“Oh no!” Kate said, understandably focusing on the latter. “What did Val say about Frank?”
“Not much.” Caro picked up a scone from the tray. “Though I could tell he was upset. They’re quite close, I believe. And with the death of his brother, I suspect he values that relationship even more.”
“As many men seem to be in Effie’s orbit,” Flora said thoughtfully, “I can’t see her playing Mr. Thorn false. The few times we’ve discussed him, she was positively glowing with love. She even hoped they’d be able to marry before the summer. A woman looking to be happily wed wouldn’t jeopardize her situation by falling for the lures of a man like Tate, who sounds dreadful, or Langham, who is already involved with her friend at the theatre.”
This made some sense to Caro. Mrs. Spencer, who knew Effie better than any of them, had seemed to think Mr. Thorn was mistaken, too.
“Perhaps Frank has the wrong end of the stick.” Kate frowned into her tea. “He wouldn’t be the first man to misinterpret something he saw or overheard.”
“No, he wouldn’t.” Caro wiped crumbs from her hands. “I hate this. We need more than all these disparate threads and possibilities.”
“Do you have the bit of seal with you?” Flora asked suddenly.
“No,” Caro said, realizing she’d forgotten to take it with her in the excitement over Frank’s letter. “Why?”
“I am skilled at research.” The secretary smiled. “I might be able to find the family crest in one of our reference books at The Gazette. You said it looked like a fox and an arrow were in the design, correct?”
“That’s a marvelous idea, Flora,” said Kate. “I should have thought of it.”
“You’ve been busy running a newspaper and looking for your friend.” Flora shrugged. “Besides, it’s my job to think of these things so you don’t have to.”
“You’re missing a friend as well, Flora,” Caro reminded the young woman. She was a dear girl, but no matter how Kate and Caro had tried to make her feel welcome, she always managed to keep herself apart. Really, it was no wonder she was such good friends with Ludwig. Flora herself shared many of the same aloof qualities as a cat.
“I know,” Flora said with a small smile. “But I find comfort in keeping busy.”
Caro could certainly relate to that.
“If you like, I can write a note to Mrs. Spencer requesting she show you the bit of sealing wax,” Kate told her assistant.
Flora beamed. “Excellent.”
“I know we don’t know what to make of Frank’s letter yet,” Kate said, setting down her teacup, “but were you able to learn anything from Lord Tate?”
Glad for the reminder that they didn’t know for sure that Mr. Thorn had hurt Effie, no matter how suspicious his words to her might have been, Caro quickly filled them in on Val’s conversation with Tate, as well as what she’d learned from Maisie.
“Do we believe Tate’s revelation about the Duke of Langham?” Kate asked when she had finished. “Could he be the man mentioned in Frank’s letter?”
“If it’s true,” Flora said, biting into a macaroon, “then the duke is jeopardizing a three-year-long affair. From what the gossips have said, he and Nell are quite devoted.”
At the amazed looks from the other two women, she shrugged. “I enjoy reading about what the ton get up to. It helps me know which suitors to avoid when I one day learn I’m the long-lost heir to a rare peerage that only passes through the female line.”
“We should introduce you to Val’s sister. She’s a novelist.” Caro laughed, grateful for the needed levity. “It seems a shame to waste such an imagination on managing the mundane details of the paper.”
“I’m happy where I am, thank you.” Flora’s warm smile took any sting out of the rejection. Then, returning to the subject at hand, she said, “I think it’s just as likely the man in Mr. Thorn’s letter is Tate. Didn’t he mention something to Lord Wrackham about trying to lure her away from his cousin?”
“The problem,” Caro said with a sigh, “is that because of her profession, Effie was admired by any number of men. Finding the one who so angered Mr. Thorn is like searching for the proverbial needle in a haystack.”
They were silent as the difficulty of their task seemed to settle over them.
Then, after they had chatted idly for a few minutes, Kate rose. “We should get back to the paper, I suppose. I do wish we could run something about Effie’s disappearance, but I fear Andrew is right that if she has been kidnapped, such publicity might make her abductors behave rashly.”
And, Caro thought morosely, if Mr. Thorn had killed her, it would be unnecessary.
“I’ll just go up and say hello to Ludwig, if that’s all right,” Flora said. Caro suspected she was giving the two women a moment to talk alone.
When she was gone, Kate gave Caro a hard hug. “How are you?”
“I’m fine,” Caro said, puzzled. “Why?”
“For someone who became unexpectedly engaged to the man who once broke her heart, you seem remarkably calm. Last night you seemed to think you’d find a way out of it. Have you changed your mind?”
Caro felt heat climb into her cheeks. “We had a chance to talk last night. No declarations have been made on either side, but we’ve come to an understanding, I believe.”
“And are you content with that?” Kate’s eyes searched her face. “You can find a way to be happy with him?”
“I believe he’s changed since the time of our first betrothal,” Caro said. She was telling the truth. She did believe he’d changed. She wasn’t quite ready to give her heart fully into his keeping, but his words last night had gone a long way toward calming the worst of her fears about the viability of a marriage between them. “And so have I. There are no guarantees, of course, but I have hopes that we can make one another happy enough.”
“I would prefer you to say you’re certain you can make one another blissfully happy,” Kate said wryly, “but I suppose I will have to content myself with ‘happy enough’ for the time being.”
Unsure of her response, Caro shifted the conversation to other, less fraught matters until Flora reappeared and they all said their goodbyes, promising to contact one another with whatever news by supper.
Caro was just at her bedchamber when she heard someone at the door. Thinking Kate and Flora had returned, she hurried back downstairs.
But rather than her previous visitors, it was Val handing over his hat and coat to Newton. When she saw his expression, she gasped. “What is it? What’s happened?”
“Frank is gone,” he said, his mouth tight with anger. “He’s disappeared.”
* * *
When none of his servants could say when they’d last seen Frank, Val set out for the Albany, where his cousin kept rooms. He’d instructed him not to leave the townhouse, but it was hardly a surprise that his cousin wished to be in his own home—if that was, indeed, where he’d gone. It was the first place Val could think to look, at any rate.
A small voice in the back of his head asked if perhaps Frank had gone to where he’d left Miss Warrington, to ensure that she hadn’t escaped. He refused to even think the other, more ghastly suspicion—even in the privacy of his own mind.