“Good night.”
Owen remained in the nursery after she left watching Evie sleep. The baby’s chest rose and fell with steady breaths. Her face was serene in the dim light.
She was growing up and changing daily. Soon she’d be sitting up, then crawling and walking. The thought filled him with equal parts wonder and fear.
What kind of world was he helping to create for her? One built on secrets and careful lies? One where her supposed parents barely spoke to each other outside of necessity?
The search for Adele was meant to protect Evie’s future. But perhaps the greater threat came from within this household. From the careful distance he kept from Iris and the walls he’d built between them.
Owen left the nursery quietly, but sleep eluded him in his empty bed. Through the thin walls, he could hear Iris moving around her room while preparing for bed. The sounds were achingly domestic. Water was poured for washing. There was the soft rustle of fabric as she undressed. Then he heard the creak of floorboards as she moved about her chamber.
He thought of their conversation in Morrison’s library and the desperate passion that had flared between them. The way she’d responded to his touch, the soft sounds she’d made…
But he’d avoided her.
Perhaps it had been a mistake. Not because he didn’t want her, but because wanting her made everything more complicated. It made him dream of impossible things and hope for a future that his past insisted was doomed to failure.
It was better to focus on protecting what they had. Better to find Adele, neutralize any threat she might pose, and maintain the careful balance that kept them all safe.
But as Owen finally drifted to sleep, it wasn’t thoughts of duty or protection that filled his mind.
It was the image of Iris in the rocking chair, singing softly to their daughter, looking like everything he’d never dared to want.
The next morning brought renewed determination to find Adele. Felix arrived at ten, looking remarkably fresh for someone who’d spent the previous evening in questionable establishments.
“New plan,” he announced while settling into Owen’s study with coffee and what appeared to be a map of London. “We’ve been thinking too small. Gaming halls and brothels are obvious places for a desperate woman seeking work. But what if she wasn’t desperate when she left Evie?”
“What do you mean?”
“What if she had resources? Money, connections, a plan.” Felix spread the map across Owen’s desk. “She’s French, yes? So, she might have sought out French expatriates. Communities where she could blend in and find work that didn’t require references.”
Owen studied the map, noting the areas Felix had marked. “You think she went to ground among her own people.”
“I think she’s cleverer than we’ve given her credit for. An unmarried woman who managed to travel from France to England, give birth, and survive long enough to make arrangements for her child’s future? That’s not desperation. That’splanning.”
It was a sobering thought. If Adele had vanished deliberately, if she’d covered her tracks professionally, they might never find her. Which left too many questions unanswered and too many threats unresolved.
“Where do we start?”
Felix grinned. “The French quarter, naturally. And I know just the place.”
The next three days passed in a blur of cafés, boarding houses, and tucked-away shops where French slipped easily into English and back again.
Felix was a steady presence at his side. His French was better than Owen’s, and his effortless charm broke down barriers that might have kept doors closed.
They found traces of Adele everywhere and nowhere.
A woman matching her description had bought bread at a bakery in Soho. Another had inquired about rooms near the docks. A third had been seen at Sunday mass in a small Catholic church.
But the leads never connected. The timeline was wrong, or the description didn’t quite match, or the witness proved unreliable upon closer questioning.
“It’s like chasing shadows,” Felix complained on their fourth day while slumping in a chair in Owen’s study. “Every time we think we’ve found something solid, it dissolves.”
Owen poured two glasses of brandy, noting how the afternoon light was already fading. Today allowed for another late return home and another missed dinner with Iris. He saw a familiar pattern developing and sensed her unspoken questions behind her polite facade.
“Perhaps that’s answer enough,” he said, handing Felix a glass. “If she’s gone to this much trouble to disappear, perhaps we should leave her be.”
“And leave questions unanswered? Threats unresolved?” Felix shook his head. “That’s not like you, Owen. You’re the man who plans for every contingency.”
