Grateful to have thwarted a titanic tantrum from her high-strung mother, Caro watched in amusement as Mama hurried in search of her maid.
Closing her bedchamber door, Caro set about dressing for the day. She had just set Ludwig down in his favorite window seat, having coaxed him out from beneath the covers, when a footman knocked on the door to let her know Miss Deaver had called.
She found Flora, neatly if simply attired in a pale gray silk with a straw hat and matching ribbons, in the blue drawing room. She was standing with her back to the fire.
“Flora, my dear.” She hurried toward her friend. “It is good to see you. You’re here on an errand for Kate, I suppose?”
It was too much to hope that the assistant had come with news. They were now nearing two days since Effie’s abduction, and they still had only snatches of information that couldn’t yet be pieced together into a coherent whole. And Mr. Thorn’s disappearance had made the situation only more complicated.
Flora nodded. “I’ve come with Kate’s notes on your draft for next week’s column.”
She reached for the leather case resting against a chair near the fireplace.
“Of course.” Caro rubbed the spot between her eyebrows in frustration. “I can’t believe I didn’t remember them sooner.” She had given the pages to Kate the afternoon they’d waited for Effie at Applegate’s Tea Room. Had that really been only two days prior?
“You’ve had quite a few matters to distract you,” Flora pointed out. “And if it makes you feel less of a featherbrain, Kate has been just as preoccupied. We’ve all had a hard time concentrating this week.”
Taking the papers from Flora, Caro was about to ask if she’d like to stay for a cup of tea when Newton knocked briskly. He announced Val and—to Caro’s surprise—the Duke of Langham.
“Good morning, my dear.” Val bowed over her hand, the touch of his lips against her bare skin sending a shiver through her.
Caro wondered if she’d ever become accustomed to the little jolt of awareness that ran through her whenever he entered a room. She was beginning to fear that troublesome, impetuous part of her had already taken the leap into deeper feelings for him.
“And good morning to you, Miss Deaver,” he said to Flora. But she was rather comically staring wide-eyed at Langham. Given the way the young lady followed his exploits in the papers, Caro supposed his presence was not unlike seeing a fictional character come to life. “May I present my friend, the Duke of Langham? Langham, this is the inestimable Miss Flora Deaver. She is Lady Katherine’s right-hand woman at The Gazette.”
Caro noted with some amusement that the duke seemed just as flummoxed by the sight of Flora.
Interesting.
The two remembered their manners, and Flora dropped into a deep curtsy while the duke bowed courteously over her hand.
“My apologies for persuading Wrackham to bring me along, Miss Hardcastle,” the duke said once he’d regained his composure. “I remembered a detail about our mutual friend that I thought might be of interest.”
“You may speak freely in front of Flora, your grace,” Caro assured him. “She is assisting us with the search. Indeed, she’s been doing essential research at the library at The Gazette in hopes of identifying the sender of a letter that we found in Effie’s house.”
Langham stared at the secretary for a long moment. Then, his blue eyes widened in recognition. “You’re the same woman who was looking for records at Somerset House for Miss Warrington.”
Flora looked uncomfortable at both the duke’s scrutiny and his words.
Caro gasped. “Flora, you told us nothing of that!”
“I didn’t believe it had anything to do with her disappearance. We all supposed one of her admirers from the theatre was responsible,” Flora said a little defensively. “And she asked me not to tell anyone. I couldn’t break her confidence.”
“That’s what I told them.” Langham gazed sharply at Caro and Val. “But I can already see that you’re inclined to take this person’s word at face value, whereas I—a peer of the realm, and a friend—had to endure a very uncomfortable time being questioned by the two of you.”
Flora audibly drew in a breath.
“Miss Deaver is a dear friend, your grace,” Caro chided Langham after directing a pointed look at Val.
Taking the hint, Val cleared his throat. “Badly done, Langham. I believe you owe Miss Deaver an apology.”
To his credit, though he still frowned, Langham took the correction in stride. “I can be a sharp-tongued bas— er, fellow, Miss Deaver.” He bowed. “I hope you will accept my sincere apologies.”
But the damage to Flora’s hero worship of the duke had been done. “Of course, your grace,” she said with a curtsy. The look she cast upon him, however, could have curdled milk.
“Now that that’s settled,” Caro said cheerily, trying to get them all back onto a friendly footing, “I am ringing for some refreshments, and you”—she nodded at Flora—“will tell us what you were looking for at Somerset House, and you”—she nodded at the duke—“will tell us whatever it is you remembered.”
As she crossed to the bellpull, Langham murmured to Val, “Is she always this managing, Wrackham? I fear you may be in for a hard time of it.”
“Some gentlemen are not afraid of an assertive lady,” Flora said mildly. “I should have thought a duke who commands multiple estates and armies of staff would not balk at a woman who knows her own mind. But I suppose a title is only a word, after all.”
When Caro turned back to her guests, she intercepted Flora and the duke trading scowls. Taking a seat beside Val, she said in a low voice, “I fear Flora may have just defenestrated your friend.”
“There is no ‘may’ about it,” Val said with admiration. “She did what Hyde could not.” Caro surmised with surprise that despite Jim Hyde’s expertise, he’d been unable to best Langham at their match the evening before.
“And what do you know of such things, Miss Deaver?” Langham asked with considerable hauteur, even going so far as to remove a quizzing glass from some inner pocket of his waistcoat. He glared at her through it. “You cannot be more than, what, one and twenty? I daresay you know no more than an alley cat about relations between men and women.”
Flora raised her nose in the air with all the arrogance of a royal princess. “Cats are very intelligent. I won’t have you malign them. And I am five and twenty, but since when does one’s age have anything to do with one’s understanding of interactions between the sexes? A girl of fifteen may possess an expert’s knowledge of love and a man of fifty may be a quivering virgin. Of course, the aristocracy place—in my estimation—far too much emphasis on keeping ladies in the dark about such matters. But as you so helpfully pointed out, I am no one of importance and as such would not be shielded from that knowledge.”
Caro had to press her hands against her sides to keep from applauding. She might have spoken out in praise of Flora’s masterful setdown, but she feared giving the duke, whose glare at her friend was sharp enough to cut glass, time to respond would open the door to him being even ruder than before.