Page 71 of Where the Heart Leads
Barnaby grimaced. “Parliament rises next week. A few days after that and Mayfair will be all but deserted. If our hypothesis of the reason this schoolmaster’s training so many boys at once is correct, then we’ve only got until then to find them.”
They all exchanged glances, then Griselda waved to the stairs. “We’d better get going then.”
They all trooped down, then out of the shop, leaving the apprentices staring.
Once outside, they headed around the church to find hackneys in the street beyond. Stokes and Griselda took the first, Barnaby and Penelope insisting their task was the more urgent.
Standing on the pavement watching the carriage rattle away to the east, Penelope shifted restlessly.
Beside her, his gaze on the retreating carriage, too, Barnaby said, “If you think of anything you, I, or we can do to learn what we need to learn faster, let me know.”
She glanced at his profile. “Do you promise to do the same?”
He looked down at her. “Yes. All right.”
“Good.” She nodded. “If I think of anything, I’ll send word.”
13
Everything was in place, yet nothing had happened.
Late that night, wreathed in a thick November fog, Barnaby strolled along St. James and considered the state of their investigation. He’d just left White’s after spending a quiet evening in the almost empty, and therefore blissfully silent, club, deeming it wiser to while away the evening there rather than in some ballroom in Penelope’s wake—a deliberate ploy to evoke her impatience, leaving her curiosity unappeased, thus prodding her to consider slaking her thirst for knowledge with him. Being the intelligent lady she was, her mind would then follow the obvious path, which would lead her to the conclusion he wished her to reach.
That marrying him would be in her best interests.
That doing so was the route to attaining all the knowledge she might wish on the subject currently—courtesy of their recent interaction—occupying her mind.
He fervently hoped that subject was occupying her mind; other than their investigation—presently stalled—it was the only consideration in his.
Even that—their lack of forward momentum in finding the missing boys—was likely to work in his favor. Stokes and Griselda had distributed the notices, but they’d yet to elicit any response. As for the five names on Stokes’s original list, they’d confirmed that Slater and Watts were, if not leading entirely blameless lives, at least not in possession of extraneous boys.
Which left Hornby, Grimsby, and Hughes as their best candidates for the schoolmaster involved, but no avenue had yet yielded any clue as to the latter two’s whereabouts.
Otherwise, the trap they’d set in Black Lion Yard two days ago remained primed, but as of this evening, unsprung.
And neither he nor Penelope had managed to think of anything more they could reasonably do to find the missing boys.
So they were waiting.
Patience, he suspected, wasn’t her strong suit; it was perfectly possible—even likely—that starved of progress on one front, she would turn her energies toward a different goal.
The notion of said energies being his to guide sent a thrill of expectation through him—something he hadn’t felt in a very long time, not since he’d been a green youth.
And perhaps not even then.
Smiling to himself, he turned into Jermyn Street. Swinging his cane, he walked on, ignoring the ever-thickening fog.
The issue of marriage was one he’d avoided, but not because he had any intrinsic dislike or distrust of the state. If truth be known the opposite was true; as the years had rolled by and he’d seen his friends marry, seen the depths of their happiness in their shared lives, he’d grown envious. Yet still he’d been convinced that marriage was not for him, because he’d never met a tonnish female likely to—or even able to—cope with his vocation, his passion for criminal investigations.
Penelope was the sole exception, the lady who broke every rule. She wouldn’t just acquiesce to his investigating, she’d actively encourage him. And her intellect was such that, against all the odds, he was looking forward to sharing cases with her—listening to her opinions and suggestions, discussing villains and their traits.
His necessary first step toward what he now saw as his most desirable future was to secure Penelope’s hand in marriage. That her brother, Luc, and her family, would find his suit acceptable he had no real doubt; the third son of an earl was a perfectly acceptable match for the daughter of a viscount, and his status and fortune were nothing to sneer at. Gaining her agreement was the only hurdle, and if his stoking of her curiosity and impatience was playing out as planned…
Smiling confidently, he twirled his cane. He fully expected her to indicate some interest very soon. He rather thought he should call on her tomorrow.
A discreet black town carriage stood outside the door before his. He noticed it, but pointedly didn’t glance that way; he wondered who Elliard, his neighbor, was entertaining that night.
His mind filled with visions of entertaining Penelope. Soon, he assured himself. Very soon. Smiling even more broadly, he swung up the steps to his door, fishing in his waistcoat pocket for his latchkey, glancing down as he did.
