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“Come and see me whenever you wish,” he said, following her to the drawing room door. “And there are specialists I could recommend. But my best advice is not to worry about it. Enjoy what you have.”

For no reason, she wanted to cry. “Thank you,” she managed. “You are very kind.”

She showed him out herself, since there were no servants immediately visible, then closed the front door and leaned against it, her heart thundering, waiting until she heard the horses at the door trotting off.

Well, she had asked. Sort of. Without giving him any information to work with, which meant she could hardly be satisfied with his answer. But she knew for herself, didn’t she? She had always known.

She wiped her sleeve across her eyes, in a gesture that inspired both guilt and laughter, and a very loud sniff, just as the door heaved at her back.

Jumping forward, she opened it wide and beheld her surprised husband on the step.

“Piers,” she said in pleased surprised.

“April,” he returned gravely, removing his key from the latch. “May I come in?”

She almost pulled him inside, thrusting the last half-hour to the back of her mind. “I have so much to tell you. Let’s go to the library. Oh, you just missed Dr. Laine. He wants you to be the groomsman at his wedding.”

“Yes, he told me as he galloped off. I shall have to start composing my speech. Is Gussie here?”

“Lying down in the spare room.” Opening the library door, she led him inside and almost pushed him into his favourite chair, then quickly fetched him a small glass of brandy which she presented while kneeling at his feet.

She needed to make things normal again, and this was the best way she knew.

Sitting at his feet in the library, talking about puzzles and life and small things that were exquisitely funny.

He kept his gaze on hers as he drank from the glass, then passed it to her. She took a sip, then passed it back, and lowered her bottom onto the floor. She laid her head on his thigh and sighed.

This is better. This is how we are meant to be.

For a few moments, she just absorbed his presence, his warmth, the gentleness of his fingers idly caressing her hair. Then she said, “Mrs. Robb’s baby is not dead. She lied to us. I thought our baby was hers at first, but it isn’t. Her baby is more than six months old. And a girl.”

“Cor,” Piers commented, and she giggled because it had once been her favourite expression of surprise and appreciation. “I might have found Simon Park—entirely by accident, you understand—but naturally I can’t tell.”

***

S OMETHING ABOUT THIS latest puzzle in their lives was bothering April.

Piers was aware of it, even as he sensed her settling back into the comfort there had always been between them.

He liked that she still needed him in this way.

In truth, the unconditional belief of this vital, fragile yet strong little creature, male or female, servant or wife, had always been balm to his weary soul.

Her trouble concerned him, but clearly she was not ready to talk about it. She might not even know what it was herself, for she was eager to talk over the mystery of the baby, and how the various bits and pieces they had learned fitted together. Or didn’t.

“So, we know there was a hackney at our house at about the time the baby must have been left,” she said, “since the maid across the road saw it, and Mr. Darcy was almost run over by it. And the Rentons’ footman thinks he might have seen one.

Why was it in such a hurry to dash off after idling at our door? ”

“Because whoever left the baby was bolting before they could be seen?”

“Simon Park being not the passenger but the driver of the hackney?”

“It’s a possibility, but an odd one. If Simon abducted his newly born child and travelled south with him, how did he feed him on the journey?

And while he began his career as a hackney driver.

The other jarveys had clearly known him at least a few days.

” In fact, in telling the story to her, he realized the thinness of his theory.

“I suppose there could be any number of reasons he didn’t like answering questions,” April mused. “He could have been involved in some other nefarious business, totally unrelated to our baby. Or he may have some tragedy in his life that made talk of babies difficult for him.”

Piers sighed. “Or he just couldn’t be bothered with strangers asking what seemed like stupid questions to a man who needed to earn an honest crust.”

“What about Mr. Darcy? Was he telling the truth?”

Piers sipped his brandy, then brushed the glass against the back of April’s hand where it lay on his knee. She lifted her head and accepted the glass.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “He didn’t look remotely embarrassed to see me, made no effort to shake me off. He even invited me to a no doubt riotous and financially ruinous party at White’s. But I could swear he was keeping something back.”

“Maybe he was just embarrassed that he couldn’t really remember anything except falling over in the street.”

“Maybe.” Piers took the proffered glass back from her. “Incidentally, where have I met him before?”

“He was at the theatre just before Christmas and waved to you. So you must have met him before that - last spring, probably at Lady Petteril’s ball.”

“Perhaps,” Piers allowed. He was sure he didn’t know the man well.

He drained the brandy glass. “I could almost imagine him being so bosky that he found it amusing to pinch some poor child and dump it on the doorstep of the highest ranking aristocrat in the square, just for a prank. But surely even the most irresponsible of rakes would not do such a thing with his own son?”

“I don’t see that it’s any better—worse, in fact—to do it to someone else’s.” April, resting her chin on her interlocked hands on his knee, was scowling blackly.

“Oh, you are right, of course. I’m just trying to understand him and no doubt maligning him in the process. Anything untoward in Aunt Prudence’s house?”

“I don’t think so. I went down to the kitchen before I left, and all the servants seemed genuinely surprised and outraged by the abandonment of our baby.

We did investigate them pretty thoroughly before Christmas and I really can’t see them behaving as they do and encouraging someone else to dump their child on us.

” She sighed. “We’re not really much further forward, are we? ”

“We may never be,” Piers warned. “It was always like looking for the proverbial needle. But I don’t feel we should give up just yet. We have, after all, stirred up a few pots. We need to keep our eyes on them while making further inquiries.”

They talked a little about their next steps. Then Piers said, “What do you want to do about Mrs. Robb?”

April took her hands off his knee and dropped a kiss on it. Piers wondered how much time they had for privacy before dinner.

“Talk to her. First. Let’s get it over with.”