Chapter Twenty-Four

Kit had made a horrible mistake. She’d thought telling Priscilla her brother loved her enough to be concerned about her was a good thing. After all, so many of the women they helped talked about how lonely and unloved they were feeling. And if Priscilla gave Kit permission to tell Oliver what was going on, it might give Kit an excuse to see Graham again.

Which proved the idea had been foolish on more than one level.

And now she really had a problem on her hands.

“You’re up late.”

Kit looked up from the distressing letter sitting on her small writing desk to see Daphne standing in the doorway of Kit’s bedroom. A single candle sat on the corner of the desk, throwing an eerie set of shadows across the old silk robe draped across Daphne’s shoulders. It was one of the few pieces of clothing from London that Daphne still had.

“You wouldn’t be able to say that if you weren’t up late, too,” Kit said, trying to push out a smile and a bit of levity. She would have to tell Daphne and Jess what had happened, but her first instinct was always to protect Daphne from anything unpleasant whenever possible.

A serene smile glowed across Daphne’s face. “True. But I’m going to blame Sophie for that one. She fell out of the bed.”

While Kit and Jess slept in the main floor apartment, Daphne had a room on the same floor as the children’s bedchambers. It allowed Jess to go down to the kitchen early and let Kit stay up late to work on accounts, but it meant that Daphne got to handle any middle-of-the-night problems.

“Is Sophie hurt?”

Daphne shook her head. “She barely even woke up. By the time I got in there Sarah was already scooping her back into bed.”

Kit nodded and ran a finger along the edge of the letter. She could wait until morning, but the news wasn’t going to change. “I’ve made a bit of a tangle, Daphne.” She forced her eyes to meet Daphne’s soft gaze. “Priscilla’s missing.”

Concern and confusion chased the remaining sleepiness from Daphne’s face. “Missing?”

Kit held up the letter. “It’s from Mrs. Corbet.”

“She’s the woman housing Priscilla, isn’t she? The family in Yatesbury?” Daphne perched on the edge of Kit’s bed.

Kit turned in her chair and nodded. Mrs. Corbet was with child as well, only a month or two further along than Priscilla. She would give Priscilla a place to live until the baby was born and then care for both babies until Priscilla’s child was ready to move to the manor. It was what Mrs. Foster was currently doing with baby Olivia. What they’d done with every child. It was a process that worked.

But only if the mother stayed put.

“I’m not sure where she’s gone to,” Kit said, “but she’s run away. Oh, Daphne, what have I done?”

Where had she gone? Why had she gone? Was she going home? Trying to see Oliver? Coming to Haven Manor? What if she showed up at Nash’s office? Kit would really be in trouble if that happened. Nash worked very hard to make sure nothing in his office reflected the true nature of Haven Manor. It was why they’d drawn up the contracts about the chess sets. It made everything simpler from a legal standpoint.

But the contracts and chess sets were the least of Kit’s worries at the moment. What was she going to do about Priscilla?

“She is a grown woman, Kit. If she wants to brave the world on her own, that’s her prerogative.” Daphne’s forehead scrunched together, and her head tilted as she looked at Kit. It was the same look she wore when one of the children got sick.

“But we had an agreement,” Kit said, turning back to the desk so that she didn’t have to see the concern on Daphne’s face.

“And how is her breaking it your fault?”

Kit was silent for a moment and then propped her elbow on the desk and dropped her head into her hand. “Because I wrote to her and told her that her brother was worried.”

“Oh.” Daphne’s voice was small and when she didn’t say anything else, Kit dropped her head down on the desk.

A rustle of fabric preceded the light touch of Daphne’s hand on Kit’s shoulder. “Go to sleep.”

Kit’s head popped up, and she twisted to look at her friend. “What?”

“Sleep,” she repeated. “You can’t very well go riding off into the countryside tonight to find her, and if you don’t get any sleep you’ll not be able to think clearly tomorrow, so put the letter down and go to bed.”

Kit looked from the bed to Daphne, then down to the letter. Daphne was right. While sleep might be hard for Kit to find, sitting up and burning through candles wasn’t doing anyone any good. So she let Daphne guide her to bed and pull the covers up to her chin. Surprisingly, by the time Daphne took the candle to guide her way back up the stairs, Kit was already falling asleep.

Kit woke as the door to her room banged against the wall, possibly hard enough to break the hinges.

Daphne pushed her way into Kit’s room, a firm, determined line to her lips. Jess was directly behind her, looking curious as if she’d followed Daphne through the house just to see what she was going to do.

Kit looked from one to the other as she pushed her disheveled hair out of her eyes. She’d forgotten to braid it the night before, which meant she probably looked a fright this morning.

Though not quite as frightening as the menacing look on Daphne’s face—a novel experience indeed. “I need the satchel.”

Kit blinked at her declaration and looked to Jess as if the blond woman could provide a bit of clarity to Daphne’s cryptic comment. Jess simply leaned a shoulder against the doorframe and tilted one corner of her mouth up in a grin. She had a look of pride on her face, like a mama bird watching her babies try to fly.

“What satchel?” Kit asked, trying to push her brain into wakefulness.

Daphne fluttered one hand in front of her. “The satchel. The only one we have, as far as I know. It’s not like we do a lot of traveling or require much luggage.”

Kit sat straight up. “Are you traveling?”

She nodded. “I think The Committee needs to know Priscilla is missing. They could help us keep an eye out for her. Obviously, this entire situation is causing you a great deal of trauma.” She swallowed hard and set her shoulders back. “Therefore I intend to take the meeting.”

Understanding flashed through Kit, and she pushed to her feet so fast that she felt a bit dizzy. There was no way she was letting Daphne go back to London, no way she was subjecting Daphne to the myriad emotions that flooded Kit every time she returned to the city. “No.”

“Oh.” Daphne deflated a little bit.

Jess kicked her in the knee, making Daphne stumble forward a bit.

Her nose went back up in the air. “Yes. I’ve let you take that role for far too long. It’s time I pulled my weight around here.”

“Pull your weight?” Kit stepped forward and grabbed Daphne by the shoulders. How could she say such a thing? She worked harder than anyone. “Who put little Sophie back in bed when she fell out of it last night? Who do all the children come crying to when they get a scrape? Who teaches them how to hold a fork or tie their shoes?”

What would possibly make Daphne feel like she wasn’t doing enough? Kit looked at Jess over Daphne’s shoulder and then pushed around her friend to come nose to nose with Jess. “Did you put her up to this?”

Jess scoffed. “Hardly. If I had determined it was time to do something about your mood I’d have just thrown you in the lake.”

The thought of an early-morning dunking in the lake had Kit wrapping the thin robe she’d fallen asleep in a bit tighter around her body. She knew she hadn’t been the easiest person to live with lately—even the children were avoiding her when they could. “I’m surprised you haven’t done so already.”

“Me too.” Jess pushed away from the wall. “But Daphne has a point. There’s only so much that we can do to help Priscilla from here. We trust The Committee. If we’re truly concerned, I have people I can contact to find her.”

Whatever emergency contacts Jess had were sure to be fearsome, but at the moment the idea of Daphne—sweet, caring Daphne—going back to London scared Kit more.

No. No. Kit shook her head. It couldn’t be Daphne. London had forgotten Daphne. The world had forgotten Daphne. Kit was The Governess, she was the one who put herself in danger. If something were to happen to her . . . well, she knew that everyone would cry and be sad, but honestly Haven Manor didn’t work without Daphne. She was the mother here, the one who made sure the children knew they were special and loved. Even Jess, in her own way, was better at that than Kit. Kit got too caught up in tasks and order and she forgot simple matters like telling the children good morning. Daphne never did. The children needed her more than they needed Kit.

“And you aren’t going either,” Jess said, “so you can stop that thought right now.”

Kit reached beneath her bed and pulled out the beaten leather satchel that they rarely had reason to use. “Why not? Maybe getting out of the house is the very thing I need.”

“You need to get out of your head,” Jess grumbled, stepping into the room and grabbing the bag.

Daphne put an arm around Kit’s shoulders. “I know you’re worried that Wharton is going to tell someone about us, but it’s been three weeks. If he were going to say anything, he’d have done so by now.”

Kit swallowed. It was good for Daphne to think Kit’s mood had been because of worry. That was better than the thoughts that had actually been coursing through Kit’s mind. All the what-ifs, all the might-have-beens, all the wonderings of how life could have been different if Kit’s attention had been captured by a man like Graham all those years ago instead of a cad like Maxwell Oswald.

She glanced at Daphne and smiled, then avoided looking at Jess. That woman could see through Kit like a window.

“I’ll go,” Jess said.

“But The Committee doesn’t know you,” Kit said.

“They don’t actually know you either,” Daphne added, biting her lip.

“Then we’re agreed. It doesn’t matter which of us goes because whoever makes the trip is going to have to take Margaretta with them anyway. So I’ll go.” Jess stepped toward the door, satchel in hand. “I’m more concerned about the whispers Nash’s man keeps hearing. I’d like to know what’s being said and put a stop to it.”

She hugged the leather satchel to her chest and took a deep breath before lifting her eyes to meet Kit’s gaze. Never before had the petite woman looked so vulnerable. “I don’t want to have to run again.”

Graham awoke feeling better than he had in weeks. He didn’t know what his purpose was going to be yet, but just the idea of looking for one gave him a better sense of self. A vague, undirected desire to make someone’s life better drove through him, leaving him unable to sit for very long.

When the butler gave him a note from Oliver letting Graham know his friend was back in town, Graham took his nervous energy and walked over to Oliver’s house, landing on his doorstep a little bit before it was socially acceptable to be there.

He was shown straight to a drawing room, however, and Oliver soon joined him.

“There was nothing in Sussex,” Oliver said as he came in the door. “No one there has seen her in months.”

“You’ve had no luck with your father?”

Oliver shook his head. “I talked with him twice before traveling to Sussex last week. I waited and picked the best possible times to approach him, trying something a little different every time. When I talked to him this morning, he finally admitted to sending her somewhere.”

Graham frowned. “But he won’t say where?”

“No.” Oliver jumped from his seat and started to pace. “He says I should trust that he has her best interests at heart.”

Perhaps Oliver wasn’t the best place for Graham to start his life-enrichment goals. There wasn’t really much Graham could do here unless he confronted Lord Trenting, and that wasn’t likely to help anyone. “And the chess set?”

“He called it an investment. He said that I might not see it now, but buying that chess set would have a great impact on our family’s future.”

Graham’s eyes widened. A wooden chess set was an investment? Jewels and gold might become more valuable over time, but wood?

He knew there was a process for declaring the king incompetent because they were all currently living under the rule of the Prince Regent, but was there a similar process for an earl? Because it really did sound as if Lord Trenting had lost his mind.

Oliver dropped into a chair and slumped against the back, anguish in every line of his body and all across his face. “There’s nothing I can do. I asked if he’d heard from Prissy since she went to wherever he sent her and he said yes, but he won’t show me the letter. He won’t even tell me what direction to send my own letter to. He assures me she’s in good health and will return when she’s learned a few lessons in how to handle herself in public.”

Graham’s brows drew together. There was certainly something strange about the way Oliver’s father was wording everything. Assuming, of course, that Oliver was repeating the statements back correctly.

So if Graham couldn’t solve the problem of Priscilla, was there something else he could do for Oliver? His friend looked tired, and his clothes fit him a little looser than his tailor would like. Perhaps Graham could do for Oliver what he’d tried to do for the people at Haven Manor and distract him from life for a little while.

“Fancy a visit to Fareweather’s?”

Oliver grunted and nodded. “Maybe hitting and stabbing things will make me feel better.”