Page 102 of Never a Duchess
“I haven’t the patience nor the time.”
“No, I think we can both agree on that.”
They reached Old Bond Street minutes later to find a scene of utter chaos. Two constables stood outside Mr Valmary’s shop, wielding wooden batons and shouting for the gathering crowd to disperse.
The carriage stopped. Mr Daventry assisted her descent before presenting his card to a constable and explaining his interest in the premises.
“Looks like someone kicked the door off its hinges, sir.” The constable raised his lantern aloft so they might assess the damage. “By all accounts, the same person entered the premises and toppled all the shelves. There’s barely a bottle left intact. I wouldn’t go in there, sir. The pong will likely kill you.”
“It was a growling beast,” called one old woman. “I saw him with my own eyes.”
Dounreay was all muscle and brawn but was by no means a beast.
“It was Lucifer himself,” said the drunken man staggering near the back of the group. “Eyes as red as hot coals.”
Mr Daventry lowered his voice and addressed the constable. “I had an agent break into the premises on a matter approved by the Home Secretary. We were to apprehend Mr Valmary, which may account for any damage inside.”
“Itwasthe devil,” someone cried. “His feet never touched the ground as he flew towards Piccadilly.”
“Then he must have seen the suspect approaching.” Mr Daventry drew her aside. “We should visit Dounreay’s house on Park Lane. Wait in the carriage while I defuse the situation.”
It took Mr Daventry less than a minute to clear the crowd and placate the constables. When they arrived in Park Lane, Dounreay’s English butler confirmed his master had not been home.
Lillian barged inside, only satisfied once she had checked every room. She met Mr Daventry in the hall. “We should visit Lord MacTavish. Dounreay may be searching for answers, and Lorna MacTavish was friends with his mother.”
The butler returned, his discreet cough gaining their attention. “According to Dewart, His Grace entered the mews twenty minutes ago and had him saddle Rebus, his Arabian stallion.”
“His stallion?” Her heart thumped against her ribs. “Did he say where he was going?” Had he gone in search of Baudelaire? Did he need to gallop along the Row and feel the wind in his hair?
“No. Just that he had to leave town tonight.”
“Leave town?”
Leave without saying goodbye.
Leave without giving an explanation.
Leave without her.
Painful memories surfaced. A mother’s tender kiss good night. A broken soul who perished in the lake, leaving her daughter floundering, struggling to remain afloat.
“Dewart said he took the keys to the manor, miss.”
The news was like a branch she could cling to, a means to help her scramble back to the riverbank. A chance to live.
“Have Dewart ready the carriage.”
The butler inclined his head respectfully. “I take orders from no one but His Grace, miss.”
“And I mean to bring His Grace home and marry him.” She clutched the man’s arm. “Dewart knows I’ll be welcome at the manor. Mr Daventry can ferry me there, but I doubt the duke would want others knowing about his countryestate.”
The butler hesitated.
“I love him, and he needs me. Please.” She was not averse to begging.
The man nodded. “If Dewart agrees, I shall have him bring the carriage around. Please remain in the drawing room, and I’ll have a maid fetch tea.”
Mr Daventry waited for the butler to leave before speaking. “If Baudelaire discovers I’ve taken his notebook, he may flee. When you find Dounreay, bring him to the Hart Street office. We must deal with this matter swiftly, before the men murder each other.”
