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W hen Piers had told her about the Parks’ son—and possible grandchild—they revised their plans. While he would call on the neighbours, April would go alone to Great Aunt Prudence and inquire about her servants while she was there.

“We can pick Gussie’s brains about my aunt’s servants,” he said.

“And Smithy’s brain,” April said thoughtfully, since the maid would come with Gussie, no doubt for an added layer of respectability.

“Exactly. I’ll ask around the hackney stands, and if I’ve time, see if there’s a trace of Simon Park in any of the hostels.”

“They’d remember him if he had a baby with him,” April said.

“Especially if he came back without it yesterday,” Piers agreed.

“Then there’s Francis,” April said. “Did Park know where his sweetheart is employed?”

“Yes, but we don’t want to go barging in and making difficulties for the girl,” Piers warned.

“Oh, I won’t do that.” April grinned. “I’ll go incognito. Incognita?”

“Preferably neither.”

She nudged him. “Stop being the viscount. We have a puzzle to solve.”

Accordingly, they separated, and April walked briskly to Aunt Prudence’s house as she had done so often in recent weeks.

In the end, she encountered Piers’s great aunt returning from a morning walk on the arm of Angus Baird, her general factotum whose position in her household was neither servant nor guest nor master yet bore traces of all three.

April liked him, though he was a quick-tempered, grumpy bear of a man. He was also unfailingly gentle with Aunt Prudence, although he was perfectly capable of scolding her and scowling at her.

In his own way, he was not unattractive, but she doubted he had had time to sow any wild oats in London, even supposing he noticed women other than Prudence.

“Why, it’s the little viscountess,” Aunt Prudence greeted her, beaming, as they met at the gate of her house—which bore less signs of neglect than it had before Christmas. “Have you come for tea and a gossip?”

“I have, with much to tell you. You’re looking well, Aunt Prudence.”

“So are you.”

In perfect accord, with Baird looking on benignly, they entered the house. Edie the housemaid greeted April with a cheery smile, took everyone’s overcoats and hats, and asked if she could bring refreshments.

Impressed by the improvement in the girl’s manners, April looked around her and found the chaotic house still clean and bright and cheerful. She nodded approval to Edie who positively grinned.

“Be off with you, girl,” Baird growled. “And don’t forget the refreshments.”

Over rich hot chocolate and cake, April told them about Maria’s happy news, and then about the baby left on the Petteril doorstep.

“Good heavens,” Aunt Prudence said.

“Odd place to leave a bairn,” Baird commented.

“Exactly,” April agreed. “We don’t know if it was luck, if whoever left it was in a terrible hurry, or if they had some idea that Piers and I would make sure he was brought up safely.”

“That’s quite a lot of trust,” Aunt Prudence remarked.

“People do trust Piers, though.”

“And you,” Prudence pointed out. “Lots of your acquaintance must know of your improved circumstances.”

“Surprisingly few,” April said, unoffended by the old lady’s remark. Ape had disappeared after all, and only Annie cared. Annie, courtesan and friend from the past had protected her in childhood when she could, and April had recently returned the favour when Annie’s lover had been murdered.

Annie had not had a baby, and she would never dream of advising anyone to dump their baby on April without asking.

“He was left on the area steps,” April told Aunt Prudence and Baird. “Not at the front door. So the connection might be through the servants.”

“I think you’re wrong,” Baird said. “Sounds like an act of desperation to me, not a plan. The baby would be better hidden in the area, that’s all. Maybe she went back for it and it had vanished.”

“Then why didn’t she knock at the area door and ask?” April objected.

“In case she was accused of doing away with the poor wee thing.”

This was something April had not thought of either. But for some reason, her own words were distracting her.

“Why didn’t she knock at the area door and ask?”

Mrs. Robb had knocked and asked...sort of.

***

A S HE RATHER EXPECTED , Piers learned nothing from Mr. and Mrs. Renton, who lived in one of the houses on the end of the square facing the park. They were very flattered he had called but did not rise early enough to have seen a baby nor even heard a hackney cab before nine o’clock in the morning.

More encouragingly, the footman who showed him out again, said a hackney had driven past, going east when he’d opened the front door around eight or so, but he hadn’t paid it any attention.

His insides awash with tea, Piers walked on around the square to the Darcys’ home and sent in his card.

A young man he couldn’t recall ever seeing before, emerged almost immediately from a door further down the hall.

“Petteril!” he exclaimed, stretching out his hand as he strode to meet him. “Pleasure to see you again!”

These were the kinds of moments Piers never got used to. He had no idea he had even met Darcy before, but apparently he had.

If this was, in fact, young Mr. Darcy. Which he didn’t know either. Therefore, he smiled and shook hands cordially without speaking, hoping the gentleman would give him a hint.

“Care to come through? I’m sorting my snuff.”

Somewhat baffled, Piers followed him back to the room he’d emerged from, which was lined with shelves full of jars, all labelled.

A glass cabinet displayed a rather beautiful collection of snuff boxes.

No one else was in the room, which smelled strongly of spice and tobacco, so Piers gathered this was indeed young Mr. Darcy.

“Bit of a hobby of mine,” Darcy said. “Got to do something other than drink and dance and play cards, eh? Got a preference, yourself?”

“About snuff?” Piers said cautiously. “Don’t care for it to be honest. Knew a fellow at Oxford whose clothes were positively covered in the stuff—put me off, rather.”

“Sounds like a dashed waste,” Darcy remarked, shaking a concoction he had clearly just mixed into the small, enamelled box beside him.

“Pretty box,” Piers remarked. “I’m afraid I’ve come on a slightly different errand. You may or may not have heard that someone left a baby on our doorstep yesterday morning.”

Darcy paused in the act of taking a pinch of snuff, his fingers halfway to his nose. “Baby?” he repeated.

“Baby. About a month or six weeks old, I’m told, and we can’t find a trace of its mother.”

“Gone to ground, dear boy, and left you holding the baby.” Darcy placed the snuff on the back of his hand which he tilted toward each nostril in turn and sniffed delicately. “Which I suppose makes a change.”

“The child isn’t mine,” Piers said mildly. “But I need to know where he came from before we decide what to do with him. I don’t suppose you were up and about between seven and eight of the clock yesterday morning? Or even a little later?”

“No idea, to be honest. I rolled in with the dawn. I think. Not entirely sober. Snored all day.”

Piers persevered. “How did you get home? By hackney?”

“No, I don’t think...” He scowled. “No, I walked, for a damned hackney nearly ran me down in the square! I’ll swear the horses tickled my ears and the carriage tore a hole in my coat.”

“You mean you were actually knocked down?” Piers demanded.

Darcy considered. “Might have fallen down. Been a long night, y’know. Gave me a fright, though, and I had to pick myself up. Again.”

“But you’ve no idea what time this was? Was it light?”

Darcy set down his snuff box and scratched his head. “Getting there,” he said at last.

“Excellent,” Piers said encouragingly. “That’s very helpful. Did you see if there was anyone inside the hackney?”

Darcy did think about it, quite eager to please. “I couldn’t tell,” he said at last.

“Did you see a number? Or could you describe the driver? Or the horses?”

“They were all dark and he wore a hat.”

Piers waited optimistically for more, but that appeared to be all Darcy had. “Well, if you think of anything else, pop across the square and let me know. Or my wife.”

“Happy to, old boy. Tell you what, Petteril, are you engaged for the evening? Dashed dull in Town just now for the most part, but a few bang-up fellows have got together a bit of a party tonight at White’s, if you’d care to join us?”

“That’s very kind of you,” Piers said, oddly touched. “If I’m passing White’s, I’ll most definitely drop in.”

He wouldn’t, of course, since his chances of actually locating Darcy among the sea of faces at White’s were minimal.

As always, he tried to focus on something other than his companion’s face—the colour of his hair, the length of his side whiskers, the sound of his voice—but he was fairly sure he would walk right past him anywhere but in the man’s own house.

Still, Piers took his leave with great affability and went in search of hostels and hackneys.

***

J AMES DARCY GAZED AT the door of his snuff room for some time after his distinguished guest had left.

The world knew Lord Petteril for an eccentric—Darcy rather liked that about him—but he was also rumoured to be dashed clever behind his quizzing glasses and amiable vagueness.

Darcy rather thought that the haughtiness some of the younger men complained of was due to his mind being on other things beyond their ken. Or just to shyness.

Darcy understood shyness. He was rather shy himself, which was why he drank so much. The alcohol loosened his tongue and his self-consciousness and enabled him to have more fun.

A lot more fun.