Chapter Nineteen

Y our Grace, you look as if you haven't slept at all," Caro exclaimed when a footman held open the door of the carriage and she peered inside. Shadows beneath Dorian's eyes made him look on the brink of keeling over, and she worried that something awful had happened since the last time she'd seen him.

"I'm glad you said something, Miss Danvers. When I tell Holland he looks like shit, he doesn't take it well. How sweet that you can get away with it." The friend he'd had on the Thames weeks ago grinned from the other seat, then caught himself. "Apologies. I don't think we'd been properly introduced. Lord Southwyn."

Out of habit, she curtsied. "Miss Caroline Danvers." Returning her attention to the duke, she said, "I received your note. Constance and I planned to shop for wedding things today. I can spare a little time, as long as your adventure doesn't take all morning."

"Bring her along," Lord Southwyn suggested. He shrugged at Dorian. "Even if you don't want to bring Miss Constance into your confidence, she doesn't need to know why we are looking for Sherman, just that we are. We can escort the ladies to the shops afterward."

Caro looked at Dorian. "Connie is loyal and will keep mum if you choose to invite her, but she is curious. I understand if you'd rather keep our party small."

After studying her face for a moment, he nodded. "If your cousin wants to come, she's welcome."

"I'll return in a moment." Caro ducked back into the store, then up the stairs to their room.

"Connie, would you like to join a few swells for a couple hours of adventure?" She stopped and clarified. "It could be boring. But it might be entertaining and involve pretending to be someone's spurned paramour. Either way, they offered to drive us to the shops afterward."

Constance's eyes went wide. "With an invitation like that, how can I refuse?" She grabbed her winter cloak, and they hurried back down the stairs. "What have you mixed yourself up in, Caroline Danvers?"

"I'll explain in the carriage," Caro murmured, then called out to her family in a sunny voice. "We're off for a few hours."

At the sight of the crest on the door, Constance snorted. "The duke is taking us on this adventure? I didn't think he had it in him."

They entered the carriage, and Caro settled next to Dorian, taking his hand. Constance sat beside Lord Southwyn.

"Lord Southwyn, you might remember my cousin, Miss Constance Martin."

Connie, being her usual direct self, ignored the niceties and jumped right to the important question. "Would someone like to tell me what we are doing?"

"We're attempting to run a man to ground. His name is Sherman Snyder, and today we are trundling across town to his last known address," Lord Southwyn said.

"What has Mr. Snyder done to warrant a duke and a whatever you are coming after him?" Connie asked Southwyn.

"I'm an earl."

"Congratulations on the good fortune of your birth, milord. Is this Snyder character nasty? Dangerous? Does he owe you money?"

Southwyn blinked a few times, then turned to Dorian. "Holland, your turn."

"From what we've learned so far—thanks to Caro—Mr. Snyder uses letters written by a playwright in a sort of script to woo women of means, then steals all he can from them while they're offering their hearts."

Constance made an O with her mouth. "What a rotter. If we find him, am I allowed to hit him? As a representative of my gender, I am happy to give him a good whack. Wouldn't be the first time I've slapped a man."

Caro covered a snort with her hand. Dorian laughed, and poor Lord Southwyn was looking at Constance like she was from another planet entirely.

"Are you always like this?" Southwyn asked.

"Like what?" Connie smiled winningly. Southwyn appeared nonplussed when she waved a hand, casually dismissing him.

"If one of you has a sister, or maybe cousin, and this Mr. Snyder maligned them, then he sort of does owe you money."

"I'm not terribly concerned about the money, but I have a problem with fraud." A short battle waged in Dorian's expression. Caro saw the moment he reached a decision. "However, I also have questions for him regarding his affair with my late wife."

"Oh sweet baby Jesus," Constance said.

Caro squeezed his hand. He was brave to trust a relative stranger with such sensitive information.

He sent her a rueful smile. "I trust you. And if you trust her, then I trust her too."

As romantic gestures went, this was better than bringing flowers or writing poetry. Dorian Whitaker was a good man. The kind of man she'd thought only existed between the pages of a book. "Thank you. I promise, Constance is trustworthy."

Southwyn cut into their moment by addressing her cousin. "Someone has to say it. I don't know Miss Danvers well, or you at all. However, Holland is my oldest friend, and I promise, if word gets out about Sherman and the late duchess, I will come for you."

"Oliver—" Dorian warned, but Constance cut him off.

"You know, I almost believe you're capable of coming after me if need be. Unfortunately, we will never find out because I don't carry tales." She glanced over at Dorian. "I suppose that means you have a right to take the first whack at this scoundrel."

"That's generous of you," Dorian said, and Caro loved the half smile he offered as he teased her cousin.

The carriage slowed, then stopped before a block of buildings standing four stories tall, with narrow walking lanes between them. On the corner, a coffeehouse let in a steady stream of patrons, then released them back into the wilds of London.

Dorian nodded his thanks to the footman holding the door as they stepped onto the street, then called up to his coachman. "Return in a half hour."

At Southwyn's quizzical look, the duke explained. "Apparently a carriage with a ducal crest inhibits some people from talking freely. A lesson learned in Kent this week." He shot Caro a wink.

"And how did you find the bucolic village of Tippering?" Lord Southwyn asked.

"Silent as the grave. Thankfully, the locals talked to Caro. She was quite convincing in the role she chose."

Lord Southwyn gave her a questioning look. Caro shrugged modestly. "I placed Dorian's coat in a lump under my gown and told a shopkeeper I was expecting twins and needed to find Mr. Snyder."

"Is that where you got the receipt for those delicious biscuits Mother made this morning?" Connie placed her hands on her hips. "And you never said a word about seeing His Grace or being pregnant with twins. There is so much you haven't told me about your activities, Caro."

"It wasn't my place. But now that you know, I can't wait to catch you up." They all paused to let their carriage roll past.

"Did you see the school Juliet built?" Southwyn offered Constance his arm as they crossed the street, and her cousin beamed at the gentlemanly gesture.

"There is no school." Dorian deftly maneuvered Caro around a pile of horse droppings. "That's why I say he's defrauding these women."

On the other side of the street, Lord Southwyn dropped Connie's arm, then shoved his hands in his pockets as they approached the coffeehouse. "Have you told your legal fellow yet? If Juliet's school doesn't exist, that's fraud on a rather grand scale."

"I plan to send a note around to Mr. Bellmore this afternoon."

"You know Gerard Bellmore?" Constance asked. "He and Caro are good friends. Such a nice man. In fact, he took Caro to the theater not too long ago."

Dorian held open the door of Parson's Coffee House. "Would this be the theater visit when two men proposed to you?"

Constance whipped around. "Proposed? Caroline Danvers, you cheeky wench, keeping all this to yourself. Who was it? Random drunk men or someone we know?"

Damn. If she shared it was Gerard who proposed, that would land her and the solicitor in a kettle of fish. It wasn't her place to explain Gerard's life with Leo, but if she simply stated Gerard had proposed, that might impact his working relationship with Dorian.

Rather than lie outright, she sidestepped. "Gerard didn't mention you were his client, Your Grace. Not even to me. I hope that reassures you of his discretion."

Dorian closed the door behind them, and she took in a dimly lit room thick with cheroot smoke and conversation hanging in the air.

"May I take a turn at playacting? I'd like to see what I can discover." Connie bounced on her toes like an excited child.

Dorian waved toward the room. "Feel free. He used to rent a room on this street, but I don't know exactly where, or if he still lives there. If you can get anything more specific than that, I'll be indebted to you."

Connie rubbed her hands together. "I'll see what I can do."

The men tracked her cousin's blonde curls through the crowd. Connie stopped here and there to chat, once or twice gesticulating wildly.

"She's in her element," Caro said.

"It would seem that way." Lord Southwyn watched Connie, wearing a bemused smile.

Dorian led them to a table and held up four fingers at the serving woman.

"What did you order?" Lord Southwyn asked.

"I'm not sure, but we're each having one."

The duke's friend sat and turned to Caro. "You said you're shopping for wedding things. Whose wedding?"

Caro nodded to her cousin, who had somehow produced tears and was receiving hugs from three different women. "Hers. They read the banns for the first time this past Sunday."

"Well, I wish him the best of luck."

"Don't you mean you wish them the best of luck?" Dorian said.

"I realize we just met, but I suspect she'll be fine no matter what. He's the one who needs the luck."

Caro laughed. The man wasn't wrong. "I am going to ask around too. Perhaps you two can chat with the men and get them talking."

While the patrons inside the coffeehouse were happy to share information on which of the street's buildings rented lodgings, and a few remembered Sherman Snyder, no one had seen him recently. One woman recalled watching him stumble home drunk, which helped them determine the building he lived in.

"Do you think this is how Bow Street runners feel?" Constance asked as they walked toward Sherman's lodgings. "It's a good time, inn'it? Makes me all tingly and energized."

"Are you sure what you're feeling isn't the thrill of befriending half that coffeehouse's patrons while making the other half fall in love with you?" Lord Southwyn leveled a look at her that Caro thought might hold a smidge of reluctant admiration.

"I can't help it if I'm likable." Constance, as usual, was entirely unfazed.

"The men liked your curves, Miss Martin. Not one of their eyes wandered north of your collarbone the entire time we were in there." Southwyn held open the door to a tall, narrow building that lent rooms by the week.

Caro exchanged an amused glance with Dorian as they entered a small hallway.

"As long as they keep their hands to themselves, what does it matter? I can't control their eyes." Constance shrugged.

"Perhaps if you were slightly less… energetic, there wouldn't be as much to catch their eye." Southwyn sounded nothing short of grumpy.

Constance's smile showed too much teeth, and Caro recognized it for the threat it was.

"I don't feel the need to avoid notice, milord. But if your experience has shown that most women lie like blocks of wood in your presence, I'd reconsider your technique."

Dorian choked on a laugh. "Listening to Oliver and your cousin might be my new favorite hobby." His breath was warm on Caro's ear, and the sensation made her shiver.

"You're choosing to be obtuse and crude, Miss Martin," Lord Southwyn said.

"Am I? No matter. Since I don't care for the burden of your opinions, milord, feel free to keep them to yourself." Constance turned to Caro and Dorian. "How do we know which door belongs to the landlord? And why does this building smell of boiled turnips and wash water?"

Her voice echoed off the tile floor.

A door to their left opened to reveal a rather disgruntled-looking woman.

They'd found the landlady.

Unfortunately, they didn't find Sherman. He'd vacated his room at least nine months prior, and she didn't know where he'd gone. In a turn of reality mirroring fiction, he'd left in the middle of the night and owed a week's rent.

"Apparently, I judged his character correctly," Caro muttered as they found themselves back on the busy street in time to see their carriage round the corner.

Dorian heaved a sigh as they all got in and resumed their seats. "That leaves me with one final thread to pull, and I'm loath to do it."

Caro adjusted her skirts to keep her muddy hem from brushing his legs. "The cousin? Lord Bixby, if I remember correctly. Are you acquainted with him?"

"Bixby is Snyder's cousin?" Lord Southwyn said. "Interesting. I can't recall ever speaking to the man before. Never had reason to, since he's a bit of a bore, from what I understand."

"Why don't you want to speak with Lord Bixby?" Caro tucked a hand in the crook of Dorian's elbow and frowned at the tension radiating up his arm.

Dorian grimaced. "Bixby has little to recommend him as an individual, so he clings to gossip and plays information like cards. To him, social interactions are a game of whist. If I meet with him to discuss this, I am at a disadvantage."

"Apparently being a toady bastard is a family trait," Lord Southwyn commented. "I keep thinking about the way that playwright described him. Said he wasn't handsome or particularly intelligent. How did someone like that manage to sweep Juliet, as well as countless other women, off her feet?"

"To such a degree their purses emptied into his hands," Dorian mused. Some of the tension eased from him. "It is a confounding puzzle, isn't it?"

"Looks aren't everything." Constance shrugged. "If his personality is rubbish as well, it explains why he's using letters written by someone else. I would lay odds that most of the romance is carried out via those letters, and not in person."

It made sense. "I wonder if he's playacting, or genuinely wanting to find love," Caro said.

"One could almost pity the man. Never having a real romance is tragic, don't you think?" Constance glanced around. Finding no sympathy there, she shook her head. "Never mind; he's a toady bastard."