Page 41 of Only a Mistress Will Do

God, this was all his fault. Obviously, she intended to show him she needed nothing of his. “I suppose she didn’t take the carriage either?”

“No, my lord. Nothing. But I did have a bit of luck. I asked around, different servants who were out and about this morning, if they’d seen her. I’d no idea what time she’d left. Andrew, Mrs. Lyman’s coachman from next door, had been up early with a colicky horse. He said he took a breather around dawn and went out to have a pipe in the mews. He saw Miss Carlton.”

“He knew her?” Insane to feel jealous at a time like this, and of a coachman, no less, but his rational mind had flown.

“No, my lord. He described her—brown hair, deep purple dress, black cloak—and said she came out of our mews gate, looking furtive-like over her shoulder. She headed on foot down the mews and then turned right at the end.”

“Toward St. James Square.” Tris rubbed the heel of his hand against his eyes, praying to God his brains didn’t leak out. “Who might she know in that direction?” He lowered his hand and stared dully at the maid, hoping she had an answer, but the woman shrugged.

“Miss Carlton’s had no callers and paid no calls in the time she’s been with me. If she has friends or family, she never told me of them.”

Tris tried to focus, though his thoughts jumbled as they spun around his head. Out of the fog, her voice, clear and strong came back to him. I finally had the great good luck to make the acquaintance of a Miss Forsythe, who had just arrived from Ireland. That was it. He nodded at Susan, his heart finally lightening. “I think I know where she’s gone.” Pray God he was right. So many things could happen to a woman alone in London. “I’ll take care of this, Susan. Thank you for coming to me.”

She gave him one exasperated look, and left.

“Saunders!”

The valet materialized immediately from his dressing room. He’d likely been lurking there all morning in hopes of a summons. The rotund little man took as much pride in Tristan’s appearance as he did himself.

“Yes, my lord?”

“You must make me as presentable as possible in fifteen minutes.”

“Very good, my lord.” Saunders sprinted to the dressing room. Loud thumping sounds ensued.

Tristan grabbed his head, praying it didn’t explode. He dreaded showing himself in public in this disgraceful fashion. Rarely did he indulge in spirits to this excess, but his guilt last night had driven him to this sorry state. And he deserved every pain-filled moment.

* * * *

“Lord Trevor.” The shrill tone of the butler made Tris cringe as he entered the large reception room at the Braeton’s townhouse.

“How lovely to see you again, Lord Trevor.” Lady Braeton, beautifully attired in a sky-blue gown that somehow muted her flaming red hair, purred and patted the seat on the sofa next to her.

“Haven’t seen you this season down in Kent, Trevor,” Lord Braeton said, raising a tumbler half filled with pale liquor. He arched his brows in invitation.

Tris could almost taste the smooth spirits. Through his wife’s family in Ireland, Braeton always procured the best Irish whiskey to be had in England. Just a couple of mouthfuls would take the edge off this infernal pounding in his head. But he needed to hang onto the few wits he had that still worked. He slowly shook his head at Braeton, and sat down.

The earl shrugged and took another sip. “Damned shame you missed the hunt in October. Some really good riders turned up, including young Manning. Have you met?”

“Yes. He’s the Marquess of Dalbury’s brother-in-law. He’s got quite the reputation as a good judge of horseflesh.” Hoping it wouldn’t make his internal matters worse, Tris accepted a cup of tea from Lady Braeton. “Thank you. Two lumps of sugar and a splash of milk, please.”

“And such a pleasant young man,” Cocking her head, her ladyship chimed in. “My cousin, Miss Forsythe, is quite an admirer of his.” Her blue eyes bore into him. “Have you met her, Lord Trevor?”

“Yes, my lady. At your ball in April. Such a beautiful and spirited young woman.” Had the woman forgotten she’d insisted he dance the opening set with her? Still, her question gave him the opening he’d hoped for. “Is she receiving visitors today?”

The countess shook her head, clucking her tongue. “No, I fear my cousin has been indisposed for quite a while now. She has not been able to receive anyone for several weeks. Ever since our Christmas ball.”

Damn. “I wondered because Miss Carlton mentioned she intended to call on Miss Forsythe.”

Lady Braeton sighed and sipped her tea. “No, I’m sorry to say we have not seen Miss Carlton since the ball. Alethea took such a fancy to her last summer. I encouraged it as my poor cousin had made so few friends since her arrival in London. I do wish she had called. I’m sure Alethea would have made an exception for her. Perhaps Miss Carlton’s presence would have raised my cousin’s spirits.”

Damn. If Violet wasn’t here, where the devil was she?

He remained with the Braeton’s another agonizing quarter of an hour, although he wanted to flee and continue his search. But search where? He’d thought of every place she might have gone and discarded them all as impossible due to her lack of funds.

When he took his leave of the Braetons, he headed back to Lammas House. Perhaps the woman had come to her senses and returned. If so, he’d shake her until her teeth rattled. If she had not made herself known by tomorrow morning, he’d contact Duncan. His wife had a relation employed by Bow Street. Perhaps the man could locate her.

Susan met him at the door, her eyes hopeful until she realized he was alone, and slumped.