“You seem pensive,” Selina said from beneath the elegant hat she wore.
Rafe ignored her comment. “You look like such a lady. You also look happy.”
“I am. You look pensive,” she repeated. “But it seems you aren’t going to discuss that with me.”
No, he was not. “I suppose I’m just anxious about today. I hope Mrs. Gill is able to direct us to her sister.”
“Have you thought about what you would say to her?” Selina asked softly, her lip curling. “Not just asking her what happened, but what her actions did to us, to our lives.”
Rafe could hear her anger, could feel it in his chest. “Yes, but mostly I think of what I would say to Edgar. I’m fucking furious I won’t have that chance.”
“All that time, he said they’d rescued us, that we should be grateful.” Selina’s jaw tightened as she looked out the window. “He used us.” She looked at him across the small space, her blue eyes clear, save a tiny glimmer of pain. “Do you think she knew what he meant to do?”
“We’ll hopefully find out. Soon.”
“I hope so. If this doesn’t lead us to her…” She exhaled and pressed a hand briefly to her cheek. “We’ll have to find a way to let it go. It’s not as if we can change the past. And now we have a future.” She shook her head. “I never imagined what I have found, and now to learn that you are an earl. Someday, I suppose it won’t seem like a dream.”
“I keep waiting for that, so do let me know when it happens for you.”
She laughed. “It’s very strange, isn’t it? Where we find ourselves.”
“Certainly no stranger than where we’ve been.” He settled himself against the squab. “On that note, we have a long journey ahead of us. Amuse me with your exploits as Madame Sybila, the fortune-teller.” He arched a brow at her. “You chose a rather obvious name, did you not?” Sybila meant prophetess or seer.
She shrugged, smiling. “It was also relatively close to Selina so that I might hear it and answer more quickly.” Taking a deep breath, she launched into the story of how Madame Sybila came to be—after she and Beatrix had met a fortune-teller early in their travels. The trip to Redhill passed quickly and pleasantly, even if there was a tang of bittersweetness as Rafe thought of their lost years.
At least they’d found each other again. Their parents were lost to them forever.
Redhill was a coaching stop on the way to Brighton, so there were several inns in the town. The Golden Eagle was of medium size with a bustling stable yard.
Rafe and Selina left the coach in the capable hands of Rafe’s coachman and groom and went into the inn. Built within the last fifty years, the Golden Eagle was newer than some of the others they’d passed and in fine condition. The common room was clean and cheerful, with a bank of windows along the front that invited plenty of light.
A lively serving maid greeted them with a wide smile, her dark curls peeking from beneath her cap. “Stopping in for a bit, or do you need a room?”
“Just stopping in,” Rafe said. “We’re looking for Mrs. Gill. Would you let her know Lady Selina Sheffield and Lord Stone are here to see her?” He and Selina had discussed how to introduce themselves and ultimately decided they should use their actual titles in the hope that it would persuade her to be completely honest.
The maid’s blue eyes flashed with surprise. “Right away, my lord. My lady.” She dipped a curtsey to them both before disappearing through a doorway at the back of the common room.
“That sounds so odd,” Selina said.
It was as odd as suddenly owning multiple houses across England and being responsible for the livelihoods of everyone employed at them. Rafe had spent a few hours the night before questioning Thomas, Lord Rockbourne, his pretend brother-in-law. As a viscount, he was able to share many things with Rafe about his properties, his army of employees, and serving in the House of Lords. There was an astonishing amount to learn, and Rafe took his new role very seriously.
Selina surveyed the room. “I’m nervous.”
“I am too.”
A woman emerged from the same doorway where the maid had disappeared. Her dark hair was almost completely covered by a cap, and her features were drawn tight as if she was nervous too.
“Lord Stone?” she asked tentatively, her gaze flicking toward Selina. “Lady Selina?”
“Yes,” Selina answered. “You are Mrs. Gill?”
The woman, who was perhaps ten years older than Rafe, nodded. “How can I be of assistance to you?” She clasped her hands in front of her narrow waist.
“I’ll get straight to the reason for our visit,” Rafe said. “We’re looking for your sister, Pauline Blaylock. Do you know where we can find her?”
“It’s imperative we speak with her,” Selina added.
The flesh around Mrs. Gill’s mouth tightened and paled. “She’s here. She’s quite ill, however. Indeed, she isn’t expected to survive much longer.”
Rafe and Selina exchanged a panicked look. If they’d delayed the trip another day… Thankfully, they hadn’t. “May we speak with her? As my sister said, it’s incredibly important.” Rafe asked.
Mrs. Gill cocked her head to the side. “She worked for the Earl of Stone, but that can’t have been you. That was years ago. I was a child when she left to take the position.”
“She was our nurse,” Selina said, sounding a trifle impatient. “May we see her?” She took a breath and smiled, perhaps realizing she seemed anxious. “She used to sing to me. I don’t recall much from when I was young, but I remember that.”
“Her voice was from the angels,” Mrs. Gill said with a nostalgic smile that quickly faded. “She hasn’t been able to sing for some time now. Come, I’ll take you to her room.”
The innkeeper’s wife led them back through the doorway from whence she’d come. Rafe followed behind Selina, his body thrumming with anticipation.
They moved down a narrow corridor to a room at the end. Mrs. Gill opened the door and invited them inside. A figure formed a small lump in the bedclothes. The smell of sickness permeated the space.
“Polly,” Mrs. Gill called softly as she approached the bed. “You have a pair of guests. I think they may make you smile. Let me help you sit up.” She propped the pillows against the headboard and lifted the figure higher in the bed.
Now visible, Pauline Blaylock looked much older than her probable age, which was likely not yet fifty. Her gray hair was gathered back from her face, but strands clung to her sunken cheeks. Her dark eyes seemed faded, as if she’d stared at the sun too long. She appeared a woman without much time, her pallor grayish and her body withered. If Rafe had come upon her, there would have been no recognition from him.
“Who are they?” Pauline asked her sister, her expression confused.
“This is Lord Stone and Lady Selina Sheffield. They said you were their nurse.”
Rafe went rigid. Selina clasped his fingers briefly.
Pauline’s eyes widened, and she let out a terrible sound that was part sob and part shriek. “It can’t be you.”
Swallowing a cruel retort, Rafe moved closer to the bed. Mrs. Gill stepped out of the way. “It is.” He bent low so she could see his eye. “You recognize me, don’t you?”