Page 67 of Lady Gambit
Seeking a distraction, Dorian said, “I’m surprised you didn’t keep our appointment. We expected to see you here at eleven.”
“Chabert’s process requires the participant to relax,” Daventry explained. “My presence may have prevented Miss Chance from falling into a trance. And I had important business across town.”
“Monsieur Chabert gave me a strange drink, which helped with the process.” She touched her abdomen, her nose wrinkling. “It was terribly bitter, but I was able to access a few lost memories.”
“Ah! That explains your dilated pupils.” Daventry scanned Chandos Street. He beckoned Gibbs, who was sitting atop the box of their carriage parked twenty yards away. “We shouldn’t linger on the street. The chances of another attempted abduction are slim, but it pays to be cautious.”
They climbed into the conveyance.
Daventry sat opposite them, a knowing look in his eyes. It was like being silently scrutinised by a parent who knew you’d crept into the kitchen to steal the freshly baked biscuits.
Daventry looked surprisingly tense. “As I mentioned, I bring vital news about the case.” His sombre tone would make anyone nervous. He removed a folded note from his coat pocket and held it like it was their death warrant. “I’ve been working on a lead for two days. An important piece of the puzzle.”
The hesitance in his voice raised the hairs on Dorian’s nape. Daventry was used to delivering bad news. This was different.
“As Flynn suggested, I approached the case as if you were a missing person, Miss Chance. I’m happy to discuss my findings here, or we can return to my office in Hart Street if you prefer.”
Delphine gripped the edge of the carriage seat. “Here will suffice. The anticipation is unbearable. I’m not sure I can wait a second longer.”
Daventry took a moment to gather himself. Those few silent seconds were telling. “The Pulteney Hotel no longer has records dating as far back as 1814. Flynn urged me to search through the chest of old newspapers I keep in the basement at home. I found no mention of a missing child, not from the Pulteney Hotel or any other hotel.”
“Perhaps I was never at the Pulteney Hotel,” she said, a tad despondent. “I may have lived nearby or been in the area for another reason. I may have been there to pick the pockets of foreign dignitaries.”
Such skills would explain why Mrs Haggert kept her for a year.
“I managed to find the old porter who tended the entrance to the Pulteney Hotel during the month you went missing.” The flash of triumph in Daventry’s eyes was short-lived.
While Dorian held his breath, Delphine sat forward. “Did he remember me?” Her lips trembled. “Does he know who I am? Was I a guest at the hotel?”
“He recalls a family living in Bolton Street and even directed me to the right address. He said he always remembers the”—Daventry swallowed deeply—“tragic tales.”
Delphine hung on his every word now. “Tragic tales?”
Dorian could sense her rising panic. He slid his arm around her waist. How could he not offer comfort in her hour of need?
With a heavy sigh, Daventry handed her the folded note. He waited for her to peel back the folds and read the elegant script. “I’m as sure as I can be under the circumstances. You’re Miss Caterina Chadwick. Your father was Oscar Chadwick. He was secretary to the Ambassador to Turkey. While working abroad, he met your mother, Sofia Silva, daughter of an Italian diplomat.”
A stunned silence descended.
A knot tightened in his chest as he watched her struggle to absorb the information. Her hands shook. Her throat worked tirelessly as her gaze fell to the names on the note. A plump tear landed on the paper, the sight ripping Dorian’s heart in two.
“They loved you dearly,” Daventry said, a croak in his voice. “By all accounts, you were a walking image of your mother. I’m certain the same is true now.”
They were the words Delphine had longed to hear, yet they were the ones that broke her spirit. The grief she had been unknowingly holding inside all these years escaped in one long, mournful cry.
Her shoulders sagged. The life seemed to drain from her limbs. Before he could haul her into his arms, she collapsed to the carriage floor and sobbed. Sobbed like the innocent girl snatched from the arms of her beloved parents.
Chapter Fifteen
Delphine woke to find a man sitting at her bedside, his head bowed, his strong, calloused hand wrapped around her cold fingers.
It wasn’t Dorian. Her body didn’t react to the smell of his cologne. His touch didn’t send tingles dancing down her spine. And though the man she loved had a physique that made her mouth water, the sheer power emanating from this man would send Satan scurrying for cover.
“Aaron?” She realised she was still dressed when she reached out to stroke his hair. “Are you awake?”
Slivers of daylight sliced through the gaps in the drawn curtains, though she had no idea of the time or how long she had been dozing in bed. The sweet smell of stewed apples and cinnamon reached her nostrils. She had slept long enough for Mrs Maloney to bake her favourite fruit pie.
Aaron stirred. He raised his head slowly, his tortured gaze settling on her face as if she were a stranger. “I don’t know what to call you,” he said, his voice filled with despair. “I don’t knowhow to make this right or make amends. All I can do is say I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’ve had to wait this long to learn the truth.”
