That elicited a string of vicious, if not entirely coherent, curses.
“She really is a lovely girl,” Alex added. But as delightful a distraction antagonizing Whit was, Alex knew it was time to discuss more serious matters. He ran his eyes and hands one last time over the horse and tack. “Go to Loudor’s. I don’t think she’ll be there, but I’d rather err on the side of caution. If she is, send word to me and do what you can. I want you to go to William’s as well. Tell him what’s happened and, if necessary, see he puts some men out to look for her. Drag him out of bed if you have to.”
“Whad will you be doing?”
“I’ll check her town house first.”
“And if she’s ad neider of dose pwaces?”
Alex swung up on his horse. “Then we’ll contact everyone she’s met since coming to London. If need be, we’ll go door to door.”
Whit nodded in understanding. “Anyding ewse?”
“Just one….”
Sophie’s plan was twofold. First and foremost, she would seek out Sir Frederick and propose a marriage of convenience. After that, she would make the short trek to Lord Forent’s home on foot and take a peek at the contents of his study. With any luck—and she felt she really should have some coming her way by now—she’d be back at Haldon Hall before the first light of dawn.
She alighted from her carriage a half block away with instructions to the driver to return to her town house in four hours. She hurried down the sidewalk, reaching her first destination just in time to see Mr. Weaver being led in through the front door.
Damnation. She couldn’t very well ask the man to marry her in the company of his lover.
She moved down the sidewalk until she could see around the house well enough to get a good look at the carriage and team parked by the mews. She scowled at both and swore under her breath. The horses pricked their ears in her direction, but appeared otherwise unimpressed with her temper.
Pulling her cloak tighter about her, she hitched the satchel she was carrying farther up her shoulder and headed off in the direction of Lord Forent’s. She’d finish her business there first, and hope Mr. Weaver’s carriage was gone by the time she returned.
The walk was a brief one, for which Sophie was exceedingly grateful. The streets of Mayfield were well lit, but the light failed to extend much past the pavement of the sidewalk. With the moon hidden mostly behind clouds, the houses loomed like giant mausoleums in the dark, and the expansive yards, with their perfectly trimmed hedges and silent fountains, reminded her of cemeteries.
She quickened her pace, hating to give in to her fears but knowing it was foolish to pretend they didn’t exist. When she reached Lord Forent’s, she stopped and stared at the house with resignation and dismay. Its yard was as dark and gloomy as the others. She really hadn’t expected to find it lit the way it had been the night of the ball, but one could always hope.
She retrieved a small lantern from her satchel, lit it, and quickly scurried around the side of the yard to the garden gate she had noticed earlier. It was dangerous to use a light, but she had no choice. She just couldn’t walk through the garden in the pitch black. Good Lord, she couldn’t walk through her own bedroom in the pitch black. Sophie draped her cloak over her arm and held it in front of the lantern to shield the light from view of the house.
Picking her way along the gravel paths—and studiously ignoring a certain gazebo—she made her way to the side wall of the house and counted windows.
…four, five, six, there!
It was a good seven or eight feet up, but the house was fashioned of rough stone that jutted out in some places and sunk in at others, perfect for climbing. She set the lantern between a bush and the stone and covered the foliage with her cloak to hide the light. Hitching up her skirts to tie them in a knot above her knees, she quickly, if not altogether gracefully, scrambled up to the window and slid it open with ease.
Thank God. She didn’t know what the odds were of finding a window unlocked in Mayfield, but she had figured they were slim.
Twenty minutes later she was willing to entertain the idea that the open window hadn’t just balanced her luck, it had tipped the scale too far in the other direction.
How could there be nothing? She’d dug through every drawer and cabinet, and she’d found not a single scrap of incriminating evidence.