Page 12 of Where the Heart Leads
Stokes looked at the stack of papers by his elbow. “Oh, yes. I’m definitely dealing myself into this game.”
Grinning, Barnaby rose.
Stokes looked up. “I should be able to catch the commissioner later today. I’ll send word as soon as I get clearance.” Rising, Stokes offered his hand.
Barnaby clasped it, then released it and saluted. “I’ll leave you to your persuasions.”
He headed for the door.
“One thing.”
Stokes’s voice halted Barnaby in the doorway; he looked back.
Stokes was already clearing away his papers. “You might like to ask the Foundling House’s administrator if there was anything those boys had in common. Any common feature—were they all small, all tall, all large, all thin. From good homes or the dregs. That might give us some clue as to what whoever has snatched them wants them for.”
“Good idea. I’ll ask.” With another salute, Barnaby left.
He’d said he’d ask, but he didn’t need to ask that day.
He didn’t need to seek out Penelope Ashford that very afternoon to pick her brains. She’d mentioned she was usually only at the Foundling House in the mornings. Even if he found her, wherever she might be, she wouldn’t have her files to consult.
Of course, all he’d learned of her suggested that she would be able to answer Stokes’s question without the need for any files.
Barnaby halted on the steps of Stokes’s building. Hands sunk in the pockets of his greatcoat, now done up against the chilly breeze, he contemplated the buildings across the street while debating pursuing Penelope Ashford, albeit in search of answers.
Being the sort of woman she was, if he hunted her up, she would assume he’d done so to question her.
Reassured, he smiled, strode down the steps, and set out for Mount Street.
By dint of asking a streetsweeper, he located Calverton House, and plied the knocker. A moment passed, then the door opened and an imposing butler met his gaze, brows rising in magisterial inquiry.
Barnaby smiled with easy charm. “Is Miss Ashford in?”
“I regret Miss Ashford is presently from home, sir. May I tell her who called?”
Smile evaporating, he looked down, wondering if he should leave any message. Predicting how Penelope might react—
“Mr. Adair, is it not?”
He looked up at the butler, whose expression remained entirely uninformative. “Yes.”
“Miss Ashford left word that should you call, sir, I was to inform you she’d had to accompany Lady Calverton on her afternoon rounds, as part of which she anticipated being in the park at the customary hour.”
Barnaby hid a grimace. The park. At the fashionable hour. A combination of place and time he habitually avoided. “Thank you.” He turned and went down the front steps. On the pavement he hesitated, then turned west.
And walked toward Hyde Park.
It was November. The skies were overcast, the breeze chill. Most of the glittering horde that populated the ton’s ballrooms had already decamped for the country. Only those associated with the corridors of power remained, as Parliament had not yet risen. It soon would, and then London would be all but devoid of tonnish society. Even now, the rows of carriages to be found lining the Avenue should have thinned significantly.
There wouldn’t be that many dowagers and matrons, let alone sweet young things, to see and wonder why he was intent on speaking with Penelope Ashford.
Crossing Park Lane, he strode through the gates and on, cutting across the lawns to where the carriages of the ladies of the haut ton always gathered.
His estimation of the park’s inhabitants proved both right and wrong. The gossipy matrons and giggling girls were thankfully absent, but the gimlet-eyed dowagers and the sharp-eyed political hostesses were very much in evidence. And courtesy of his father’s prominence and his mother’s connections, he was instantly identifiable—and of interest—to all of those.
The Calverton carriage was drawn up on the verge in the center of the line of carriages, ensuring he passed under the eyes of at least half the assembled ladies as he skirted the fringes of those passing back and forth. Lady Calverton was engaged in earnest conversation with two contemporaries; beside her, Penelope looked distinctly bored.
Lady Calverton saw him first. She smiled as he approached the carriage. Penelope glanced his way, then straightened, her characteristic animation infusing her features, making them glow.
