Looking calmer, Mrs. Spencer spoke. “I’m glad you came. Though I felt the veriest busybody, I decided to search Miss Effie’s bedchamber and study to see if I could find any clues as to who may have taken her.”
The older woman’s mouth was tight. Whether from shame at having violated Miss Warrington’s privacy or at what she’d learned, Val couldn’t say. “Did you find anything?”
Going to the mantel, Mrs. Spencer retrieved a saucer.
“I found this in the grate in her study.” She pointed to what looked to be the charred remains of a letter.
“May I?” Val asked, and Mrs. Spencer wordlessly handed the plate to him.
He took it to a small table near the window and opened the curtains to let in as much natural lighting as possible. One by one, he lay the paper shards on the surface.
“I can barely tell which way they should be turned,” Caro said from where she stood beside him, “much less what they say. I can say that this bit is an impression in sealing wax. Do you know whom the letter is from, Mrs. Spencer?”
Behind them, Miss Warrington’s companion said, “No, but my eyes are not what they once were, Miss Hardcastle. I was hoping you young people would have better luck making out the crest.”
Removing a quizzing glass from inside his coat pocket, Val handed it to Caro. “Perhaps this will help.”
She bent over the table to examine the largest of the pieces.
“Is that a fox?” Her nose wrinkled adorably as she squinted through the glass. “Or a rabbit, perhaps?”
Val would have liked to have given in to temptation and kissed her, but as they weren’t alone, he did not. He took the quizzing glass back to look himself. “Definitely a fox,” he agreed. “And an arrow.”
“Whose seal is it?” She turned to look at him, with far more expectation in her eyes than he was comfortable with. Her next words only confirmed his discomfort. “You’re in the aristocracy. You should know such things.”
“I don’t spend all my free time reading Debrett’s Peerage,” he said defensively. She had to know by now he wasn’t so full of his own importance that he’d memorized every crest in the bloody English nobility. “Nor do they require us to memorize it at Eton. Though I daresay one of my aunts would recognize whose family it belongs to easily enough.”
“So would my mother.” She shrugged. “Perhaps we should take it to her.”
If Lady Lavinia really did know the family crests of England’s aristocracy, Val thought, then taking it to the Hardcastle townhouse when he spoke with Caro’s father made the most sense.
Speaking of the aristocracy, they needed to ask Miss Warrington’s companion about a certain duke.
“Mrs. Spencer,” he said, hoping he wasn’t about to upset the woman, “do you know if the Duke of Langham has ever visited Miss Warrington here?”
“Oh goodness me, no!” Mrs. Spencer laughed. “My heavens, I would surely have remembered if a duke had been here. My lord, it’s a grand enough thing that you’re here and you’re only a viscount.”
“Only a viscount, Val,” Caro said wryly. “That should puncture your self-importance.”
Mrs. Spencer blushed. “I meant no insult, Lord Wrackham,” she said hastily. “I hope you know that.”
“Of course he does, Mrs. Spencer.” Caro patted her on the shoulder. “I was only funning.”
“I can assure you, Mrs. Spencer,” Val said wryly, “with Caro to keep me humble, there is no danger of your saying anything that will hurt my poor feelings.”
“So, you’ve no recollection of Langham ever having called here, then?” Caro asked, ignoring his complaint. “Or any other nobleman, for that matter?”
Mrs. Spencer shook her head. “I hadn’t thought she’d corresponded with any either, but these fragments seem to indicate otherwise. Perhaps if Miss Effie burned the letters, then they weren’t important?”
“Perhaps,” Caro said, though her tone was skeptical. “Did you find any other notes that might be of help in our search?”
Mrs. Spencer’s expression turned to one of discomfort. “I wasn’t going to mention…”
“If it is something that paints Miss Warrington in a bad light,” Val assured her, “I can make sure Frank learns nothing of it, unless strictly necessary.” He didn’t like to keep secrets from Frank, but if it meant finding his fiancée alive, he knew his cousin would think the deception well worth it.
“It’s not Miss Effie it reflects badly on, my lord,” Mrs. Spencer said apologetically.
Val should have known digging around in the lives of his cousin and his betrothed might mean coming across information he would rather forget. Frank was no saint. Nor was he. But he was strangely reluctant to learn whatever the companion was about to share with them. He knew once that knowledge of Frank’s character was revealed, he wouldn’t easily forget it.
“You may as well show us, Mrs. Spencer,” he told her. “If my cousin had some hand in Miss Warrington’s disappearance, then the sooner we know, the sooner we’ll find her.”
With a nod, Mrs. Spencer removed a wrinkled letter from her pocket. Wordlessly, she handed it to Caro, whose face paled as she read.
When she proffered the note to Val, he wasn’t certain what to expect.
But not something this damning.
Though only a brief missive, the words alone would be enough to convict his cousin should they find that Miss Warrington had been murdered.
My dearest,
The man has shown himself to be a liar and a hypocrite, but you still choose to go back to him? I can see now all my pleas have been in vain. No matter how I try to convince you otherwise, you will never believe my love is enough.
I have had enough of this. I won’t share you.
But know this, my love—if he hurts you, I’ll see him in hell.
Yours, if only briefly,
Frank
Val muttered a curse. Frank had lied to him. To them. It was clear from this note that things weren’t as blissful between him and Miss Warrington as he’d led them to believe.
There was another man involved. Was it Tate? Langham? He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He was sick to death of being lied to. It was evident now that his guilt at suspecting Frank had been misplaced. He might have ended this letter on a melancholy note, but jealousy was a motive as old as time. His cousin was temperamental and quick to anger. His moods might blow over as quickly as they arose, but could he have acted in a fit of rage only to regret it later?
“Where did you find this, Mrs. Spencer?” Caro asked, taking Val’s hand. However improper, he was grateful for the warmth of her touch.
“It was in the wastepaper basket in her study.” Mrs. Spencer sounded almost apologetic. “Since Miss Effie and Mr. Thorn were together for the drive to and from the theatre yesterday, I daresay it was all made up and forgotten.”
But it was clear from her earlier hesitation that she wasn’t quite so sure.
They left not long after, promising to send Mrs. Spencer notice of further updates. Once they were outside, Caro turned to Val, her eyes bright with sympathy. “Will you go to him now?”