After their tea, they played with the children. Even Miss Appleby got down on her knees on the grass and helped a little girl who had fallen and was crying because her dress had gotten dirty. They played blindman’s buff, which made Leorah forget, for a few minutes, about poor Rachel, but on their way home, she could not stop thinking about her.
After they reached Felicity’s town house in Mayfair, Leorah bit her bottom lip and clasped her hands together. “There must be some way of discovering Rachel’s whereabouts. I would ask Nicholas, but he and Julia have just moved into their new estate, and Julia has entered her confinement. I couldn’t ask him to leave her to go look for Rachel, especially since we don’t have any idea where she is.”
Her brother and his wife had purchased an estate in the southern part of Lincolnshire just after Christmas.
“Perhaps we could hire someone to find her,” Felicity suggested.
“Yes, but who? Where would we even begin to find someone?”
Felicity sighed. “I would not want my father to even know we were thinking of doing such a thing. He would not approve, to say it mildly. But poor Rachel. What if that man does something to the baby out of cruelty? He is obviously an evil sort of person.”
“Oh dear,” Miss Appleby lamented as she sat opposite them, suddenly dropping her knitting in her lap. She dug a hand into her reticule and drew out a handkerchief, just in time to catch the tear that ran down her cheek. “I should not go with you to that place.”
“What place, Auntie?” Felicity patted her spinster aunt’s arm.
“That mission with all those poor children. It always breaks my heart. And now Rachel and her poor baby.”
“Oh, Auntie, you’re too sweet.”
“Mr. Moss, our rector at Glyncove Abbey, always says, ‘Problems are best left in the hands of God.’ Let us not borrow trouble. Perhaps it was a long-lost cousin who took Rachel to live with a relative she did not know about.”
“Yes, perhaps.” Felicity gave Leorah a private frown and raised brows.
“But”—Miss Appleby’s brows drew together—“if she had gone to live with a relative, would she not have written to tell you?”
“Perhaps her letter went astray,” Leorah said. “Or she has been too busy to write.”
“Or she cannot afford the paper or postage,” Felicity said. “Truly, it is possible. We shall not think the worst.”
“Please don’t mind me,” Miss Appleby said, wiping her eyes. “I thank you for trying to be brave for me, but though I am overly nervous, I am not an invalid. I know you are both worried too.”
There seemed to be nothing Leorah could do except pray for Rachel and her baby’s well-being and that Rachel would write to them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“Mr. Pinegar is undermining your support.”
Edward stared back at the three men, Lord Matherly, Lord Blakeney, and Lord Crenshaw, who sat opposite him in his library. It was late, and Edward was tired from a long day of rhetoric and tedium in Parliament, but he leaned forward as Lord Matherly went on.
“He is doing his best to talk the other members of the House of Commons out of voting for your children’s education bill, and he’s got a few helpers in the House of Lords.”
“But why? Is he so against education?”
“We think it is based on a particular dislike he has of you,” Lord Blakeney said. “Have you done something to anger the man?”
Edward shook his head slowly. “Not that I know of.”
“He is being devious about it and obviously doesn’t want news of what he’s doing to get back to you.”
Edward stood and paced to the window. Night had fallen, but the street outside still teemed with people, horses, and carriages.
“He has also been spreading the rumors about you and Miss Langdon spending the night together in an overturned carriage.” Lord Blakeney held up his hand and sighed. “I know you did nothing wrong, but Pinegar is using it to try to ruin you. I suppose he must see you as a rival, but it’s unlikely he should ever rise high enough to become the Prime Minister. It seems as though he simply wants to . . . harm you.”
And Edward had not even told them about his suspicions that Pinegar was behind the sabotaged carriage.
“There must be a reason for his hatred of me,” he said, as much to himself as to his political advisors. “We must trace his family connections, find out where he went to school. I must have run afoul of him somewhere, though I cannot think when, where, or how.”
Lord Crenshaw said, “I shall personally search out his past for possible connections and encounters.”
“There is one more thing we’d like you to consider that would help your cause,” Lord Blakeney said.
Edward turned to face them. The three men had also stood up and were looking back at him, glasses of sherry in hand, but there was a sheepish look on at least one face. The other two seemed to be trying to keep their expressions bland.
“Yes? What is it?”
“We think you should distance yourself from Miss Langdon in social situations around London, at least for a while.”
Lord Matherly added, “We are only saying it would be better to avoid her this Season, until the gossip is no longer a point of contention with some of the other members.”
“Oh? That is what you think? And you did not dare to share this view with Miss Langdon, did you?”
Lord Crenshaw coughed and stared at the floor. Lord Matherly cleared his throat, and Lord Blakeney folded his hands over his prodigious stomach.
“See here, Withinghall. The girl has a right to know what is being said about her and a Cabinet Minister whose future is as bright as he might wish it to be. She will think over what we said, and if she is a conscientious girl, she will see the wisdom of—”
“No.” Edward did not raise his voice enough for it to be called shouting, but he clenched his fists at his sides and took a step toward them. Lord Crenshaw and Lord Matherly each took a step back.
“No,” he repeated. “You should not have gone to her and said—whatever it was you said. She is not to be blamed, and I shall not have you bullying her.”
“My lord, you must admit, the girl is not the most discreet or sedate . . . why, whatever happened to that Miss Norbury everyone thought you would marry? She was a very calm and prudent sort of girl.”
“Get out.”
“My lord?”
“It is late. I am tired. I want to sleep.”
“You are not pleased, my lord,” Lord Matherly said.
“You must not be angry with us,” said Lord Crenshaw. “We have your best interests at heart. The girl will pay no heed to what we said anyway, I imagine.”
“I hope she turned you all out of the house immediately.” Edward stalked toward them, keeping his voice low. “I hope she told you—that is enough. We shall speak of it another time.”
They backed away as he continued to walk toward them.
“But for the future, you are not to tell anyone that they should avoid my company, nor that I should avoid theirs.”
They had all reached the door.
“Thank you, my lords. The servant shall see you out.”
They grunted, shuffled their feet, but ultimately turned and went out the door.
Edward took a deep breath and let it out slowly.