Page 4 of The Detective and the Baroness

Much had transpired since Mitchell had departed Damon’s residence. First, he moved in with Doctor Hornsby at Gloucester Square. After settling in his comfortable room, he stopped by Damon’s and told his half-brother what he and Drew Hornsby planned to do. Damon balked, believing the past best left alone. But as Mitchell succinctly pointed out, that was easy enough to say when brought up in privilege as the legitimate heir to a duke.

Ultimately, Damon came around to their way of thinking, and agreed to give Mitchell—and Hornsby, for that matter—some space. He quickly realized that they needed it. Their lives, like Damon’s, had been thrown into turmoil because of recent revelations.

Mitchell and Drew had agreed to follow the names on the list in the order they were written, and now that Mitchell was recovering, they intended to put their plan in motion. One name at a time. First up was Liam Hallahan. Through letters Edward Cranston had sent the duchess, Mitchell had learned that Hallahan’s tavern was in the East End. The evil man had boasted about his offspring and kept tabs on them.

But back to the matter at hand: Lady Addington.

The hansom cab pulled up in front of a Wimpole Street residence in Marylebone. The dwelling resembled the white stucco town house where he lived with Drew Hornsby on Gloucester Square, only this one was more modest and only had the white plaster on the main level. The other two stories were light sandstone.

Slowly, he exited the hansom, paid the driver, and, leaning on his cane, used the door’s brass knocker. At least there weren’t any stairs to climb to reach the front entrance. Mitchell had enough trouble navigating Drew’s home in Gloucester Square. He and Drew lived on the top floors of a large four-story residence recently renovated into flats.

His prior residence was two rooms at the rear of Lady Ainsworth’s Kensington home. The kindly older widow insisted he stay rent-free until he fully recovered. But that would not be fair, as she should lease the rooms to someone who could pay the entire rent. Better he recovered under the watchful eye of a doctor.

His insides were in knots as he waited for someone to open the door. No woman had ever had him in this muddled state before. The door opened, and Lady Addington stood before him, dressed in a floral tea gown of light blue silk with a gold and red rose overlay. Her beauty took his breath away. With her auburn hair, blue eyes, and alabaster skin, she was everything bright and glorious. And the bold way she stared at him made his insides turn to absolute mush.

“I am so glad you agreed to meet with me, Sergeant Simpson. Do come in.” She stepped aside, revealing a footman standing nearby. “Jonathan, bring the tea tray to the sitting room.”

The footman bowed slightly and made his way down the hall.

“Right in here, Sergeant.” The baroness led him to a luminous room caused by the sun’s rays pouring in through the sheer draperies—and her brilliant and potent presence.

Good God. I must get a firm grip on my wayward emotions.

But Mitchell could not help it. His insides roiled like mad. He could not stop staring at her. Mitchell looked about the room for a distraction from his inappropriate reaction. The oak furniture, in overall good condition, showed decades of wear. It looked like a peerage residence, with the trappings of wealth, however modest, evident with the art in gilded frames and expensive trinkets scattered about the room. After unbuttoning his wool coat, he sat on the sofa and set his cane and homburg hat beside him. The baroness sat opposite.

“I did not have the chance to thank you, my lady, for your care and competent nursing. I appreciated it very much.”

She flushed slightly, making her all the more striking. “I was glad to do it. And I’m pleased to see you up and about. Is there much pain? Forgive me. It seems I cannot stop being a nurse.”

“I don’t mind. There is pain now and then. I’m staying with Doctor Hornsby, and he is monitoring my situation, insisting that I do his daily rehabilitation exercises. All I can do is take this situation as it comes.”

“How very sensible of you. Well done. Is your leave from the Metropolitan Police temporary?”

“I’m hoping that will be the case, my lady. Although Doctor Hornsby states it may be some months before I’m able to return.”

“I saw the wedding announcement of the Duke of Chellenham and Althea Galway in the paper,” Lady Corrine said.

“Yes, it was a small affair with only a few people in attendance, my lady.”

“And you were one of the attendees? Of course, since you are friends with the duke. You recovered at his home.”

Mitchell nodded. He did not wish to get into the details of his newly formed relationship with his recently discovered half-brother—at least, not now. Luckily, the footman picked that moment to enter the room. He placed a large silver tea service before the baroness. Small, perfectly cut sandwiches and a few biscuits sat on a platter.

“Thank you, Jonathan. Please see that we are not disturbed.”

“Yes, my lady.”

With the departure of the servant, they were alone once again.

Lady Addington poured the tea. “Cream? Milk? Sugar?”

“No sugar and a little milk. Thank you.”

She passed him the cup. “I wish to hire you, Detective Simpson. Althea Galway informed me that you were open to taking on some of their clients while you recover. I wish to be the first.”

Mitchell sipped his tea, then reached for a beefsteak sandwich. He couldn’t stand those fishpaste ones that were often served in upper-class parlors.

“Taking on a few customers is only a temporary sideline as I have every intention of returning to the police force as soon as possible. But in the meantime, why are you engaging the Galway Investigative Agency?” He stopped, realizing how forward he was acting. “Sorry, my lady, that is none of my business.”