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He mentally reviewed his search thus far. Not one person—from the baker to the flower merchant to the priest to Mrs. Dodson—had suggested that Miss Brown was addled. And yet, where was the son she cared for so deeply if neither the priest nor her landlady was even aware of his existence?

Sliding his fingers into his pocket, he withdrew the string and small scrap of fabric Miss Brown had given him. Turning it over in his hand, he looked back down the street. What more could he do to fulfill his promise to a dying woman?

“If you please, m’lord.”

The voice had been so quiet, so tentative, that Alexander had barely heard it, but when the young woman stepped out from the shadow of the church gate, he recognized her.

“Lucy. Is that right?” he asked.

She bobbed her head anxiously. “Yes, m’lord.”

Alexander waited, but it seemed that the young woman’s nerves were getting the best of her. If she continued to wring her hands in that way, she would rub her fingers to bleeding. “What can I do for you, Lucy?” he said.

“Is it true? Did Mary . . . Is . . . is she really gone?”

Lucy must have overheard part of his conversation with Mrs. Dodson, and no matter that he had not been driving the hackney, culpability weighed heavily on him. “She is, I fear. She was involved in an accident on St. James Street.”

Lucy bit her lip. “I see. Thank you for tellin’ me.”

“Were you a friend of hers?”

She nodded. “We shared a room at Mrs. Dodson’s ’ouse.” Tears were evident in her eyes. “She . . . she wuz always good ta me.”

A glimmer of hope sputtered to life in Alexander’s chest. He raised the string so she could see the small piece of fabric. “Did she ever tell you about her son?”

Lucy’s gaze moved from his face to the object in his hand, and she gasped. “You . . . you ’ave Mary’s necklace.”

“Yes,” he said. “Mary gave it to me and asked me to give it to her son.”

“She musta trusted you somethin’ fierce, m’lord. Mary never took that off her neck. Not ever.”

He draped the humble necklace across his palm. “I believe she did. I gave her my word that I would locate her son. Do you know where he might be?”

She shook her head. “We’d shared a room fer over a year afore she told me ’bout ’im. She never said where ’e was or what ’appened to ’er afore she came to Mrs. Dodson’s. She jus’ said she was workin’ ’ard so she could go get ’er boy again when she ’ad enough money to keep ’im.”

“Did Mrs. Dodson know about him?”

“No, m’lord. Mary didn’t tell nobody but me, an’ she made me swear not to tell a soul.” She glanced at the nearby church, suddenly looking stricken. “Maybe I shouldn’t ’ave—”

“I have no doubt Mary would want you to share what you know with me now that she’s gone. She wanted me find him.”

Keeping her eyes on the string, as if its presence in Alexander’s hand reassured her of the truth of his words, Lucy nodded again. “I daresay.”

“Did you ever ask Mary where he was?” Alexander pressed.

“No, m’lord. I reckoned she’d tell me when she wuz ready.” A tear trickled down her cheek. “I suppose it’s too late now, though, ain’t it?”

Disappointment tinged Alexander’s voice. “Indeed.” Lucy had confirmed that there was still a child to be found, but he was no closer to finding him than he had been before. With resignation, he touched the brim of his hat. “Good day to you, Lucy. Should you remember anything more that might aid me in finding Miss Brown’s son, I would be grateful if you would send word to me at Claremont House.”

“Yes, m’lord.” Lucy wiped her cheek with her sleeve and bobbed a fumbling curtsy. “I’m glad you come when you did. It wasn’t the news I wanted to ’ear, but now I can stop worryin’ ’bout ’er.” She took another look at the church. “She’s in a better place, at least.”

“I daresay you’re right,” Alexander said, his gaze falling on the shabby street instead. A man was walking toward him, his swaying gait a sure indication that he’d been in his cups too long. Alexander watched as the man shouted something at a stray dog before continuing his meandering path. Gripping his walking stick in one hand and Miss Brown’s string necklace in the other, Alexander turned away. It was time to leave this place. He did not know what to try next; he could only hope that by morning a fresh idea would come.

Music filled the ballroom. Ladies and gentlemen moved across the floor in elegant swirls of silk, lace, and ribbon, executing the minuet with the fluid precision that came from hours of practice. Watching the dancers from her seat in the corner of the room, Jane wondered how well she would remember the steps now. Her dance instructor had praised her for being a fast learner. She’d always loved the feeling of movement—whether it was the twirling of her skirts as she crossed a wide-open ballroom or the pounding of her horse’s hooves as she galloped across the Yorkshire moors. She stifled a sigh. They were both lost to her now.

Phoebe glided by on the arm of Mr. Yardley. The handsome gentleman had been particularly attentive this evening, and Jane could not help but smile at the happiness reflected in her sister’s face. By contrast, Lady Emma’s expression this evening bordered on glowering. Dancing farther down the set, she was partnered with an older gentleman Jane did not recognize. He had already tripped over his own feet multiple times, and when he trod on Lady Emma’s toes instead, it became patently clear that the lady had lost all patience with him.

Not far away, Lady Bloxley was talking with their hostess, Lady Norrington. There was no sign of her son, however, and Jane thought it likely that his absence was contributing to Lady Emma’s current ill-humor.