His smile deepened. “I do.”
She searched his eyes, then exhaled. “So you won’t kiss me again?”
The tenor of his smile changed. “Yes I will. Count on it.”
Her jaw dropped; she felt her eyes grow wide. “But—”
A tap on the door had them both glancing that way.
“What the devil?” she muttered, then more loudly called, “Come.”
The door opened and a footman entered. He bowed, and offered the salver he carried. “A message for Miss Ashford.”
Penelope continued to frown; nothing was progressing as she’d planned. Going forward, she lifted the note from the salver.
The footman was clearly unnerved by her expression. “Lady Calverton insisted I bring it to you directly, miss.”
Which answered the question of how he’d known where she was; very little escaped her mother’s eagle eyes.
She nodded. “Thank you.” Turning from the man, she broke open the plain note. Smoothing out the single sheet, she read the lines within.
Watching her, Barnaby saw the blood drain from her face. “What is it?”
She scanned the note again, her expression utterly stunned. “Mrs. Carter—Jemmie.” A second passed, then she raised horror-filled eyes to his face. “Mrs. Carter’s been found dead. The doctor found her—he doesn’t think she died naturally. He thinks she was smothered.”
A chill touched his soul. “And Jemmie?”
She swallowed. “Jemmie’s disappeared.”
Abruptly she swung around. “I have to go.”
He caught her elbow. “Wehave to go.” To the footman, he said, “Please convey my compliments to Lady Calverton. Tell her Miss Ashford and I have been called away on urgent business to do with the Foundling House.”
The footman bowed. “Immediately, sir.”
He departed; Penelope made to follow—Barnaby held her back.
“One moment.” He waited until she met his eyes. “We need to tell Stokes immediately—there’s no sense going to the Carter house now. It’s Stokes we need to alert, then we need to plan how best to search for Jemmie.”
For a moment, she stared into his eyes—as if confirming his commitment, matching it against her own, using both to anchor her in a suddenly whirling world—then she drew a tight breath, and nodded. “Yes, you’re right. Stokes first—but I’m coming, too.”
He made no attempt to dissuade her; given the reason for her prejudice against marriage, in light of his avowed intent it would have been the height of lunacy to argue. Instead, he merely said, “Let’s hunt up Lady Carlyle and make our excuses.”
Stokes lived in lodgings in Agar Street, just off the Strand. Barnaby had visited often, but as he handed Penelope down he wondered how Stokes would react to having a lady invade his private quarters.
He bore no such reservations about what Penelope would think, that she might feel socially awkward; one thing of which he felt certain was that she would take any situation in her stride.
As he ushered her up the steps and into the building, he reflected that that was another trait that set her apart from other tonnish ladies.
Stokes’s rooms were on the first floor. Barnaby knocked; Stokes opened the door in his shirtsleeves and no collar, a comfortable well-worn woolen jacket of the sort gardeners wore slung over his shoulders.
He blinked at them in surprise.
“Inspector Stokes!” Penelope crossed the threshold and grasped Stokes’s hands. “A terrible thing has occurred. Mrs. Carter, whom I believe Adair has told you of, has been murdered—and the villains have stolen Jemmie.”
In the blink of an eye, Stokes transformed from bemused to alert. He glanced at Barnaby.
Who nodded in confirmation. “Let us inside and we’ll tell you the whole.”
