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Jonas placed his hand on Alexander’s shoulder. “A few more days, old fellow. The vote will be behind us, and you can sleep knowing that you’ve done all you can. You have made a difference.”

Alexander grimaced. “It does not feel enough.”

“It hardly ever does,” Jonas said. “But that does not mean our efforts should be discounted. We are setting the groundwork, Alex. We, and others after us, will continue to build upon it.”

Alexander nodded. Jonas was right, and he’d best remember it. He reached for the decanter of brandy on the nearby table and poured a little of the amber liquid into two glasses. Handing one to his friend, he raised his glass. “To the first step,” he said.

Jonas grinned. “The first step,” he repeated. “May there be many more in the right direction.”

They both took a drink. Moments later, a knock sounded.

“Enter,” Alexander called, turning to face the study door. It opened to reveal Hastings.

“The post has arrived, my lord.” Hastings made his daily pilgrimage to Alexander’s desk and set the silver salver on the far corner.

Alexander glanced at the two letters lying face up on the salver, and his heart stuttered. The matching lavender-colored envelopes bore a distinctly feminine script.

Across from him, Jonas had also noticed the unique stationary. “Love letters, Alex?”

“Hardly.” Praying that the heat he felt creeping up his neck would not be manifest beyond his cravat, Alexander turned his back on the beckoning salver.

Jonas chuckled and set his glass down on the table beside the decanter. “As we appear to be of one mind with regard to what we present to the House of Lords tomorrow, I shall take my leave.” He eyed him mischievously. “Feel free to tear into those letters the moment the door closes behind me.”

“Good day, Jonas,” Alexander said.

His friend was still chuckling as he left the room. Alexander remained where he was, listening. Only when he heard the front door close behind Jonas, followed by Hastings’s distinctive march across the hall toward the stairs, did he turn back to the salver and pick up the letters. Walking over to the fireplace, he dropped into his favorite leather chair and studied the envelopes. He had waited a fortnight for one letter, and now he was the recipient of two on the same day. What had happened?

Breaking open one envelope’s seal, Alexander withdrew the paper within and glanced at the date at the top: Saturday, 25th April. Ensuring the signature at the bottom of the sheet was the one he expected, he opened the second envelope. Sunday, 26th April. Miss Hadford had written these letters only one day apart. Somehow, one had caught up with the other.

Returning to the first, he read through the entire letter, smiling at the vision of Miss Hadford leaving the butcher’s shop with a package of unwanted sausages. When he reached her second letter, however, all good humor left before the end of the first paragraph. Stiffening, he read through the entire missive twice before leaping from his chair and pacing to the window.

He had not known Miss Hadford long, admittedly, but of a few things he was certain: the young lady was more observant than most, she was not given to gross exaggeration, and she was sensitive to the feelings of others. If she believed Mr. Stanley and his son capable of injuring Asher, they probably were; if she believed that Asher was afraid of them, he probably was.

Few boys made it to adulthood without experiencing some measure of corporal punishment. Alexander himself had endured an occasional caning in the headmaster’s office at Eton. All too often, Jonas had been at his side, owning his portion of the responsibility for the mischief they’d managed together. Toads hidden in their teacher’s desk drawer, the prickly outer shells of horse chestnuts dropped into the prefects’ shoes, honey on the handles of the opposing team’s cricket bats. More often than not, their boyish larks had ended in a few painful stripes. But that was not the type of mean-spirited abuse Miss Hadford was describing.

Alexander turned to face the portrait of his father on the wall behind his desk. The former Earl of Bloxley had died when Alexander had been a teenager. There was no doubt that he’d been a stern man. He had not shown Alexander a great deal of affection, and he’d always expected Alexander to behave in a manner befitting his station. But not once had he raised a hand against him. Alexander had known him to be firm and somewhat unyielding, but he had never feared him.

“No three-year-old should live like that,” he muttered. Setting Miss Hadford’s letters on the desk, he marched out of the study and into the hall. “Hastings!” he called.

The butler appeared from belowstairs. “You called, my lord?”

“I have unexpected and urgent business at the Foundling Hospital.”

“Then I shall have your carriage made ready immediately, my lord.”

Alexander gave him an appreciative nod and headed for his chambers, taking the stairs two at a time.

Less than an hour later, Alexander walked through the wide doors that opened into the hospital lobby. Across the room, a familiar figure rose to his feet from a chair behind the desk, and Alexander made directly for him.

“Lord Bloxley.” Mr. Morris offered a stiff bow. “What an unexpected pleasure.”

“Mr. Morris.” Alexander acknowledged the assistant director with a brief inclination of his head. It was probable that the “unexpected” portion of the man’s greeting was true, even if the “pleasure” was not. “I wish to speak to the director, if you please. A Mr. Barrett, if I remember correctly?”

Mr. Morris pushed his spectacles farther up his nose. “Yes, my lord.” He shifted his feet anxiously. “I have no doubt that had circumstances been different, Mr. Barrett would have been happy to meet with you. Unfortunately, he has not yet returned to London.”

Alexander stepped closer. “It has been a full fortnight since I was last here, Mr. Morris.”

“Indeed, my lord. I had anticipated that Mr. Barrett would be here by now, but it appears that he has been detained in Liverpool.”