Page 20 of The Detective and the Baroness

Corrine slammed her case on the bench next to her packaged baked goods. “Because I have not heard from you!” she snapped irritably. Then she exhaled. “I apologize. I should not vent my frustrations on you. I had to see for myself what was going on.”

“I have not been by to see you because there has been nothing to report—until today. There is no need to apologize.”

“Yes, there is. I am afraid I have a quick temper, but it dissipates swiftly enough. The report. Does it concern the man visiting with Travis?”

“It does. His name is Mr. Stanley Dobson, and he is a solicitor and partner with Dobson, Weiss, and Handleman,” Mitchell replied.

“Oh, I see,” Corrine replied softly. “So Travis is planning to divorce me.”

“No, my lady. I do not believe so. Dobson specializes in estate planning, inheritance, and wills. He came to Addington’s yesterday afternoon, and I followed him back to his office not far from here. I then went inside and questioned who in the firm handles divorce cases. The lady receptionist gave me all the particulars of which partner does what legal activity. Dobson is strictly the kind of solicitor I mentioned.”

Corrine frowned. “Wills and inheritance. To what end?”

“Probably, Addington has not had a chance to sort out his will since becoming the baron. Is there someone to inherit the title if anything should happen to him, my lady?”

“I would prefer you call me Corrine, as you did earlier. At least when we are alone.”

“It’s not proper,” Mitchell mumbled. “You hired me. You are a baron’s wife.” As he kept reminding himself—to no avail.

“Nevertheless, I do request it.”

Why argue? “Very well—Corrine. My question?”

“And it’s an excellent inquiry. I have no earthly idea. My husband and I rarely discussed anything of consequence, especially concerning the past and the future. I will bring it up casually next we speak. If we ever speak again.” Corrine glanced out the window. “Mr. Dobson is leaving. Shall we follow him?”

Mitchell’s eyebrow cocked. “We?”

“I want to assist with this case. Please allow me to help when I can. I am going mad sitting alone in the parlor, imagining all sorts of things. Please, Mitchell.”

Her suggestion was tempting. Spending time with the beautiful baroness? He should shut this down before it went any further. Wasn’t this how many of his acquaintances began intimate relationships? By having someone assist with an investigative case? But none of the couples in question had been married at the time. That was a barrier Mitchell would never cross, no matter how enticing the lady. He hadn’t known Corrine for long, but had the distinct impression that she would never break her marital vows. Not that he would ever propose they do so.

“It is rather dull doings conducting a surveillance, and two people are not usually needed in such a circumstance. There’s no need to follow Dobson, for I would guess he is returning to his office.” Her lovely face showed acute disappointment. “However, if I should require assistance, you will be the first person I contact.”

Her smile lit up the carriage’s interior, basking him in soothing warmth.

“You may consider this forward of me,” Mitchell continued. “If you are going mad sitting in the parlor, I have a place where you can put your nursing talents to use at least once a week.”

“Do tell.”

“Remember I told you about the late Duke of Chellenham?”

“Yes, I do. You are his biological son.”

“I am not alone. You see, the late duke was an egotistical, despicable creature who believed his bloodline was superior to any other. Damon found numerous books on eugenics in his study.”

Corrine shook her head. “I have heard of it. It is a belief and practice to improve the so-called quality of the human population by excluding those deemed unworthy. It’s entirely repugnant. The late duke believed in this preposterous theory?”

“He did, to an extent. Damon said his father aimed to produce beautiful children but wasn’t overly concerned with the intellectual aspect. He set up a home for foundlings, brought in some like-minded peers and business acquaintances, and set up a profitable pyramid scheme to sell children and babies, some of them, his own.”

Corrine’s hand fled to her mouth in shock. “My God. Don’t tell me—”

“Yes. I was sold to the Simpsons, all but wiping out their savings. It worked out well enough for me. And for Drew Hornsby.”

“The doctor is your half-brother. When did you discover this?” Corrine asked with a shocked tone.

“Shortly after Drew did, while he treated my injury. There are possibly hundreds of us. Drew suggested we form a group to locate and offer assistance to those siblings we know of. We have an initial list that Damon’s mother had in her possession, plus there are ledgers of names beyond that. Decades’ worth. I cheekily suggested we call ourselves ‘The Duke’s Bastards.’ The name stuck.”

“What do you want me to do?”