“Yes.”
“My lord, I thought you said she wasn’t in her room.” The man brushed past Anthony.
“She wasn’t.” Anthony’s jaw tensed.
“Were you looking for me, my lord?” She lowered her lashes and tried to look demure and uncomfortable with conveying where she was. “Forgive me. I was attending to my toilette. I’ve neglected my duties for far too long, but I’m feeling much improved. Her ladyship, along with you, my lord, have been exceedingly kind allowing me to rest while I suffered with catarrh, but I am breathing much better now.” She covered her mouth and forced a delicate cough.
Standing behind the detective, Anthony mouthed, Are you mad?
Ignoring him, she shifted her attention to the detective. “You have me at a disadvantage, sir. Might I ask who you are?”
“Of course. Forgive me. I’m Detective Linden from Scotland Yard.”
“From Scotland Yard?” She innocently blinked.
Anthony picked up a blue and white chinoiserie vase from the hall table and lifted it over the man’s head as if about to knock the man senseless, so she could make a quick escape.
She gave a small, almost indiscernible, shake of her head, hoping Anthony would pick up on the signal.
Brows pinched together, he set the vase down.
“Might I ask what this is about?” She folded her hands primly in front of her.
“Detective Linden wishes to ask you a few questions,” Anthony said.
“Me? I cannot imagine . . . Oh, I know why.”
“You do?” both Anthony and Linden said in unison.
“Yes, last week I stepped in front of a carriage with a crest emblazoned on the door. The horses had to quickly veer, and the driver said some rather harsh words. Words I didn’t quite know the meaning of. I fear the nobleman inside must have written a complaint against me.” She cast a solemn expression at the detective. “Is that it?”
This time Linden blinked as if unsure what to make of her.
“Detective Linden, I must insist you question Miss Michaels on another day. I think she might be delirious.”
“Perhaps that would be for the best.” The detective outstretched his hand for her to shake.
Was he attempting to discern if her hand was injured? As she reached out, she sent up a silent prayer that indeed that was his intention.
His fingers curled around hers. His palm was dry and warm. Hers was a bit clammy, but hopefully, he would think that was due to her illness.
Before releasing her hand, he turned it over and examined her palm. He turned to Anthony. “I think there has been a mistake, my lord. Forgive me for the intrusion.”
The tension within her eased. Once again, she tipped her head to the side and forced a bewildered expression. “Mistake?” she echoed.
Even though Anthony appeared confused, the tautness in his body visibly dissipated. “I suggest you return to your bed, Miss Michaels. You’re still looking rather pale, and I don’t wish my grandmother to catch whatever you have.”
“I had not thought of that, my lord. Yes, you are right. I might still be contagious.” Olivia closed the door and slumped against it. Like an underwater swimmer who has just resurfaced after a great distance, she dragged several deep breaths into her lungs. Beneath her skirts her thigh ached, and her knees felt ready to give out. The past few minutes had been as terrifying as when she’d almost slipped off the roof after leaving the Duke of Wharton’s residence.
Five minutes later, Olivia was still leaning against the door when someone knocked on it.
She opened it to find Anthony.
He slipped inside the room and closed the door behind him. “I thought you had gone mad. What was that all about?”
She explained to him how Penny had seen the blood on her hand and believed she had cut her palm. “I took a gamble that Detective Linden was looking for someone with an injured hand.”
“Good Lord,” he mumbled.
“Do you think he will return?”
Anthony scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t believe so. He seemed convinced the maid was mistaken.”
“Did he say anything to you before he left?”
“A few pleasantries, nothing more.” He cupped her face in his palms. His warm-colored eyes held her gaze as if he could see into her soul. “I truly thought you’d gone mad.”
“Yes. I know. And I thought you were going to crack that vase over his head.”
“I was.” His lips moved closer to hers.
A loud bang, bang, bang on the door froze them.
Anthony flung the door open and almost got knocked in the chest with the gold handle of his grandmother’s cane as she lifted it to rap it against the door again.
“Stand back, Anthony! I demand to know what is going on.”
Laughing, Anthony picked up his grandmother and swung her around.
“You big ape. Let me down.” She tried to hit him with her cane. “Are you deranged?”
She got one good conk on his head before he set the old woman back on her feet. Yet, a wide grin remained on his face.
Olivia found herself grinning as well.
“Are you going to tell me why a detective from Scotland Yard was here?” the dowager asked again.
“I didn’t wish to make you nervous, so I told you I believed Olivia fell, but she was set upon. He came to inform us that the man who attacked Olivia has been found.”
Grandmother’s mouth gaped. “You were attacked?”
Olivia wanted to be done with lying. Done with robbing. She’d had enough excitement to last her the rest of her life, but she needed to lie one more time. “Yes.”
The dowager’s head tipped to the side. “Then you will be leaving soon?”
Olivia presumed she probably should. It was time to start a new life. She fought the urge to glance at Anthony’s face and see his expression. “Yes.”
“Well, I hope you are not foolish enough to do it during the night again,” the woman said, then walked out of the room.
As soon as the door closed, Anthony peered at her. “You should wait a few days to gather all your strength back.”
Deep down she’d hoped he would ask her to stay. She was a fool.
Anthony peered at her. “How does your leg feel?”
“It hurts, but the pain is much more bearable now.”
Anthony offered a weak smile. “Rest, Olivia. The journey to America is long. You’ll need your energy.”
And then he left, pulling the door closed behind him, leaving her feeling as if the Fates had set her back on that tightrope. Alone.
* * *
For most of the day, Anthony had stayed away from Olivia. He told himself he did so because she needed to rest, but he doubted that was the true reason. Part of him wanted her to go. The other part of him thought he was mad for already missing her before she left.
He leaned back in his office chair and tipped his glass of rum to his mouth and downed a sizable swig. Brandy was his usual drink of choice, but today he wanted something more potent, and the decanter of rum was doing a dashed good job of numbing his brain. But if he didn’t stop drinking, he’d be soused before his brother arrived home, and end up under the table during dinner.
He glanced at the clock on the mantel and blinked his eyes a few times to try to draw the timepiece into focus. Four o’clock. Standing, he tipped the glass to his lips and drained it dry. He really should check on Olivia and see how she was doing.
A minute later, in the corridor outside of Olivia’s room, Anthony stared at the door. She was probably fine. He should go back downstairs. Yet, he lifted his hand and rapped his knuckles against the surface.
Silence.
“Olivia, may I come in?”
No reply.
An unsettling sensation crept up Anthony’s spine. He grasped the handle and flung the door open. The room looked as if no one had ever occupied it. As if he’d dreamt all the events of the past weeks.
He marched to the armoi
re. The hinges squeaked slightly as he opened both doors. Inside were the yellow evening gown and the day dresses from Madame Renault’s establishment, but nothing else.
He moved to one of the dressers and pulled the drawer out with such force, he heard the wooden rail snap.
Empty.
He tried the next and the next. All empty, except the last one that held a pair of silk stockings and the lovely corset he’d seen on Olivia the day Madame Renault had come for Olivia’s fittings.
Good Lord. Olivia was gone. Vanished like a shadow. Or better yet, the Phantom—without anyone knowing the wiser.
Uttering a curse, he took the stairs three at a time. The butler stood in the entry hall awaiting the arrival of James and his family.
“Is something amiss, my lord?” Menders’s brows lifted slightly.
“Did you see Olivia?”
“Olivia? Oh, Miss Michaels. No, sir.”
Damnation. He dashed out the front door and glanced up both sides of Park Lane. Not seeing her, he darted between two carriages and moved to the other side of the street.
One of the drivers shook his fist at him. “Bloody fool.”
He peered toward the entrance to Hyde Park. His gaze brought him to a hackney that looked to have just picked up a customer.
Heart beating fast, he ran toward it.
The carriage merged into the stream of moving vehicles on Park Lane. If it was Olivia and she left, he’d not know where to find her. Why did that matter to him? He’d told her she needed to leave, but the thought of her actually stepping away from his life . . . of never seeing her again made his already pounding heart hammer inside his chest with an intensity that seemed capable of snapping a rib.
He should have told Olivia how he felt.
How did he feel?
Was he in love?
Damnation. It appeared so.
“Wait,” he called out, lifting his hand in the air. “Stop.”
The sound of the traffic—of horses moving up the street, their shoes striking the pavement, harnesses rattling—drowned out his words.
The vehicle kept moving, picking up speed, until it turned out of sight.
Breathing heavily, Anthony braced his hands on his thighs and tried to slow the breaths sawing in and out of his lungs.
A carriage slowed as it moved up the street. “Anthony?” his brother James called out, above the din of traffic. “What the deuces are you about?”
Anthony straightened and raked his fingers through his hair. He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that a dark emptiness had settled over him.
* * *
After returning to the house and greeting James, Caroline, and the rest of the family, Anthony walked back into the office and slumped into his chair behind the desk. Well, he supposed now that James had returned it was once again his brother’s chair.
He set his elbows on the blotter and cradled his head in his hands.
Squawk. Atticus bounced up and down on his perch. Squawk. “Chowder head.”
He narrowed his eyes at the bird. He deserved the insult, but he wasn’t in the mood for a lecture from the damn parrot. “One more word from you, and I’m going to toss you out of the window.”
Someone cleared his throat.
Anthony glanced up to see James staring at him, a concerned expression on his face. He probably wondered why he’d been chasing a carriage down the street like a madman and smelled like a sailor on a two-day drinking binge, along with why he was threatening the parrot. No, the latter he probably understood.
“Would you have an issue with me gifting Atticus to your eldest son?” Anthony asked.
James blinked. “You’re not serious, are you? I don’t need that foul-mouthed bird expanding on my son’s vocabulary. He hears enough unfavorable words from our grandmother.”
“True.”
James peered at him for a long moment.
He knew the way his brother’s mind worked. He was deciding whether to ask Anthony about his sullen mood, along with why he’d been running after the carriage.
James expelled a slow breath. “So, what are these changes you wrote me about?”
“Changes?” Anthony echoed.
“Victory Pens. The blueprints.”
It appeared James had decided to skip the inquisition about more personal matters. Perhaps that was for the best. He needed a distraction. Anthony stood and pointed to where he’d spread the drawings across the desk. “The changes I’ve implemented to the architect’s blueprints are rather substantial.”
James braced his hands on the desk and leaned over the drawings. “I see.”
Anthony had thought he would be energized when he spoke to James about the changes, but he felt distracted and unable to pull his mind away from how he could track Olivia down.
“The layout is completely different,” James said, drawing Anthony from his thoughts.
“The reorganization of the manufacturing stations should make the flow of production easier. Quicker. You see that the packing station is now closer to the loading dock. And the materials are closer to the first production line.”
Brows pinched together, James glanced at Anthony. “I would never have thought of questioning the layout. You’ve done a remarkable job.”
Anthony nodded. The accomplishment, along with his brother’s approval, felt empty without Olivia there to share in it. She had been such an integral part. He’d bounced ideas off her, and she’d helped tremendously, along with handling the ledgers.
“I think you might have found your calling.” James clapped him on the shoulder. “I think a few more of the family’s manufacturing facilities could use your help.”
“I thought the same thing, but first I have to go somewhere.”
“Does this have to do with what I witnessed outside?”
“Yes. I think I might have just allowed the biggest mistake of my life to happen.” Anthony rubbed at the knotted muscles in his neck.
A concerned expression settled on James’s face.
Anthony feared, at this moment, his brother was trying to comprehend what mistake surpassed some of the outlandish and foolish things Anthony had partaken in over the years.
James squeezed Anthony’s shoulder. “Whatever has happened we will handle it together.”
There had been times in his life when James had railed at him. Times he’d deserved his brother’s ire, but now James sensed this mistake was something else—that he simply hadn’t gotten drunk or gambled too deep. This was the reason Anthony realized how fortunate he was to have his older brother.
“James, I’ve fallen in love.”
“You’re in love?” His brother gave a slight shake of his head as if he hadn’t heard him correctly.
Anthony gave a humorless laugh. “Yes, but I might have botched everything up.”
“To have captured your heart she must be special.”
“Oh, yes, she’s special, all right. She’s a thief.”
“A thief?” His brother’s brows pinched together.
“Yes. She’s stolen my heart.”
“Ah, that serious, is it? Might I ask whom we are speaking about?” James asked.
“Miss Michaels.”
“Miss Michaels? The woman you hired to be Grandmother’s companion?”
“Yes.” He waited to see what his brother would say to that.
“Go after her. Tell her how you feel.”
Startled, Anthony blinked. He should have known James would not talk about social standing. His brother believed in true love. He would have married Caroline if she’d been nothing more than a flower seller.
“I was intending to, but I don’t know where to start. She wishes to go to America. She could have gone to the London docks or Southampton. I’m not sure.”
“I’ll go to the London docks. You go to Southampton. Hopefully, one of us will find her.”
“You’d do that?”
“Of course. If I find her, what should I say?”
“Tell her I
love her. Desperately.”
His brother smiled. “If I find her, I think I’ll just tell her to come back here so you can tell her that in person.”
“Thank you.” Anthony hugged his brother.
Caroline poked her head into the room. “Is everything fine?”
“Yes. It will be. Once I find Olivia,” Anthony said, dashing from the room.
Chapter Thirty-One
Ignoring the dull ache in her thigh, Olivia climbed the winding path that led to the simple graveyard where the girls from All Saints Orphanage were buried. Before leaving for America, she had two things she needed to do. She opened the creaking iron gate to the cemetery and made her way to the three moss-covered stones that stood guard over Helen’s grave.
There was no tombstone.
No sentimental engraving.
No wreath that marked that Helen lived an eternal life.
A chill moved through Olivia’s body, and she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders.
With the back of her hand, she brushed at the tears seeping from the corners of her eyes. “Though I am traveling halfway around the world, I will never forget you, Helen.” She pressed her hand to her heart. “You will remain here, along with Anthony.”
“Olivia?” a woman called out. The voice as familiar to her as her own.
She turned to see Mrs. Garson walking toward her. The breeze caused wisps of the woman’s gray hair to fly free of her chignon.
“The groundskeeper told me he thought he saw you making your way to the graveyard.”
“Yes, I came to say goodbye to both you and Helen.”
“Goodbye?” The older woman clutched Olivia’s hand as she glanced at the suitcase set by Olivia’s feet. “Where are you going, child?”
“I’ve decided to go to America. Perhaps New York.” She’d heard though the city wasn’t as populated as London, one could start anew there.
The woman’s grasp on Olivia’s fingers tightened. “Why so far away, dear? You didn’t like working for Lady Winton?”
“Not particularly. But I ended up working for Lord Anthony Trent and his grandmother, the Dowager Marchioness of Huntington. I loved it there, but it was only a temporary position.” She heard the tremble in her voice.
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