Page 10 of A Waltz on the Wild Side (The Wild Wynchesters #6)

Miss Henry’s lips twisted. “They each recited the same memorized speech: That Quentin was no longer in character or on a mission, but rather relaxing idly at an undisclosed location.”

“That means they practiced in advance,” Tommy said, “but it doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”

Adrian nodded. “Adolescent boys do enjoy relaxing idly.”

“Parroting the same speech is suspicious,” Miss Henry said flatly.

“You’re right,” Jacob agreed, with a quelling look at his sibling. “Can you provide us with a list of those names and addresses?”

“Of course.” Miss Henry handed him a folded piece of paper.

“Please interview them as soon as possible. I fear he’s on a new mission that I know nothing about.

Ask them for a list of all recent antics Quentin might have been involved in, and any new disguises he might be wearing.

They’ll be overjoyed to tell you anything you want to know. ”

Implying what, misogyny? A bunch of lads too self-important to spare a moment to help a woman in need? Miss Henry was right. Her cousin’s friends were idiots.

“Were you able to search their premises?” Adrian asked.

She shook her head. “I was not.”

“We’ll handle it,” Jacob promised.

“I visited the Bow Street Runners, but…” Miss Henry’s voice cracked. “They dismissed me out of hand. Thank you for not doing the same.”

Jacob regarded her seriously. “We shall not rest until we’ve resolved the matter to your satisfaction.”

Then it’s your case, Marjorie signed surreptitiously. As well as your beautiful, unwed damsel in distress…

Jacob ignored her. He was never the lead on cases, and he certainly had no time for matchmaking.

Miss Henry’s eyes widened. “One more thing. Quentin did mention the canal tunnels would make a good hiding place. As well as church cellars and chalk caves. In or out of London.”

Jacob stared at her in dismay. So… her cousin could conceivably be literally anywhere above, below, or carved into the earth?

Tommy and Philippa both shot him looks of horror, as though to say they already had too much going on at once to properly handle their current cases and could not possibly participate in one as vague as this. Especially without any proof the cousin was actually missing, or in any need of rescue.

Miss Henry wrung her fingers. “I checked gaols and hospitals in the city, but I don’t have the means to travel farther afield.”

Perhaps she was simply excitable, Jacob prayed, as the list of potential places grew longer.

With luck, her cousin had spent a rowdy night at an acquaintance’s gentlemen’s club and was now sleeping off excess drink in a spare bedroom.

Or perhaps an old school friend had whisked Quentin off to a country house party, and in his excitement the lad had forgotten to inform his cousin.

Jacob kicked himself to realize now his imagination was adding infinite possibilities to the list. It would take weeks to contact every club, hunting lodge, and country house.

Months, if they needed to be present for a physical search.

Years, if one added every hospital, prison, church, tunnel, or cave into the mix.

There had to be an easier solution. Something quick and logical.

“The friends weren’t at all surprised to learn your cousin was missing?” he asked.

“Actually… yes,” Miss Henry answered. “At first, they were shocked. Until I said Quentin had mentioned a lad named Newt.”

He held up the folded paper. “Is his information here as well?”

Her features tightened in consternation.

“I have never heard of Newt. I presume it’s short for Newton, but even that is conjecture.

Christian name? Surname? Pet name? Who knows.

Quentin clearly regretted saying the name at all.

I had meant to press him further, but our argument escalated in a different direction, and the next thing I knew, he was gone. ”

Tommy stroked her chin. “Was he wearing anything that would stand out in a witness’s mind?”

“He occasionally dresses… creatively, but never in a flashy way. Although he sometimes tries to look like an aristocrat, he doesn’t own anything suitably fancy.

For example, on the morning of Quentin’s disappearance, he looked like any other young man of his age and station.

Dark-blue frock coat, light-blue waistcoat…

He thought it made him look Balcovian. Although that’s irrelevant.

The club members swear that by that afternoon, Quentin was no longer dressed as a baron, and is back to being an ordinary lad again.

But where? Doing what?” She swallowed visibly.

“Something sinister is afoot. I know it.”

“How can you possibly know?” Philippa asked.

“Because that’s how I would have written it.”

Tommy and Adrian exchanged skeptical looks.

“I know Quentin ,” Miss Henry explained.

“He may be as chaotic as a badger in a parlor, but he’s a good person when he’s not trying to be like one of you.

We have a good rhythm. I cook his favorite meals, and we eat together every morning and night.

My cousin might make plans without sharing them with me in advance, but he would never worry me this long on purpose.

The fact that he hasn’t communicated with me means that he cannot . Something has happened to him.”

“Yet his friends aren’t worried,” Jacob reminded her. “They insist he’s fine, and is off just being Quentin. Is it possible he’s communicated his safety to them , and their sense of loyalty is preventing them from sharing those details with you?”

Her lips twisted with annoyance, but her eyes held a glimmer of hope.

“Yes, actually,” she said. “Those scamps love to have a secret.”

“There you go.” Tommy slumped back against the sofa in obvious relief. “Case solved.”

“Solved?” Miss Henry repeated in disbelief. “I still don’t know where he is! I should have known you lot would do nothing.”

Jacob jumped in, “Tommy just means that he’s grown, and there’s a logical explanation, even if it’s one you don’t like. I said we’d look for him, and we will. But please recognize you’ve given us a million potential hiding places, and no actual indication anything is wrong.”

She rolled back her shoulders. “For his sake, I hope you’re right. I’d rather him be deeply thoughtless and irresponsible than hurt or in danger.”

“He’s probably fine,” Jacob agreed. “But in the spirit of thoroughness, we will make the rounds to the best of our ability.”

“Do you have a portrait of your cousin?” Marjorie asked. “I can sketch from your descriptions, but an existing likeness will improve accuracy.”

Miss Henry handed her a painted miniature. “We sat for this a decade ago, just before his mother died. It’s the only family portrait we own, and I’m afraid he’s eight years old in it.”

“Coloring and bone structure won’t have changed that much.” Marjorie pulled out a pencil and a sketchbook and moved to crouch next to Miss Henry’s armchair. “And you’re here. Describe his eyebrows?”

“His…” Miss Henry bit her lip. “Not too thick. Gently arched. Slightly higher on the left side.”

Marjorie’s pencil flew across the page. “Nose?”

Within ten minutes, she brandished what their new client proclaimed to be a surprisingly accurate likeness of her missing cousin.

“Brilliant.” Marjorie handed the sketch to Jacob. “My brother will take it from here. If you need anything at all, just ask for Jacob.”

He glared at her. Stop matchmaking .

She fluttered her eyes.

He turned back to Miss Henry. “Don’t be surprised if word of our search gets back to him and he comes home first on his own.”

A wry smile lit her face. “Once you visit his friends, that actually might happen. They idolize your investigative skills, and Quentin would never miss the perfect chance to say ‘I told you so.’ As for payment, I can’t offer you much now, but Quentin can compensate you fairly once you find him.

His trust is small, so it might take a while to—”

“It’s no problem,” Jacob assured her. “We don’t need your money. We just want to find your cousin. And we will.”

For the first time, Miss Henry looked at him as though he might be a hero after all.

Something unlocked deep within Jacob’s chest. Something warm and fluttery. He wanted Miss Henry to keep looking at him like that.

Alas, nothing ever quite goes to plan.