To Bed a Beauty (Courtship Wars 2)
Roslyn couldn’t help but laugh. “All subjects that Lily deplores. She would much rather teach riding or driving or archery. But it’s good that the skills she learned instructing at our young ladies’ academy are serving her so well.”
Simpkin appeared at the library door just then and waited until Roslyn acknowledged him.
“A message was just delivered for you, Miss Roslyn, from the Duke of Arden.”
Deplorably, her heart started beating harder at just the mention of Drew’s name, but she tried to quell it as she broke the wax seal and read his bold script.
Constance Baines has been located. I will send my carriage for you at one o’clock this afternoon, if that is convenient.
It was signed merely, Arden.
Roslyn glanced up at the butler. “Please reply that the time should present no problem, Simpkin.”
“As you wish, Miss Roslyn.” With a bow, Simpkin withdrew.
When Roslyn told Fanny about the message, her friend’s expression turned sympathetic again. “Do you want me to accompany you this afternoon?”
Roslyn was very tempted to say yes. It would be much easier to face Drew in Fanny’s company. In fact, it would be far easier if she never had to lay eyes on Drew again. But she wanted to solve the mystery of Winifred’s thief.
“Thank you, no,” Roslyn responded. “I don’t know what we will find, but I would rather keep our visit as private as possible, for Winifred’s sake.” Then she pasted a smile on her lips. “So Fanny, now that you are here, will you stay for luncheon?”
A trill of musical laughter rang out. “I thought you would never ask. I am famished, since I came as soon as I awakened. Only for you, my dear, would I disturb my beauty sleep. So let me tell you about Lily’s enterprise…”
When Drew’s carriage arrived for her at one o’clock, Roslyn was startled to see that his grooms and footmen were armed with pistols and blunderbusses. But she began to understand the precaution as the vehicle wended its way through London’s East End toward the docks, for the streets grew meaner and the signs of squalor were rampant.
Finding it unpleasant to breathe for the rankness, Roslyn viewed the grim conditions with increasing consternation. If Constance Baines lived here in the stews, then her fortunes had indeed fallen desperately.
The carriage turned into a slop-covered cobblestone lane and came to a halt before a dilapidated building. Drew was waiting in front to hand Roslyn down, his expression sober as he gave her a terse greeting.
She responded with a question as he guided her up the entrance steps. “So Bow Street discovered her location?”
“Yes, from her former neighbors. According to the proprietress of these lodgings, Constance has apartments on the third floor, but I haven’t approached her yet.”
He ushered Roslyn inside to the first door, which was partway open. The proprietress was a heavyset woman with the coarse manners of a Billingsgate fishwife. When Drew handed her a shilling, she grinned widely, showing her rotting teeth.
“’Tis peculiar ye’ve come, guv’nor. Missus Baines don’t ’ave many visitors. Puts on fancy airs like she was a real lady, she does. But she won’t be welcome ’ere much longer if she can’t pay ’er rent. It’s past due by a fortnight.”
The woman climbed the rackety stairs ahead of them and stopped halfway down the dim corridor to bang on the door. Upon receiving no answer, she shouted through the thin wood panel.
“Missus Baines, ye ’ave a fancy toff and his lady ’ere to see you. Unlock this ’ere door or I’ll do it meself.”
It was another moment before the sound of a key turning in the lock could be heard. When the door cracked open an inch, Drew glanced at the proprietress.
“That will be all,” he said dismissively.
Frowning, she spun her bulky body around and stalked away as the door opened another few inches.
Roslyn was taken aback to see a wide-eyed young girl peering out. Perhaps ten years of age, she wore a patched frock that was too small for her thin frame, and she looked wary and frightened. Yet her speech was clearly upper-class when she managed to choke out, “M-May I help you, sir?”
“Yes, child,” Drew responded, his tone softening. “I would like to speak to your mother, Constance Baines.”
Her expression turned distressed. “My m-mother is ill, sir. She cannot be disturbed.”
Drew handed the girl a gilt-embossed calling card. “Then will you give her this and tell her I have questions about her son?”
Appearing indecisive, she looked over her shoulder as if she might bolt for safe refuge. But at last she opened the door fully and beckoned them to enter.