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“Have you done so?”

Alexander rubbed his hand across his face. “That’s just it, you see. I gave my word to the woman, but I have nothing more to go on than her name—and it’s a rather common one, at that—and a piece of string with a scrap of fabric attached. I have hunted for him from morning to night these last two days, with no success.”

Miss Hadford frowned. “Where have you searched?”

With a sigh, Alexander rehearsed the loose chain of clues he’d followed, ending with Lucy’s confirmation that Mary Brown did, in fact, have a child but that she knew nothing about him. “And so you see, Miss Hadford, despite my best efforts, I am no closer to finding the boy.”

Her thoughtful expression was tinged with sorrow. “You are right, my lord, I do not immediately see how I may help you.”

She seemed genuinely disappointed, and Alexander took a moment to appreciate her sincerity. It was a rare attribute among the nobility. “You have given of your time and consideration, Miss Hadford. That was good of you.”

She offered him a sad smile. “Time and consideration are two of the few things I have in excess, my lord. I only wish I could have put them to better use for you.”

Outside the library, the sound of voices and laughter reached them. Someone had exited the ballroom, and Alexander was abruptly reminded of why he was there. “I should probably make an appearance at the ball,” he said.

She nodded. “That would undoubtedly please the Norringtons.” She glanced at Lady Millward’s dozing form just as the older lady breathed a rather inelegant snore. Stifling a giggle behind her gloved fingers, she looked back at him. “I shall stay here a little longer, I think.”

Alexander chuckled. “As Lady Millward’s chaperone.”

“Just so,” she said, humor dancing in her eyes.

He bowed. “It was a pleasure talking to you, Miss Hadford.”

“Thank you, Lord Bloxley.” She inclined her head politely, and with an unsettling feeling of regret, Alexander walked out of the library.

Chapter 5

“Are you sure you’d rather not go with us, Jane?” Phoebe asked for the third time since breakfast. “It seems a terrible waste not to spend your last day in London visiting the modiste. Who knows when we’ll be back.”

“London is considerably closer to Berkshire than it is to Yorkshire, Phoebe. I have no doubt we shall be back to do more shopping soon—particularly if you and Mother have any say in the matter.”

Phoebe’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, I do hope so!”

Jane regarded her with amusement. The two sisters loved each other fiercely, but they could not be more different in their likes and dislikes. Phoebe’s love of pretty gowns had begun at infancy. She had been threading flowers into her hair and twirling in circles so that her petticoats fluffed up since she had begun to walk. Jane, on the other hand, had spent her childhood climbing trees and covering her gowns with grass stains and oil paints. “I’d much rather spend my last day in town visiting the art gallery.”

“But you’ve been there already.”

This time, Jane could not contain her laughter. “The same could be said for you and the milliners’ shops you have frequented these last few weeks.”

Phoebe gave her a chagrined look. “I suppose you are right.”

“Indeed, I am,” Jane said, reaching for her cane and rising to her feet from the chair she’d been occupying in the drawing room. “You will have a marvelous time with Mother, and I shall enjoy being with Aunt Millward.”

“Did I hear my name?” Aunt Millward appeared at the door, wearing a monstrous hat adorned with three long peacock feathers that bounced alarmingly as she moved.

“You did,” Jane said, greeting her with a smile. “I was just telling Phoebe how much I am looking forward to our outing.”

“As am I, my dear.” She extended her arm. “Bernard has just informed me that the carriage is here. Are you ready to go?”

“I am.”

The carriage ride passed quickly. At this early hour in the morning, the roads were empty, except for merchants going about their business. Through the carriage window, Jane watched a greengrocer carry a box of cabbages into his shop and a young man step out of the baker’s shop next door carrying a loaf of bread under his arm. It could not possibly be the same bakery that Lord Bloxley had visited, but Jane’s thoughts inevitably returned to the conversation they’d shared two nights before. Truth be told, she’d thought of little else since Lord Bloxley had walked out of the Norringtons’ library.

She still marveled that the handsome earl had paid her any attention. Most noblemen of her acquaintance would have been irritated to have their privacy compromised. And upon learning that the interlopers in the library were an elderly lady and a cripple, they would have been hard pressed to exchange the most basic of pleasantries before quitting the room. The fact that Lord Bloxley had engaged her in conversation and then had gone as far as to confide in her was staggering. She had desperately wanted to repay his trust by helping him, but his unusual conundrum had left her baffled. Even after pondering the situation into the early hours of the next morning, she had yet to generate any advice worth sharing.

“I am so glad you appreciated the artwork at the Foundling Hospital enough to wish to return.” Aunt Millward’s voice brought Jane back to the present. “I had hoped it would be so when I learned how much you enjoy painting.”

Jane nodded, doing nothing to hide her enthusiasm. She had been thrilled when the opportunity for a second visit had materialized so soon after the first. “The pieces on display are quite the finest I’ve ever seen.” She shrugged. “I realize that Yorkshire is not known for its art, but the portraits at Coswell Manor are magnificent, and the Duke of Lotham has amassed an outstanding collection of landscape paintings.”