“We've gone through almost every single box, and this book of confidences is nowhere to be found. Where can it be?”
“Are you sure it was supposed to be in this lot?” Thomas asked.
“Yes, I am. These are the contents from Lord Pembroke's office. I’ve already searched through all the books. They were delivered from Lady Pembroke's townhouse in London yesterday. There was nothing in any of them, either.”
Thomas stepped back with a low groan. He had helped Eammon look through countless books over the past two days—along with assorted pieces of paper and letters. They’d even removed frames from paintings to check behind them in hopes of finding the elusive book of confidences. But there was nothing.
“What if it’s something Charity found?” Thomas suggested. “You mentioned she was at her mother’s home, going through everything.”
“She set aside a pile for herself. Her sister Eleanor showed it to me. I looked through all of those books as well. There was nothing. She only took two books with her, and they’re upstairs in her chamber—Pride and PrejudiceandGoody Two-Shoes. I checked them too; there's nothing there.”
Thomas stood, his knees popping as he did. He made his way to the window, groaning and stretching his shoulders back. Eammon instinctively did the same, hoping the anxiety trapped between his shoulder blades would dissipate, but it did not.
“Perhaps if you spoke to her about it, she might have an idea,” Thomas suggested.
Eammon shook his head. “I think not. Besides, I cannot. She’s left.”
“Left?” Thomas spun around, surprise written across his face. “What do you mean she has left?”
Eammon shrugged and sat down, crossing one leg over the other. “We had an argument two days ago. In the morning, her maid delivered a letter from her, saying she felt disrespected. Since I always tell her to do as she pleases, she decided to visit her cousin’s estate in Hartford. I’ve already spoken to Lady Millie’s mother, and it’s true. They set off together to Hartford two days ago. I do not know when she will return.”
“And this does not bother you?” Thomas asked, concern evident in his voice.
“Of course it bothers me. How can I protect her when I do not know where she is? I mean, I know her location, but I cannot reach her there. I can't just go to her if I sense something amiss. I cannot do anything. But at the same time, this is what she has chosen.”
“What do you plan to do?” Thomas pressed.
“I cannot say,” Eammon replied.
“Can’t or won’t?” Thomas challenged.
“Can’t. I do not know what to do. I cannot even focus on Charity right now. I know she’s with her cousin; she’ll be safe enough. But we must find this book. I have all of Lord Pembroke’s belongings here, and yet, I am empty handed. Should I go to Pembroke House and search for myself? But what if the stewards misplaced something or didn’t send it on purpose? I must search the house—go through every book still there, every painting, everything.”
“But is it not occupied?” Thomas asked. “I would imagine the current Lord Pembroke wouldn’t take kindly to you simply showing up at his home and inviting yourself to rummage through his belongings.”
“He does not live there. Charity told me he has another estate where he resides most of the time and plans to let the Pembroke space. Goodness,” Eammon groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “What if he found it? What if the new Lord Pembroke discovered the book and kept it?”
“No, I think not.” Thomas shook his head. “Pembroke would never have been so foolish as to leave behind such a valuable book. It makes no sense that his will would stipulate that his daughter must be married immediately to receive her inheritance. That inheritance is quite valuable. But there is another possibility. How does your mother even know of this book's existence?”
Eammon considered this. “She did not say. She only mentioned that I must marry Charity so that I could ensure nobody else would claim it. But she never explained how she knew it existed.”
Thomas raised his eyebrows. “Well, what if that book doesn’t exist? What if Lord Pembroke only assisted your father that once? What if he only has the documentation that pertains to your father and your situation? Has your mother even seen the book? If she has, what does it look like?”
“I’m uncertain,” Eammon admitted, realizing he had never asked his mother those questions.
* * *
Eammon's mother smiled when he arrived, kissing him on each cheek, as was their custom. “I was not expecting you here. How are you, my dear boy? I hear Charity's inheritance has finally arrived. Have you found the book?”
“No,” Eammon replied, walking past his mother into the drawing room. “Is Marjorie here?”
“No, she has gone to visit your sister. But what troubles you? You look?—”
“What troubles me, mother? I have searched each and every item delivered, and I cannot find it. It isn’t there.”
His mother sat down, crossing her legs at the ankles. She wore one of the gowns from her younger days, reminiscent of the fashion during the Regency of King George. The lemon-yellow dress with a silver sash complemented her hair beautifully. If she had smiled, she would have been a striking beauty, but instead, concern weighed heavily on her features.
“Have you asked Charity? She may know something.”
