Page 76 of A Kiss from the Marquess

“I’m sure.” Simon clenched his jaw against the urge to ask after Norah. While he knew she was happy for her sister, Ella marrying was a significant change in Norah’s life. As close as the sisters were, the adjustment would be difficult.

Worley considered him from across the interior of the carriage for a long moment, making Simon wonder at his thoughts. “Norah and Lena shed many tears this morning.”

An ache filled Simon at his words. He glanced out the window at the quiet streets. The urge to reach out and offer comfort was overwhelming. Yet he didn’t know whether that would be wise.

“Yes,” Worley said as the carriage jostled them both.

“Yes, what?” Simon frowned in puzzlement, certain he hadn’t asked a question. Though he could be absentminded, this hadn’t been one of those times.

“Yes, you should see Norah soon. I have no doubt that she would appreciate your support.”

Simon opened his mouth to deny whatever Worley was thinking, only to close it. What was the point? “You are more observant than most.”

Worley chuckled. “I do tend to study others closely. I suppose it keeps me from thinking about my own concerns overmuch.”

“Understandable.” Simon didn’t know Worley well enough to respond more to his comment. Regardless of the man’s specific worries, Simon could certainly relate to the statement. His upset over the missing artifacts kept him from pondering his feelings for Norah too deeply, something he wasn’t prepared to do. Not yet.

Worley continued, “Perhaps you should consider attending the Sutton Ball tomorrow evening. I know the Wright sisters will be there. I could suggest Norah meet you on the terrace briefly so you might have a word in private.”

Simon smiled. “I would appreciate that.”

They settled on the details and, once again, Simon was astounded at how much the upcoming chance to see Norah lifted his spirits. He suddenly felt as if he could accomplish anything.

“Now then, back to business.” Worley shifted to look out the carriage window at the darkening scenery. “Stockton tends to eat soon after he returns from the museum. The few times Marbury and I watched him, he remained home afterward.”

“I’m hoping that if he’s behind the stolen artifacts, he’ll need to take steps to sell them. Perhaps meet with a potential buyer or the like. Something out of his normal routine.” Simon told Worley about the two artifacts left in the crates as well as the ledger paper on Stockton’s desk with the same numbers that had been stamped on the outside of the crates.

None of that was proof of anything. But since Stockton remained the most likely suspect, Simon wanted to learn all he could about the man.

Worley smoothed a finger along his mustache as he considered the idea. “Determining a possible motivation would provide a better understanding and perhaps even a clue where we should look for proof.”

“Money is the most common one. I suppose he might be in financial distress of some sort,” Simon said. “But I’m not certain how we could investigate that.”

“Is he close to any of the museum staff?” Worley asked.

“Not particularly. If anyone, I suppose it would be Emerson.”

The viscount lifted a brow. “It might be worth having a discreet word if you think you can trust him not to say anything to Stockton.”

“I will consider it.” Simon had come to know the young man better over the past two weeks since he’d spent more time at the museum. They’d developed a bond of sorts and had enjoyed several meaningful conversations.

“If only we could speak with Stockton’s friends to find out more about the man.”

“I’ve never seen him with anyone, nor has he mentioned any,” Simon advised.

“Those kinds of details were what Marbury and I hoped to discover. Doing so proved impossible when the man remained home the few evenings we observed him.”

“I happened to speak with a neighbor of Emerson’s who was able to share helpful information when I first thought he could be involved. You might try that.”

Worley nodded. “Excellent idea. I shall try it tomorrow afternoon before Stockton returns home from the museum.”

The carriage pulled to a stop two houses from where Stockton lived. Worley pointed to a modest, two-story red brick townhome with a narrow garden lined with a wrought-iron fence. They watched for several minutes, but Simon soon grew impatient. “Shall we get closer?”

“As in look in the windows?” Worley asked with some surprise.

“We can’t see anything from here.” Simon reached for the door and stepped out.

“Humph.” Worley followed, still seeming shocked by Simon’s suggestion.

---