“There were a couple whom I thought seemed out of place, though,” he added as his gaze turned to his mind’s eye. “A… a few hours ago.”
Persephone’s gaze darted to the interior of the coach. “What do you mean?” she asked, well aware Jack had moved closer to the door so he could listen in on her conversation with the driver.
“They wasn’t dressed right for a ball, is all. I just thought they was there to watch the arrivals like some of the common folk do. But usually the onlookers take their leave after most of the guests have arrived, and they were still there after you went into the house.”
“Oh?” she responded. “This couple… when did they leave?”
Parker shrugged. “I didn’t take note, my lady, but it might have been about the time a gentleman was leading another out of the house. Drunk, like. Dressed all fine, but stumbling about, barely able to walk.”
Persephone’s eyes rounded. “Would you recognize the gentleman if you saw him again?” she asked, just as Jack emerged from the coach.
Parker gasped, one hand going to his chest before he stepped between his mistress and Jack, as if he intended to provide protection. “It’syou. The drunkard,” he said in shock.
“Druggedwould be the more appropriate word,” Jack remarked, directing a look of annoyance at him. “Any idea who escorted me out of Weatherstone Manor?” he asked. “Was it just one person? Or two?”
Shaking his head, Parker glanced back at Persephone. “Just the one. I haven’t seen him ’afore,” he said. “But he was about your age, I think. Seemed to know you, given how he was talkin’ to you. Cursin’ at you, mostly.”
Jack winced but didn’t say anything.
“Was this man you speak of… was he dressed for the ball?” Persephone asked.
Parker furrowed his brows and thought for a moment. “Well, yes. Dressed as fine as you, sir,” he said with a nod to Jack. “He didn’t have a hat on, though. But you did.”
Persephone and Jack exchanged quick glances. “I don’t remember that,” Jack said. He poked his head back into the coach, and after a moment of rummaging around, he emerged with a top hat in one hand. “Well, it’s a hat, but it’s not mine,” he murmured.
“How can you be sure?” Persephone asked. The black beaver looked like any fashionable men’s top hat of late.
Jack turned it over and aimed it so the coach lantern could illuminate the label inside the hat band. “I only buy hats fromFitzsimmons and Smithin Oxford Street,” he said. The label in the hat he held was for a shop in New Bond Street. “Which means my hat is probably still back at Weatherstone Manor.”
“Or the man who escorted you out of the house has it,” Parker said, obviously intrigued by the unusual events of the evening.
“Perhaps a good night’s sleep will have your memory returning, Lord Wilmington,” Persephone suggested. She turned to Parker. “If you remember anything else about what you saw this evening, will you please let me know? Or… or tell Bentley?” she said, referring to the butler of March House. She took Jack’s proffered arm.
“Of course, my lady,” Parker replied. “Will you be needing the coach again tonight?”
Chuckling, Persephone shook her head. “Of course not.”
The driver hesitated, obviously bothered that he was unaware of the earl’s presence in the coach. “If you’d like, I can go back to Weatherstone Manor,” he offered. “Ask about his lordship’s hat. And return this one at the same time,” he added, pointing to the hat Jack still held.
Persephone inhaled softly and turned to gauge Jack’s response. When he merely shrugged, she said, “That’s very kind of you.” She was about to fish a few coins from a pocket in her gown, but Jack beat her to it, pulling several from his waistcoat pocket. He gave them to the driver.
“Be sure to give a coin or two to the footman who assists you,” he said. “Especially if he shares any news with you.”
“I will, my lord,” Parker said as he took the hat.
“Should you acquire Lord Wilmington’s hat, simply leave it on the hall table if Bentley is no longer up and about,” Persephone requested, deciding she didn’t wish to be disturbed. Although she sensed Jack’s growing unease, she knew he needed to sleep off the effects of the drug—or whatever it was that had him so discombobulated.
“Yes, my lady.”
“Good night, Parker.”
“Good night, my lady,” the driver replied, watching as Lord Wilmington led Lady Castlewait to the front door. He hurried back to the coach and set the horses in motion.
