“Because Ido.”
“Please,” she said. “By putting ads into newspapers and running around the countryside with a false name?” Her curls bounced as she shook her head. “Indiscreet at best. If you had taken the time to properly consider, you would have realized a lady—especially a dowager who holds regular soirees—can make much more subtle inquiries.”
He stared at her, dumfounded. Yes, he supposed that was true.
“Brighton’s society is not large,” she continued, “and one rubs shoulders with all kinds. Perhaps that’s why I prefer it to London.”
And here he’d thought she just wanted to get away from him. “Where is Miss Wilson?”
“Wilson is her mother’s surname, not hers. Only Temperence is her real name. At least she had the presence of mind not to give away the whole truth, which, apparently, she did at several junctures. Good instincts, that one, even if not yet fully developed.”
“Mother…”
“She is where she’s been since the sad events of last summer—in the care of her parents, who have been wisely keeping her out of sight while they seek to move her out of the country.”
“Out of the country?” he asked in alarm.
“Do not worry. I have persuaded them to give us time. Her statement will be crucial in clearing John, but, at present, she is too afraid of her real abductor to speak. But I’ve earned her parents’ trust. Soon, I hope to have hers as well.”
Yet again, Neville was reeling.
He took a deep breath and forced himself to think. “Did she give you the name of her actual abductor?”
“She doesn’t know his name. She was taken to him by a woman she described as having blonde hair in perfect ringlets and a lovely accent, except for the occasional slip. That woman told to do as the man said, else he would take her to a London brothel, and she’d never be heard from again.”
The man wasWillard, Neville was sure. And the similarity to Mrs. Cartwright could not be coincidence. Had Mrs. Cartwright only been pretending to be on his side?
He remembered how easily she’d found him in the crowd. How she’d conveniently earned his gratitude after sending away the urchin child.
He was furious with himself. “What happened next?”
“Well, with the terrible fate awaiting her if she did not do exactly as the man said, naturally, the poor, innocent thing was frightened out of her wits. She feels awful about implicating John.”
From here, Neville already knew the story, but he listened to his mother relate the details—the meeting in the park, the ring, the accusation.
Temperence had given the man John’s ring directly after her first meeting with John.
The woman who Temperence described had accompanied her to the inn, keeping a careful eye on matters. But when John disappeared, chaos ensued, allowing Temperence to escape. If that womanwasMrs. Cartwright, everything she’d told Neville was suspect. And if he hadn’t needed to take care of Millicent, he would probably have gone off to the address she’d provided without hiring a Runner.
And what would have been waiting for him there?
And hadn’t Mrs. Cartwright’s last words to him been that he’d be too late?
What fate had Willard planned for Millie? For him?
Had Millie not had the wit to escape first, Willard could have ensnared them both.
Speculation, of course. But he’d been five steps behind Willard from the start—he had better start thinking like a criminal. This enemy demanded shrewd focus, careful calculation, Machiavellian lucidity. On his own, he had not been up to the task.
But his mother had proven a more than competent ally.
“Thank you.” He took his mother’s hands and kissed them. “I should have trusted you.”
Chagrin didn’t begin to describe how he felt. In treating his mother as helpless, he’d been playing by rules that had hindered his progress, rules that had never made any sense at all.
Her gaze softened. “You’re so much like—”
“My father.” In his weariness, he let some of his bitterness slip. “So you’ve often said.”