“Two months ago. Which would put it just after Evie’s was left on your doorstep in the country, at Carridan Hall. It is unclear how she made her way from there to London, but…”
Owen stopped listening. The travel arrangements Adele made previously were irrelevant. He focused solely on the timeline. If Adele had been at the boarding house two months ago, alive but ill, what had happened to her since? Had she simply moved on, or had something more sinister occurred?
“I’ll ride out this afternoon,” Owen decided. “Question the innkeeper myself and examine whatever she left behind.”
After Felix left, Owen spent the morning attending to correspondence and estate business. The mundane tasks felt strange after the emotional intensity of the past day. But even as he reviewed contracts and responded to letters, part of his attention remained focused on the sounds from upstairs.
Iris sang to Evie. Then he heard the baby’s occasional laughter. This domestic symphony quickly became the backdrop of his days.
He was sealing the last letter when Iris appeared in the doorway to his study with Evie in her arms.
“We’re disturbing you,” she said, though she made no move to leave.
“You’re not.” He set down his quill and gave them his full attention. “What can I do for you, ladies?”
“Nothing specific. I was simply wondering when you planned to leave for the inn.”
“Within the hour. Peters is preparing the carriage now.” He studied her face, noting the careful way she held herself. “What’s troubling you?”
“Nothing. I simply…” She shifted Evie to her other arm. “I worry when you’re away. Especially about your safety.”
The admission touched something deep in his chest. After months of careful distance, she was allowing herself to express concern for his welfare by acknowledging that his absence affected her.
“I’ll be careful. And I’ll send word the moment we learn anything significant.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
She moved closer to his desk, close enough that Evie could reach out and grasp the papers scattered across the surface. “Take this with you.”
She pulled a small object from her pocket and pressed it into his palm. It was a locket, silver and warm from her touch, with an inscription on the back he couldn’t make out in the dim light.
“What is it?”
“Something to bring you home safely.” Color rose in her cheeks. “I know it’s foolish but humor me.”
Owen opened the locket carefully and found a small portrait inside. It was not Iris, as he’d expected, but of Evie, painted in miniature with exquisite skill.
“When did you commission this?”
“Last week. Before I knew the truth about her parentage.” Iris’s voice softened. “I wanted something to remember her by, if circumstances ever changed. If she were taken from us.”
The fear in her voice made his chest tighten. She’d been living with the same fear that haunted his nights, the possibility that their fragile happiness could be shattered without warning.
“She won’t be taken from us,” he said firmly, closing the locket and sliding it into his waistcoat pocket. “Whatever threats exist, we’ll face them together.”
The fierce declaration seemed to ease the tension in her expression. She rose on her tiptoes to kiss him softly. Thegesture was so natural it might have been a habit for years rather than hours.
“Come home to us,” she whispered against his lips.
“Always.”
The ride to the Crossroads Inn took most of the afternoon. Peters proved excellent company. His steady presence and practical observations helped to pass the time without dwelling on what they might discover.
The inn itself was a modest establishment, clean but unremarkable, the sort of place where travelers might rest without attracting undue attention. Mrs. Hartford was a woman of middling years with sharp eyes and a practical manner that suggested she missed little of what happened under her roof.
“French lady, yes. I remember her well,” she said while leading them to a small parlor where they could speak privately. “Polite as anything, but clearly unwell. Coughing something dreadful, and thin as a rail.”
