idiotic gentleman she’d ever met, but even knowing that ... she still loved him—had loved him for months, if truth be told, which was why she’d been crying herself to sleep every night, which was a curious circumstance because she wasn’t a lady who cried often.
A knock on the door had her fingers lifting from the keys and turning her head, finding Susie, one of the downstairs maids, poking her head into the room.
“Begging your pardon, Miss Duveen, but a message just arrived for you,” Susie said, advancing across the room to hand Adelaide the message.
After thanking her, Adelaide flipped the piece of vellum over, finding it sealed with a flower stamped in wax. After she found a letter opener lying on a side table and slid it through the wax, she unfolded the paper. She was frowning a second later when she realized the message was from Sophia Campanini and ... she had an urgent matter to discuss with Adelaide and would send a carriage around to pick her up at four o’clock sharp.
“She didn’t leave me much time, since it’s a quarter to four now,” Adelaide muttered before she strode out of the musicroom, fetched a warm overcoat, along with her reticule, then headed for the front foyer. She was met at the door by the family butler, Mr. Hodgkin, who immediately helped her into her coat.
“Shall I ring for a carriage, Miss Duveen?” he asked.
“No need, Mr. Hodgkin. Madame Campanini is sending a carriage for me. If my mother returns before I do, tell her I shouldn’t be long because I’m sure Sophia has a performance tonight.”
“Very good, Miss Duveen, although...” Mr. Hodgkin frowned. “Given the unusual circumstances that have befallen you of late, do you believe it wise to travel without a chaperone?”
“Since Mother isn’t here and Charles has been instructed to take it easy for the next week, per his doctor’s order, I’m afraid there’s no one readily available. But no need to fear about my safety. No one has any reason to harm me now.”
He inclined his head. “I suppose you would know best about that.”
“Indeed, but to alleviate any lingering concerns you may have, know that I’m armed.”
Mr. Hodgkin smiled. “From what I hear, you’ve gotten better with your aim of late, or at least I imagine you have, since rumor in the servants’ hall is that you recently shot a man.”
“It was two men, but I wasn’t actually aiming for either of them.”
“Perhaps Ishouldaccompany you.”
“I’ll be fine,” she reassured him as the sound of a carriage rumbling to a stop in front of her house met her ears. Accepting the umbrella Mr. Hodgkin handed her in case it began snowing again, she walked through the door and down the steps, met by a groomsman who hustled her directly over to the carriage.
To her complete surprise, he then opened the door and all but tossed her inside, slamming the door shut the second she landed on the seat.
A sense of unease washed over her when her gaze settled on Sophia, who was pressed up against the far side of the carriage, clear terror in her eyes, the terror a direct result of being held at pistol point by ... Mr. Dudley Paulding.
“How nice of you to join us,” Dudley drawled as the carriage jolted into motion, sending her sprawling across the seat beside Sophia, who didn’t move a muscle and continued staring at the weapon in Dudley’s hand.
After pushing herself up, Adelaide kept a firm grip on the umbrella as she lifted her chin. “I believe you have the advantage on me, Mr. Paulding. I cannot imagine why you’d care for me to join you in the first place or why you’re holding a gun on poor Madame Campanini.”
“Don’t be coy, Miss Duveen. It doesn’t become you. I’m sure you’ve already concluded I’m in the company of the oh-so-devious Madame Campanini because I’m in need of her journal.”
Adelaide stilled. “Frank Fitzsimmons said Marshall Wilson was the one who was desperate to get his hands on Sophia’s journal.”
“Nice to hear Frank’s not a complete idiot,” Dudley returned. “He obviously realized his life would be in jeopardy if he told you my name. But how clever of him to point a finger at Marshall Wilson—done so, no doubt, because I once remarked to Frank that Marshall Wilson was a complete dolt who many in society find to be a boor. I imagine Frank decided Marshall would be a handy scapegoat after he got shot, and by you, from what I’ve heard. Speaking of that incident, though, I’ll take your reticule, if you please. No sense taking the chance you’ll whip out a pistol at some point, and you might as well hand me the umbrella as well.”
When Dudley turned the pistol on her, Adelaide knew there was nothing left to do but comply, so she handed over her umbrella, then her reticule, earning a nod from Dudley in return.
“That’s a good girl.” He opened the reticule, rustled around inside it, then lifted his head. “It’s not here.”
“What’s not there?”
“Sophia’s journal.”
“Why would I have Sophia’s journal?”
“Sophia told me you took possession of it, instead of Gideon, as a way to confuse whoever was after it.”
Adelaide swung her attention to Sophia. “You told him that?”
Sophia’s lower lip began to tremble. “He showed up in my dressing room after rehearsal for tonight’s performance, and that was after some of his men knocked out my security guards at the Fifth Avenue Hotel and broke into my safe. The journal he’s after wasn’t there and because he took me by surprise, I just blurted out the name of the person who’s holding it for me.”
