Page 39 of A Lady's Wager
He inclined his head slightly, then took a sip of his wine, watching her above the rim of his glass. “Do you agree?” he asked when he lowered his glass. “That these young people are completely confounding.”
She was not in the mood for his teasing, so she looked past him in search of any reason to excuse herself. And yet part of her wanted to stay. Confounding indeed.
“You do not need to worry yourself so much.”
She looked back at him, keeping her expression bored. “Worry?” she repeated.
“About your niece. Things have a way of working themselves out, and she is a well-behaved and thoughtful girl.”
“She is a young woman, not a girl,” Etta corrected, solely for the purpose of correcting him. “And I have no doubt that her best future will absolutely work out.” She said the last words with flat articulation to reference his own casual mention.
“Then why do you take on so much concern for such things as who she is talking to and for how long?”
Ah, they were back to her not approving of Reed Firth’s attention to Rachel. The same conversation that had begun their connection all those weeks ago. She let out an audible sigh. “Have a good evening, Mr. Firth. Your impertinence is what I truly find confounding.” He laughed as she turned and clenched her teeth—oh, why could the Firths not return to where they came from? In this exact moment they seemed to be the cause of all the tension she was feeling.
She suffered through the second half of the performance—chiding Rachel the whole time on how to sit and how to smile—and they rode home in complete silence. Perhaps Etta could arrange for Rachel to go riding; she had done very little since coming to the city. Some time on horseback, arranged by her dear auntie, might remedy the melancholy, or at least lead her to discuss her feelings with Etta.
She let the silence continue while she put together a plan that she would start on first thing tomorrow, but she also questioned if she wanted to do this anymore. She did not feel the same abouther hosting responsibilities as she once did. What had once been fun now made her tired.
It was something to think about…later.
ETTA WAS LINGERING OVER HERbreakfast the next morning as she planned out an opportunity for Rachel—Elizabeth kept horses for riding outside of Town—when there was a quick knock at the door. It opened before Etta had swallowed her bite of toast enough to respond. The housekeeper, Mrs. Thomas, was in a state as she charged into the room.
“I am sorry to interrupt your breakfast, ma’am,” Mrs. Thomas said, her voice high and her apple-cheeks bright. “But we are unable to find Miss Johnson this morning.”
Etta straightened where she sat in her bed with the breakfast tray over her knees. “What do you mean you are unable to find her?” She immediately thought of last night when she’d entered the gallery to see Rachel and Mr. Reed Firth deep in conversation.
“She was not in her room when her maid went to wake her half an hour ago. We have looked throughout the house and cannot find her anywhere.”
Etta was already moving the breakfast tray from her lap. “When was she last seen?”
“Last night, after your return from the performance.”
“Was her maid the last to see her?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Etta threw back the covers and stood, crossing to where her dressing gown was hung before throwing it over her shoulders.
“Have you talked to all the staff?” Etta asked, tying the sash around her waist and feeling the fury rise in her chest. She knew from the first time she’d set eyes on the young Mr. Firth that he was trouble.
“Yes, ma’am, no one saw her after Gretchen helped her ready for bed. She did ask Gretchen to let her sleep late, as she said she was very tired, which is why we have only just realized she’s missing.”
Etta was hurrying toward the door when she realized there was nothing she could do from her home in her dressing gown. She pulled the sash to undo the knot she’d just tied and turned back to the wardrobe. “Order my carriage and send Lowry up to help me get ready. Send the footmen through the nearby parks just in case, and make sure you speak to every staff member personally and press upon them the need for absolute discretion—there is no space for anyone here in Town to know what is happening in our household. I want to interview her maid myself before I go.”
“Where are you going?”
“The London home of Mr. Wynn Firth—the man to blame for my niece’s disappearance, I have no doubt.”
When they arrived at the Firths’ town house—a rented town house, mind you—the footman went ahead of Etta and banged on the front door. Etta reached the door just after it had been opened and therefore stepped over the threshold without pausing, then turned to look at a rather surprised butler standing to the side of the door he’d just opened. “Where is Mr. Firth?”
“I am here.”
She spun around and looked to the top of the stairs where Mr. Firth stood in his shirtsleeves, looking down at her with a sheaf of papers in his hand. She opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it, mindful of the delicate nature of this conversation and the curious eyes of the servants in their vicinity. “Where is your study?”
He furrowed his eyebrows. “Where is my study?” he repeated.
It would be upstairs, so she lifted the skirts of her day dress and started up. “You shall direct me, or I shall find it myself.”
