“We can never thank you enough for finding her,” she heard her father say.
“I will call again soon, and we will discuss the matter,” Ambrose said. “For now, I’m sure she wishes food and sleep.”
Easing back, she looked at Ambrose and Violet.
“I can never thank you enough for finding me.”
“You would have done the same for us,” Violet said, stepping in to kiss her cheek. “Sleep, my friend, and I will go to the club tomorrow. You need a few days rest now.”
She didn’t argue, and they all turned and walked back to the carriage. As if she’d willed it, Ambrose looked over his shoulder one last time before he reached it, and their eyes met. And then he was inside and soon rolling away.
She did not leavethe house for four days, and in that time, Tilly slept, ate, and bathed. She had scrubbed her skin raw and still felt dirty. The nights were the worst. She’d wake suddenly, believing herself back there in that crate, shaking with terror, and not return to sleep until the grey light of dawn settled over London.
“Tilly, Mr. Howard has called to see you,” her mother said on the fourth morning from the doorway of her bedroom. “I will have a tray prepared and meet you in the parlor.”
“Mother, I am not ready.”
“You are, and it will do you good to talk to someone other than your parents. It will help, child. Trust me.”
As she’d left before Tilly could tell her to send him away, there was little she could do but tidy her appearance and join her. Minutes later she was entering the room with large windows that looked out over the street to the grey day beyond.
Mr. Howard rose to his feet. “Miss Wilson,” he greeted her. “I heard you were unwell and called to see you.”
“I am much better, thank you.”
“You have a bruise on your face?—”
“I merely walked into the door in my delirium,” she said.
“I shall see where that tea tray has got to,” her mother said, leaving the door wide open as she left the room.
“We have yet to take our drive around the park, Miss Wilson. Would tomorrow suit you?”
“Mr. Howard?—”
“Well now, we have another visitor,” her mother said, returning. Behind her was Ambrose.
“Tilly.” He bowed before her, taking one of her hands and squeezing it. “Howard,” he added in a voice several degrees colder than the one he used for her.
“Tea,” her mother said, reentering with their butler.
It was the most strained twenty minutes of her life, Tilly thought, filled as it was with forced conversation from her mother and Mr. Howard. Ambrose, however, barely spoke a word and kept his eyes on her the entire time. Did he have news? Was something else wrong? Tilly wasn’t sure she could take any more bad news.
Her nerves were strung tighter than piano wire when, finally, Mr. Howard rose.
“I shall call tomorrow and take you driving, Miss Wilson.”
“Oh—ah, thank you. I shall be waiting,” Tilly said, unsure how to dissuade the man.
Her mother rose with him and saw him to the door, leaving her alone with Ambrose.
“What’s wrong, Ambrose? Has something happened?”
He walked toward her and took one of her hands in his, touching the other to the bruise on her cheek, his face darkening as he studied it. “Are you well, Tilly?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“We are trying to find who abducted you, but so far, no leads. Gray is on the case, and we have employed a private investigator to find answers.”
