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A s she and Lord Gilford were shown into the drawing room of the Blackwood townhouse, Lucy looked around her avidly. Despite her friendship with Vera for the past several weeks, she’d never been inside the Ashdown Square townhouse Vera’s father, a railroad tycoon in their native United States, had let for the family.

“I must admit that these modern houses have appeal,” Gilford said, looking almost boyish as he scanned the room’s inlaid ceilings and stained glass windows. “If Gilford House weren’t entailed—” But he must have recalled at that moment that the estate was nearly bankrupt because he abruptly broke off.

A pang of sympathy for him made Lucy leap into the silence. “Mama and I have considered one of these, as well. What must it be like to have windows that don’t stick?”

Thankfully, Mr. Richard Blackwood entered the room at that moment, and both of them focused on their host.

The man looked haggard. Lucy had only met Vera’s father a few times, but it was as if Blackwood had aged thirty years in the past three days. There were bags under his eyes that attested to his lack of sleep. And his skin, once marked by healthy color, was now wan.

“Mr. Blackwood,” Lucy said, moving toward him with her hands outstretched. “I have come to see if there’s been any news of Vera.”

Since she’d already heard from her cousin, this was a polite fiction, but Lucy didn’t want to inform Vera’s father that the Metropolitan Police hierarchy thought his daughter had simply run away. He had enough on his mind at the moment.

“Thank you for coming, Miss Penhallow,” Blackwood said in his American accent, with its flat vowels and oddly nasal tone. “I know my daughter would appreciate that you’re so concerned about her welfare.”

Lucy introduced Gilford, and Mr. Blackwood indicated that his guests should take seats. Lucy and Gilford sat side by side on an overstuffed sofa. Blackwood, meanwhile, remained standing, as if too restless to settle.

“What of you, Mr. Blackwood?” Lucy asked, genuinely concerned for the man’s welfare. “I know Vera would not wish for you to neglect your health in her absence.”

Blackwood’s second wife had died a few years ago, and with his other children—three sons—back in America, Vera had been the one to fuss over her father during their tenure in London.

To Lucy’s surprise, a familiar figure swept into the room at that moment, looking as if she was mistress of the house.

“My dear Miss Penhallow,” said Lady Evangeline Fortescue, the lovely widow who’d quizzed her about Vera’s kidnapping only last evening, as she slipped her arm through Blackwood’s. “And Lord Gilford. How pleasant to see you again. Though the circumstances are dreadful, of course.”

Gilford, who had risen on Lady Fortescue’s entry, didn’t seem to be surprised at her presence here. Then again, he wasn’t acquainted with the Blackwood family. “My lady,” he said, bowing over her hand with the good manners expected of him. “A pleasure to see you as well, though I must admit to some curiosity. You didn’t hint at any connection to the Blackwood family when we spoke last night.”

Well done, Lord Gilford.

Perhaps she’d misjudged the viscount’s reading of the situation, Lucy thought.

“Blackwood and I have tried to keep our fondness for one another quiet, especially since the news of poor Vera’s abduction,” Lady Fortescue said with credible dismay. “But this is not a time for Richard to be alone. He’s in an unfamiliar city surrounded by strangers. I couldn’t possibly leave him to his own devices at such a time.”

Vera’s father looked upon Lady Fortescue with nothing short of adoration. Though unsure of how sincere the widow’s feelings were—Richard Blackwood was, after all, wealthier than most of the lords in Parliament combined—Lucy believed the Americans were sincere at least. And who was to say that Lady Fortescue hadn’t fallen head over ears for the man? Perhaps the notoriously fickle lady had finally lost her heart.

“I am glad he has you, then,” Lucy said aloud to the widow, who had just cajoled Blackwood to take a seat on the other sofa. Lucy couldn’t help exchanging a glance with Gilford, however, and when he returned her look with wide-eyed skepticism of his own, she felt slightly vindicated. “I was just asking Mr. Blackwood whether there was any news of Vera.”

“None, I’m afraid.” If possible, Blackwood’s expression turned even more pinched. “Evangeline, that is, Lady Fortescue, told me what that editor fellow said last night about abduction in exchange for money. That if that’s the case, then the abductee is likely to be killed.”

“It was just a theory, sir,” Gilford said, and Lucy wished she could kiss him. It was such a kindness to give Mr. Blackwood hope, even if there was no rationale for it at this point. “I believe it’s far more sensible to listen to what Detective Superintendent Eversham says, given that he has actual experience of such matters. Mr. Chase, the editor chap, seemed sure of himself, but he’s got nothing to go on but his own study.”

Lucy couldn’t help but think of all she’d complained to Gilford about with regard to the Metropolitan Police earlier. Even so, she had a strong belief in Cousin Andrew’s competence as a detective. And Gilford was right about Archie Chase.

At Gilford’s reassurance, Mr. Blackwood seemed to relax a little. “Do you believe so, Lord Gilford?”

“Of course he does, Richard,” said Lady Fortescue with a grateful look in Gilford’s direction. “He wouldn’t have said so otherwise.”

Blackwood nodded, almost like a small child being promised that Father Christmas was, in fact, real.

Deciding she’d better ask the questions she’d come to ask so that she and Gilford could leave the poor man in peace, Lucy leaned forward a little. “Mr. Blackwood, the last time I saw Vera, the afternoon before the Leighton-Childe ball, Vera seemed out of sorts. Do you perhaps know the reason for that?”

Since most unmarried ladies didn’t spend a great deal of time with their parents, Lucy wasn’t sure he’d know anything, but she had to ask.

At the look on Blackwood’s face, however, her heart sank.

“No, Miss Penhallow,” he said with a frown. “I wish I had known. Otherwise, I’d have done something to find out. It troubles me to hear that she was unhappy. Perhaps there was something I could have done to make it better.”

Like a lioness protecting her cub, Lady Fortescue placed an arm around Blackwood’s shoulders. To Lucy and Gilford, she said, “Perhaps the two of you had better go.”

Recognizing that they’d likely exhausted whatever Mr. Blackwood might be able to tell them about Vera’s state of mind, Lucy rose to her feet. She and Gilford made their farewells to their host and made their own way back to the entrance hall.

They’d just stepped out onto the front steps when the door to the mansion opened to reveal Lady Fortescue. Shutting the door firmly behind her—likely to ensure that none of the servants would overhear her, Lucy surmised—she said, “Richard doesn’t know what was troubling Vera that afternoon, but I do. I must have your promises that you won’t let this information go any farther than us three.”

Lucy wanted to protest that if it was something that might help them find Vera, then she would most certainly tell her cousin at the very least. But before she could say so, Gilford squeezed her hand where it rested on his arm. “I won’t make such a promise until I know what it is you mean to say. And neither will Miss Penhallow. We are, after all, intent upon finding her.”

Lady Fortescue frowned, but after a moment she nodded. “I suppose if it will help find her, then she’ll simply have to face knowing her personal business has been aired.”

Lucy clamped her teeth together to keep from urging the woman to speak up.

“On that morning,” she said, looking far more troubled than she had in the drawing room, “Vera received a letter that left her agitated. She hurried upstairs and slammed her bedchamber door with such force that it nearly shook the house.”

The older woman didn’t bother explaining why she’d been in the Blackwood home at such an early hour, but Lucy had no difficulty guessing. She supposed she was glad that Mr. Blackwood had someone to comfort him in his fear and agitation.

“Do you know what was in the letter to overset her so?” Gilford asked, not calling attention to the confirmation that Lady Fortescue was Blackwood’s lover, either.

To Lucy’s surprise, the widow reached into the pocket of her gown and extended an envelope to her. It looked to have been through a great deal of handling.

“Use what you must to find her,” Lady Fortescue said with an intent look at Lucy, who got the feeling the widow cared about Vera’s rescue almost as much as Mr. Blackwood. Perhaps she wasn’t so self-interested as Lucy had at first thought. “But I must ask you not to tell Richard what this letter reveals. He is not well, and it can do him no good unless it is strictly necessary.”

“I give you my word,” Lucy said aloud. Then she let Gilford lead her down the steps and hand her into the waiting curricle.

They were barely underway when Lucy had pulled open the writing paper and begun to read.

“Good heavens,” she said after scanning a couple of pages. “Vera was engaged to someone back home in America named Christopher Hamilton, and this letter says he’s to arrive in London only a couple of days from now. Could it be that the police are right and she has run away back to America?”