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“I see,” Violetta said, crossing her arms over her chest.

Had it been possible to innocuously release a sigh of relief, Orris would have done so. “Yes, one can see how you would have arrived at such an assumption. She would remain a diamond among pearls, even if she were penniless,” Orris said. A diversion, but one that did not betray her foolish notions of even just a friendship with Mr. Fain.

“Yes. Part of my role within this family is to protect every lady connected to my dear wife. I take it seriously. I should warn each of you, however. There will be gentlemen who will ask whether I may arrange a marriage contract on your behalf of your uncle. They will see me as an opportunity. In your uncle’s absence, I shall aid in facilitation, but my hope for you is any suitor would make you aware of their interest prior to coming to me for any such matter.” Samuel had expertly changed the subject.

“We appreciate your approach, Samuel.” Violetta was pure light, especially since the topic had shifted to something she was interested in learning more about.

“I hope my father does not demand I be sent home the moment his foot touches American soil. While he could send a message from Chicago, I believe he will once in New York. Papa is not a man known for his patience.” Gladys stiffened on the gold-embellished chair, the brow creased on her otherwise angelic face. She was quite a beauty, her chestnut skin and long, black hair enhancing her round eyes and full lips. It was no great surprise to find a suitor waiting for her. It should be a greater surprise to find her without any interest.

“I have already sent a wire for Tolliver to New York advising we have some gentlemen suitors for you in London. Titled suitors. The hope is this will deter him… at least momentarily,” Samuel assured her.

“But we do not. I have not been introduced to society,” Gladys said, eyes wide.

“I am aware. However, you have made the right acquaintances. There is hardly anyone to take issue.”

“But what of Mr. Fain?” Orris said, unable to hold her concern any longer. The amiable man had manners and did not appear destitute. Even if he was not titled, surely he was worth the effort.

Everyone turned to stare at her this time. Making every effort to appear unconcerned, or at least less concerned than her outburst had implied, she attempted a smile she hoped was not as awkward as it felt.

Samuel tilted his head, those floppy curls shifting once again. “Certainly. I shall make inquiries as soon as possible, Orris.”

“Good. I mean, for his sake,” she said.

Lord, she hoped they believed her.

Chapter Twelve

Dawn came before Rowan, Abram noted in advance of his feet hitting the floor the following morning. He had searched for him, attempting to visit every pub, gentleman’s club, and even some brothels, though Rowan never frequented such places. The night grew far too dark to venture onto the docks and nearby eateries frequented by merchants. He was not interested in being robbed by some of the cruder members of London’s citizenry.

He decided to instead wait for the dawning of the sun to continue his pursuits. Where could Rowan have gone? The behavior was completely unlike him.

Without stopping for food, he headed to the docks as soon as he could dress. He was unkempt and did not look anything like the son of a duke he was. Even though his da did not hold the same type of wealth as some members of the beau monde, they had managed a fair recovery after the famine years before his birth. His family was never found to be lacking in any way. If they were to have seen him on that morning, he would have surely brought shame.

Abram did not care. His manservant… his friend needed him.

The chill on the docks did not deter him. He clutched his morning coat to his chest and pulled the bowler hat low to ward off the damp cold. The last thing he needed was a fever.

He looked around for a time, weaving through workers unloading ships, merchants investigating shipments, and the passengers hustling to their destination with bags, children, and spouses in tow.

When he spotted a familiar pattern, saffron-colored plaid trousers coupled with an unmistakable tweed jacket on several men, he made his way through the crush.

“Dia dhuit,” he called out to the man at the bottom of the plank attached to a cargo ship.

He glanced over his shoulder at Abram but did not stop his work, pulling a rope and drawing down wooden crates as another man worked to add more to the makeshift trolley. “Dia is muire dhuit,” he said in the traditional response before returning his attention to the crate. He bent at the knees to lift it.

Abram had to jump out of the way to keep from being crushed under the weight of the box.

“Oy, if you dun’na want to be harmed, dun’na put yourself in harm’s way,” he warned. The crates likely contained stout, the way the bottles clinked inside the crate as the dockworker handled them. Oh, how he longed for a draft, but there was no time for libations, he noted.

“Understandable. I am just wondering if you happened to see a tall, dark-skinned man. His hair is coal black and he is clean shaven. He would have been wearing a tweed walking suit. He is Irish and has the look of it,” he explained. Abram moved to the other side of the man, for his own safety.

“No, not this morning. We’ve only just docked. Within the hour. If yer friend is on the docks, he has not ventured my way,” he said. Another box made its way down the plank as skillful hands carefully guided it. It was truly an ingenious way to unload the heavy goods.

“Thank you. Slán leat,” he said in parting, offering the man a prayer for safety and good health. He did not wait for a well wishes in return, as the gentleman was obviously focused on his job.

He spent another hour questioning workers as they disembarked from ships and scrutinizing passengers who were rushing along.

In the end, it was no use. He did not find Rowan, nor did Abram anticipate him still being there if he’d come here yesterday. Then where was he?