Page 24

Abram returned to the Dove and Hound, his mind still running through all the places they had been. His stomach grumbled as he took his seat, only now thinking of food for himself. Placing his hat on the table next to him, he glanced around the room once more. Still no Rowan. And no earl, either. It was early in the day, so he understood the reason, but it left him with no one who had encountered the valet to ask after his whereabouts.

Abram did not immediately remove his coat. While it would have been appropriate to do so, a chill had settled on his bones and he needed something warm.

There were no smiling ladies at that hour of the day. Instead, a man who looked a bit long in the tooth but one recognized by Abram as a houseman walked over. “Good day to you, sir,” he said.

“Good day. May I have tea and a Scotch egg?” Normally, Abram was in a better mood when interacting with servants and staff. But he simply did not have the wherewithal to be pleasant. He had spoken with dockworkers of every temperament, and the activity had beaten him to a pulp.

“Of course,” the man muttered, seemingly in no better mood than Abram.

After he was gone, Abram glanced around the club again, determined that Rowan would show up. Perhaps he had met a woman? No, that was not right. He had never been one to fall in with loose women.

If he could not find him, he would simply have the caretaker of their apartments allow him entry into Rowan’s room. He would secure the assistance of the police if necessary. Enough time had passed where worry over his friend’s wellbeing was reasonable.

On the next scan of the room, he noted the viscount was entering. While he had been respectful with him and his questions over Abram’s intentions with the ladies of Gray Manor, he did not want another discussion with the man. Especially given Abram’s exhaustion and, frankly, his foul disposition. Sucking in a sharp breath, he pulled his journal from his pocket and began jotting down note about Rowan and all the places he had searched for him in the last two days.

“Mr. Fain.” The viscount’s voice was softer, unlike during their first solo encounter.

Abram glanced up. “Good day, my lord,” he said, bracing himself for whatever accusation may be hurled at him this time.

The viscount pointed to the chair he stood beside. “Good day to you. May I sit, or are you awaiting a guest?”

Abram did not verbally reply. Instead, he extended a hand in the direction of the empty green upholstered chair across from him.

“Thank you.” The lord nodded then took the seat across from him. “I wondered whether you’ve found your man? I can assist with questioning some individuals, or perhaps we might go to the authorities?”

Abram merely stared at him for a moment. This viscount had not seemed to be taken with him, and he wondered why he would want to help him. “No, I have not found him. Not even a whisper as to where he might have gone. As I am not prone to hysterics, I have not involved the constables. I am sure he will turn up at some point.” He also did not want to have to explain why a duke’s son was traveling without appropriate guards and under an assumed name, should anyone find out he had lied to the Grays. How could he explain he had been hiding from his father to tromp across countries painting? No, involving the authorities was out… for now.

“While London may be lovely in Mayfair, there are those with nefarious intentions. Please, if I may help in any way, I should be happy to do so. My wife has been concerned, as her sister is concerned. I do not have to tell you what that means for a husband.”

Abram studied him another moment. He did appear genuine in his ask. His brows dipped low, and there was no hint of condescension. “I would appreciate any help. He is not the type of man to act spontaneously, in any way. He plans next Tuesday’s dinner a month in advance.”

The viscount leaned forward, conspiratorially, then glanced over his shoulder before speaking. “I see. Not a drinker or gambler? Anything that may be done in binges? I wonder if he hasn’t simply found a pleasure den or a bawdy house and, shall we say, lost track of time?” He lifted the drink he’d brought over.

“Never. The man may as well be a vicar.”

“Has anything out of the ordinary occurred? Anything at all?”

“He argued with the Earl of Brookshire a few days ago in this very tavern. However, there was nothing serious about it. Otherwise, no one had ever been cross with him in my presence.”

Viscount Fredericks appeared thoughtful, his arms crossed over his chest as he considered what Abram had shared. “Does he have any distinguishing characteristics?”

“None that I can recall. Other than his dry humor, but you would have to know him to understand.”

Viscount Fredericks was silent for a moment before asking, “Anything else?”

“No, my lord.”

“Well, if we are to set out looking for him, you may certainly call me ‘Samuel.’ I have some errands to see to, but once I am done, we shall begin looking for your friend.” The announcement was more a declaration.

Abram had not asked for assistance. And he most assuredly would have if he thought it was required. “You may call me ‘Abram,’ but I don’t think it necessary—”

“Nonsense. Meet me at my mother-in-law’s home. We shall begin straight away. One hour. Funny, though. I could have sworn you were introduced as Aldridge Fain. Was I mistaken?”

Shite. He had been so focused on dissuading Samuel, he had inadvertently given his true name. “Er, that is to say, I am often called after my father. Among friends and family. My middle name is Aldridge.”

“Shall I call you ‘Abram,’ then?”

Christ. He was in a fix. “I prefer ‘Aldridge.’ I am not particularly fond of the moniker. That is, if you do not mind terribly.”