Chapter Seventeen

William wondered idly whether Mr. Seeker had chosen his surname to match up with his business. The neat little business card sat between them on the desk, with Seekers and Finders written in smooth copperplate. He wondered whether there was a Finder connected to the business, too. Probably.

Mr. Seeker did not look much like a private detective. William had imagined some bustling, self-important man, tall and carelessly elegant, making languid observations of mind-blowing incisiveness.

Instead, Mr. Seeker was a short, dapper little man, very slim, inclining towards dandyishness . He wore a lavender cravat and a matching handkerchief in his breast pocket, and polished copper buttons on a pinstripe suit which did not match the cravat. He had a moustache, waxed and brushed to perfection, and a neat, fox-ish little pointed face.

He was also very quiet and had made no preternaturally specific comments about anything in the room or William’s life.

“It’s an honour to be here, your Grace,” Mr. Seeker said after a pause, voice high and whispery. “Let me assure you that I have worked for members of the aristocracy before, and my discretion is absolute.”

William shifted in his seat. “Well, thank you, but I’m not doing anything that particularly needs discretion, not when you get down to it. My point is, I’m not doing anything wrong.”

Mr. Seeker nodded intently. “Of course, of course.”

William had the impression the man didn’t believe him. He felt his cheeks heating up.

What was he thinking, hiring a private detective? Those people were always trouble.

“I believe you want me to find a woman, your Grace?”

William did flinch back at that. “Well, you make it sound terrible!”

“My apologies. My companion was the one who took down your message, and I’m afraid he does tend to miss out important details. I’m glad you came to us, instead of the cheaper hired thugs one can find to carry out just about any nonsense in town.” He shuddered visibly. “Grimy fools with patched coattails, ugh! Do tell me, your Grace, what I can do for you.”

Sighing, William took out the locket, setting it down on the table. Mr. Seeker picked it up in dainty, birdlike fingers, turning it over and over in his hands.

“I met a woman at a party some time ago. She was wearing this locket, and it appears that the clasp broke and it fell. I picked it up but wasn’t able to return it to her. We had had a conversation, but I foolishly hadn’t asked her name, and nobody else seems to recall her. It seems to be a valuable locket, and I would like to return it to her. Of course, I can’t do that unless I find her. I thought you might be able to help.”

Mr. Seeker smiled faintly. “Cinders.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing. I see there is a little miniature of a child here. Hers? Or perhaps her as a youth?”

“Not her, I think. Perhaps the child is hers, or a sibling… I don’t know.”

“The locket does seem valuable,” he mused, bringing it so close to his face that the tip of his pointed nose almost touched it, “But it isn’t a remarkably valuable jewel. Carefully cleaned, I see, but not a new style of locket. My guess would be that this is a well-loved item. I see evidence where the clasp has broken before and been fixed. And, of course, when coupled with the miniature inside… certainly, the owner of this locket would be glad to see it returned.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“What about the initial?”

William blinked. “What?”

Mr. Seeker carefully angled the back of the locket until William could just about make out the sweep of an engraved initial. He hadn’t noticed it before, since time and smoothing fingers had worn it almost away.

“Is that… is it an L ?”

“I believe so, your Grace. It could be a surname, or a Christian name, or anything in between. It is, however, something .”

“Indeed,” William murmured, leaning back .

Mr. Seeker took out a pristine white handkerchief with F.S. embroidered on the corner, and laid the locket on it gently, almost reverently.

“May I take this with me, your Grace?”

William hesitated. He was a little shocked at just how little he wanted to be parted with the locket.

Silly. It’s not even yours.

“Yes,” he answered unwillingly, “If you must, but I’d like to return it personally, you know.”

“Of course. May I ask, your Grace, whether you asked the host or hostess of the party at which you met this lady, about the guest?”

He sighed. “I thought of that, but it’s not really done. At a party of that size, the host might not even know everybody. Ladies request to bring girls they are chaperoning, or a visiting cousin, or an in-law, or so on. It gets complicated.”

“I understand. A description of this woman, then?”

William gave it, as best he could. He felt foolish, sitting seriously in his study, having hired a private detective of all things to hunt down a woman he’d had one conversation with.

In truth, William had guessed by now that he was spurred on by more than wanting to return the locket. There was curiosity there, something urgent. Something uncomfortable.

Something distracting . The Duke of Dunleigh couldn’t afford distractions.

“The sooner this business is all sorted, the better,” he said crisply.

Mr. Seeker nodded intently; large eyes fixed on William. It felt, irrationally, as if he were watching William and judging him. Seeing straight through his bustle and empty words.

Weighing him up in the balance and finding him wanting.

“I shall work as fast as I can,” he answered serenely, after what seemed to William to be an interminable pause. “But I can give no deadline, you see. It’s best to take the process step by step. I give no guarantees, and I promise only to work as hard as I can, to get you the exact answers you seek. We offer honesty, you see.”

“Good, that’s… that’s good. Honesty is what I want.”

There was a brief pause after that .

William knew, logically, that staying quiet and continuing to look at one’s conversation partner was the best way to get them to continue speaking, to reveal more information than they’d planned.

He knew it logically, but that didn’t stop him from babbling on.

“I don’t intend to bother the woman, of course. I only want to return the locket, and perhaps exchange names… if she’s amenable to that, of course. Not that she would not be amenable, I’m not trying to do…”

He finally cut himself off, biting the tip of his tongue to halt the flow of chatter.

“Indeed, your Grace,” Mr. Seeker answered politely. “If that is all, I shall begin my enquiries, and contact you as soon as there is some information to be gleaned. Will that suit? You can of course send me a note or a message to ask how the investigation proceeds, if you wish.”

“Yes, thank you.”

Mr. Seeker rose gracefully, bowing, and slipped out of the study with no more noise than a cat.

William sagged back against his seat, suddenly drained. At least he’d done something. He couldn’t possibly have gone on with that wretched locket in his desk drawer, taunting him and luring him in in the way an inanimate object should not have been able to do.

He could still see the locket resting around the mystery woman’s slim white throat. No doubt when he finally met her again – if he ever did, since she’d seemed to drop off the face of the earth – she would think him an odd man, without anything else to occupy himself than chasing down a stranger.

Sighing, William hauled himself to his feet, pulling the bell in the corner. The butler appeared after only a minute or two.

“How may I help, your Grace?” he asked smoothly.

“Fetch my coat and boots, please. Oh, and get my horse ready,” William answered, dashing off a quick note. “And have this sent around to this address as soon as possible. I am going out.”

** *

William had been at White’s only for a few moments before Timothy arrived, but that was enough time to get a glass of brandy into his hand.

“Got your note,” Timothy answered, slipping into the seat beside his friend with a smile. “Anything to enjoy a break from my new novel. My fingers are cramping from writing too much.”

“How awful for you. I hope you don’t mind me summoning you out.”

“Not at all. You said something garbled about a private detective, in your note?”

William sighed. “Yes. Don’t tell anyone, please, but I’ve hired a detective to find that woman. I must return the locket.”

“I’m glad you’re doing something. Who knows, perhaps she’ll turn out to be the love of your life.”

William scoffed. “Somehow, I don’t think any of this could be construed as romantic . I daresay she won’t want to ever see me again, and I don’t blame her. Besides, I shouldn’t waste my time on wild-goose chases. I need a wife.”

“Yes, you all do. Katherine worries about you, you know.”

“I know, I know,” William drank down the brandy faster than he should have done. It burned his throat, but there was something to relish in the burn. “Henry’s off every day, engrossed in his new venture, and I haven’t seen Alex in three days, can you believe it?”

Timothy frowned. “Alexander seems… well, he’s not doing well, is he?”

“No, he’s not. And whenever I try to talk to him about it, he laughs at me and calls me a scolding old fool. Mother is oblivious to it all and continues to push various eligible women towards me. I told her I didn’t want a debutante – I want a woman my own age – and she took that to mean that I’m only interested in much older women, preferably rich widows. On top of that, I am featured in just about every gossip column ever written, it seems, with all of London speculating on when I’ll marry and whom I’ll marry. It’s endless.”

William gasped for breath at the end of his sentence, passing a hand over his face. He felt exhausted. He’d drunk the brandy too quickly, and it made him feel sick and empty inside. The room was spinning already .

How can Alexander enjoy this? he thought miserably, signaling for another drink anyway.

Timothy was quiet for a moment. The two men had been friends for many years, since childhood in fact, and William knew from experience that his friend took a long time to reply. He gathered his thoughts, taking time to respond, but his responses were generally worth waiting for.

“I think you are putting too much pressure on yourself,” he said at last. “You have a great many new responsibilities, not least of all your position as head of your family. It wasn’t as if you had a wonderful father to look up to and imitate.”

William shuddered. “Absolutely not.”

“But, please, give your family a little more credit. Your brothers and Katherine love you. The Dowager Duchess trusts you and relies on you. You’ll do the right thing.”

“The right thing is for me to set the example and marry,” William stated miserably. “It’s not hard for me. I’m the Duke of Dunleigh – I can simply propose to any woman I like, and it’s ten to one she’ll accept. What am I waiting for, then?”

“It’s not a crime to choose one’s spouse carefully.”

“My father didn’t leave any room for careful choices or measured thought,” William responded bitterly. “He once said that putting a man under pressure was the best way to get him to reveal his true self. Or get him to make a poor decision, which could work in your favour. It’s not normal, is it, for fathers to teach their sons how to take advantage of the more vulnerable?”

“I couldn’t say. My father has already told me I won’t get a penny from him, on account of my moving out before he gave permission. Oh, and the novel-writing. He begrudgingly approves of Katherine, but she can’t stand him.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, the quiet stretching out and out between them.

“I’m drifting apart from my family,” William said, after a long pause. “It used to be the four of us, united against Father. It was the only recourse we had. He tried to split us up, often – tried to turn us against each other and make us resent one another, but that never worked. It seems that he’s finally achieved it from beyond the grave. Strange how the world works, is it not? ”

Timothy bit his lip. “You give the man too much credit. He was clever, certainly, and vengeful too. But you are cleverer than him, all of you. In the end, the old Duke’s hubris was his own undoing. If he hadn’t been cruel and overconfident, he wouldn’t have ridden the horse that killed him. This is a trial, certainly, but I have confidence in you and your siblings that you can overcome it.”

“I wish I had such confidence,” William muttered. Sighing, he downed the rest of his second brandy. Already, he could feel the pressure of a headache coiling around his temples. Sleep seemed particularly attractive right now, but of course there was no chance of that.

“I have to go, Timothy. There’s some soiree tonight we all have to attend, one of Mother’s friends. Thank you for coming out to meet me. I always feel clearer-headed after talking with you.”

Timothy smiled, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “We’ll always be friends, you and I. Come on, now, chin up. You always managed to get past your father’s little schemes before, you can face this one, too.”

William tried to smile in return, but his heart wasn’t in it. The gesture tugged at his cheeks, making his face feel tight and false.

“I hope you’re right,” he murmured. “I really, really do.”