Page 63 of Who Cries for the Lost

Sebastian was beginning to have a clearer understanding of Miles Sedgewick’s movements on the last day of his life. The problem was, given that several of his activities that day had been less than honorable, Sebastian couldn’t help but wonder what else was still hidden.

According to Isabella McPherson, Miles Sedgewick came to see her shortly after one o’clock, which would fit with the time he had finished meeting with Bathurst, Castlereagh, and Jarvis in Downing Street. After spending the afternoon dallying with his mistress, he had then apparently gone home to change into evening dress before leaving again—according to both his wife and his valet—at around half past six or seven. It was at that point he’d gone to see Phoebe Cox. But where had he gone between the time he left her and shortly before nine, when Alexi saw him in Charing Cross? And what the hell had he done with Phoebe’s child? It seemed unlikely that he had taken the infant back to his mistress, Isabella. But it was, surely, at least worth looking into?

Sebastian knew Hero would be more successful than he at getting the truth out of the woman, but when he arrived back at Brook Street it was to find Claire in the entry hall with Patrick and Simon, preparing to take the lads out.

“Papa,” called Simon, running to him. “We’s goin’ to the park!”

Sebastian scooped the little boy up in his arms. “I can see that. Does your mother have an interview this afternoon?”

“Nope,” said Patrick. “She’s gone to Berkeley Square.”

“Oh?” said Sebastian, looking over at Claire.

The Frenchwoman nodded. “She received a note from Lady Jarvis and left perhaps half an hour ago.”

Sebastian let Simon slide back down to the floor, then bent to retie one of Patrick’s shoes that had come loose. “Lady Jarvis, you say?”

“Yes, my lord.”

He reached the McPhersons’ house in Norfolk Street to find a town carriage pulled up in front and Lady McPherson herself, dressed in a demure gown of figured white muslin with a pale pink spencer and broad-brimmed chip hat, descending the carriage steps.

“Lord Devlin,” she said with a wide smile when she saw him. “I fear you’ve just missed Monty; he’s gone off to visit some old friends who’ve recently arrived in Town.”

“Actually, I came to see you,” said Sebastian. “If I might have a word?”

Her pretty smile slipped for just an instant before she fixed it firmly back in place. “Yes, of course; won’t you come in?” She led the way up the front steps to where a middle-aged, sandy-haired butler was opening the door with a bow. “If you’ll allow Richardson here to show you to the drawing room, I shan’t be but a moment.”

She disappeared up the stairs, tearing off her hat and gloves as she went. But Sebastian waited in her pretty pastel-colored drawing room for nearly half an hour before she finally reappeared. She’d changed her dress, and her hair was damp at the temples, as if she’d just splashed water on her face. But it had done little to disguise the fact that her eyes were red and swollen, as if she’d been crying. And that didn’t make any sense at all.

“My apologies for taking so long,” she said with a pretty smile that didn’t reach her tear-reddened eyes. “I see Richardson has brought the tea tray; shall I pour you a cup? Or would you prefer a glass of brandy?”

“Tea is fine,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Won’t you have a seat?”

“Thank you, but I prefer to stand.”

She went to sit on the pink silk-covered settee beside the tea table, forming a conscious tableau of English gentility as she reached gracefully for the heavy silver teapot. “So tell me, my lord; how may I help you?”

He stayed where he was, beside the window overlooking the street, his hands clasped behind his back as he watched her pour. “Late last winter, Eloisa Sedgewick dismissed her governess because the woman had allowed herself to be seduced and impregnated by Miles. Did you know?”

Isabella McPherson’s hand shook so badly that she had to quickly set down the teapot, her lips parting as she raised her head to stare at him. “No. Are you quite certain?”

“That the child was Sedgewick’s? What do you think?”

She shook her head; she was no longer even trying to smile. “Last winter, you say?”

“Yes,” said Sebastian, wondering exactly when Isabella’s affair with Miles Sedgewick had begun. “The child was born in May.”

She reached for a spoon to stir the cup of tea. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because Sedgewick went to see his former governess the day he died.”

She held the cup of tea out to him, her face hardening as he took it. “I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it,” said Sebastian simply, holding the cup in his hands. “A week ago Saturday morning, the woman went to Mount Street, desperate for his help. He got rid of her by promising to come see her later that day, and he did. Except instead of giving her money, he took the baby girl away with him. Do you know what he did with her?”

She reached for the teapot again and began to pour a second cup, her hands now steady. “No.”

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