Page 67 of Forgery, Love, and Other Lies
“What do you wish me to do?” he asked. He looked sternly at the older woman. “Don’t swoon. It’s not helpful.”
She broke off mid wail and blinked at him. “Perhaps you’re right.”
“That worked?” Lady Cordelia said..
“Of course it worked,” Lord Theodore snapped. “Don’t sound so shocked.”
Never mind them. Fiona turned to the now calm but sniffling Lady Balantine who turned the broken statue over and over in her hands. “My lady, you say your son took this statue?”
“He did. He took it all. Loaded it into a coach and told me I’d served my purpose well.” Lady Balantine dropped the statue to the cushion beside her and hid her face in her hands. No wails broke the wall of skin and bone, but her shoulder shook and near-silent cries filled the air around her.
Fiona wrapped her in a hug. “I’m sorry. So terribly sorry.”
“If your son had the statue,” Lord Theodore said, “and the statue was found bloody outside my sister’s house—”
“It cannot be that Lord Balantine has Lysander, can it?” Lady Cordelia asked. “That he’s… harmed him in any way?”
Lady Balantine continued crying.
Fiona continued rubbing her back.
A pair of heavy footsteps, then Lord Theodore’s deep voice. “Lady Balantine, do you have any idea where your son has gone?”
She lifted her face to them and spoke steadily. “No. But he was in the coach with the family seal on the side, painted in blue. It’s quite distinctive. Please.” She grabbed at Lord Theodore’s hand and pulled him closer. “Please find him. If he has harmed Lord Lysander, I will never forgive myself.”
Lord Theodore pulled his hand from her embrace. “I’ll follow up on this information, Lady Balantine. Thank you for your help. And I’m sorry for your sorrow. I’ll let you know as soon as I know anything.”
She patted Fiona on the hand. “You are distressed, too, my love, and you must go home and rest.” She pushed Fiona to her feet, then wavered and sank back down, hiding her face in the arm of the chair, her shoulders heaving though she made no sound.
“I must return you to your sister,” Lord Theodore said, turning to her and sweeping her toward the door.
“No.” Fiona anchored her feet to the floor. “I want to help, and I cannot sit still. I cannot go home when Lysander may be far from his. And hurt.”
Lord Theodore’s shoulders stiffened. “I must inquire around town about the coach Lady Balantine described. If I discover anything, I’ll send word. I swear. I may have to hie after him. My lady”—he turned toward the dowager—“where is his estate?”
“Oh! He would not have bludgeoned and abducted a man and taken him to his wife and children. Surely he has that much sense. But… he has another house. In Kent. Less than a half day’s ride from London. He does not visit it. It was a favorite haunt of my husband’s. Good hunting.”
“I will start my questioning along the roads to Kent, then,” Lord Theodore said.
Fiona stepped forward. “And I’ll come with you.”
“No.”
“Yes.” She marched up to him and pressed her finger to his chest. “Your brother learned quickly enough that I do as I please when something is important to me. Nothing could be more important to me than Lysander’s life. I’m coming, even if it comes to leaving town.” She’d not have stood up to her parents only to be sent back with her tail between her legs.
“And with what chaperone?” he demanded.
“Me.” Lady Balantine stood on steady legs, her voice strong as steel despite the wavering tracks the tears had drawn down her wrinkle-lined face. “I agree with Miss Fiona. She has a right to save the man who holds her heart. If she needs a chaperone to do so, then I will accompany her.”
“See?” Fiona held an arm out to the older woman who had as much a right to this hunt as Fiona did, as Lysander’s brother did. “I am well-equipped with whatever you require to make this proper.”
“Can I stop you?” he growled.
“I’m afraid not.”
He swept from the room with a wave of his hand. “I’ll return when I know something. Better safe with me than wandering off on your own, I suppose.”
Lady Cordelia grinned at Fiona and the dowager then hurried after Lord Theodore.
