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“Sir,” came a deep voice from outside Clara didn’t recognize, “it cannot wait, we⁠—”

“Mr. Hurst?” Mr. Cole interrupted.

The butler turned around in surprise, revealing the men at the door.

Clara again recognized neither, but Mr. Cole stopped in his tracks. “Mr. Babbington?”

The man with a large mustache stepped forward with a sigh of relief. “Thank heavens. Mr. Cole, we’ve been trying to get to you for quarter of an hour.”

“You know these men?” Mr. Hurst asked suspiciously.

“I know one of them.” Mr. Cole glanced at Clara with hesitation. “Mr. Babbington is my solicitor.”

Clara stared. Mr. Cole’s solicitor? Why in the world was he there?

As if hearing her question, Mr. Cole turned toward her. “Forgive me,” he said softly. “I wrote to him upon hearing of your predicament, hoping he would have knowledge of your father’s solicitor, though I gave no specifics.”

Clara shook her head, unable to speak.

“Are you angry?” Mr. Cole asked with a wince.

“No,” she whispered, unable to speak any louder, overcome with emotion. “I can only thank you.”

Relief filled his features, then he turned to face the others. “Please, allow them in, Mr. Hurst.”

Mr. Hurst frowned, but did as he was told, leaving the room shortly after.

The gentlemen faced Clara and Mr. Cole, giving brief bows as they removed their hats, though their great coats remained on—no doubt to ward off the continued chill they’d been exposed to.

“Mr. Cole,” Mr. Babbington said, “forgive the late call, but your letter expressed a hastiness I could not ignore. Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Peddles, the son of the late Mr. Hatfield’s solicitor.”

Clara’s head swirled as she stared. Mr. Peddles, a stout young man with ruddy cheeks and red hair bowed again before rising to face Clara.

“And you, I assume, are Miss Clara Hatfield?”

Clara nodded in silence.

“What a relief to have finally found you, miss,” Mr. Peddles said. “I’ve been searching for you for quite some time. Would you mind it very much if I took a moment out of your evening to discuss an important matter with you?”

“Of course,” she breathed.

They stood facing one another, Clara’s ability to believe this was reality shifting every second. Had she finally found the man who’d helped father? Or at least, the man’s son?

No. Mr. Babbington had found him. Because of Mr. Cole.

She turned to face him, excitement on his features as he encouraged her forward. “I’ll be right with you, if you wish it.”

“Of course I do.”

And she did.

Facing Mr. Peddles, she nodded. “You may speak to me here, sir.”

“Very well. Now, Miss Hatfield⁠—”

Footsteps clattered at the back of the hall, coupled with sharp whispers as Lady Dalmeer herself appeared, followed swiftly by Mr. Hurst, Miss Sterling, Miss Hollis, and unfortunately, Miss Bowles.

Clara grimaced.