A Wedding In Springtime(100)

Grant shook his head. “I cannot believe she would do anything like this at all. Although…” Grant’s voice trailed off. He would rather be drawn and quartered than reveal that Genie had come to him last night. But why had she come? He was irresistible of course, but he had been profoundly drunk last night. Why had she been there? Was she in some sort of trouble? Had she come to him for help?

“What is it?” asked Marchford. “If you know something…”

“She may have been in trouble,” said Grant slowly. “She spoke to me, but I forget. I regret I was deep in my cups at the time.”

“Try to remember,” pressed Marchford.

Grant pressed his hands to his temples until it hurt, hoping the pain would clear his head. “Promise me you will shoot me if a drop of liquor ever again passes through my lips.”

Marchford’s eyebrows rose. “I can only surmise you are making a joke.”

“No, my friend. My memory is hazy but I feel sure Genie would not be in this trouble today if I had not been so beset by drink. And now it has taken from me the only lady I ever truly cared about.” Tears sprung to his eyes, unbidden and unfamiliar. Gone was the cool mask of society’s upper crust. He was a broken man.

Marchford put his hand on Grant’s shoulder. “Steady on. We will find her.”

“Yes, yes of course.” Grant gave himself a mental shake. “Forgive me, this morning thing appears not to be to my liking.”

“So if Miss Talbot was in trouble, perhaps she was being blackmailed or threatened in some way,” said Marchford in his direct way, getting back to the business at hand.

“Yes, considering her actions of late, I would have to agree with you,” said Grant, a chill taking hold.

“She could have been pressured to steal the letter.”

“But she did not. She stole only the seal.”

“Then she may be in danger once the people discover she has not given them what they want,” said Marchford bluntly.

A tremor like ice water ran down Grant’s spine. “We need to find her,” he said, his voice quavering.

Marchford studied him for a moment, as if noticing him for the first time. “I fear, dear chap, you are in love.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I cannot find any other reasonable explanation. You have bought a special license, sworn off drinking, lost control of your emotions on a public street, and—most disturbing of all—done all this before noon. I would say the evidence leads me to no other conclusion.”

“I suppose under the circumstances, it would be foolish to deny it. I love her madly, it’s true. I need you to be honest. If she has taken this letter somewhere, what will happen to her when they find it is a fake?”

“They want the letter. They will probably hold on to her for leverage until they can get it.”

“How can we find her?” asked Grant.

“Doubt we have to. I wager they will come to find me. I need to find my errant bride, then I will return home to see if a message comes.”

“I would like to inspect this chocolate shop,” said Grant. “It’s most likely nothing, but it’s our only lead.” He glanced at Penelope, sitting in his phaeton. “Take my horses. I’ll grab a hack.”

A short while later, Grant walked into the chocolate shop, his senses bombarded by the rich aroma. It was a dark shop, so small he might have passed it many times before ever realizing it was there. A young lad stood at the back counter in a dirty apron. It hardly appeared to be a setting for intrigue.

Still, what could be a better cover than a chocolate shop in Piccadilly?

“May I help you, sir?” asked the lad as Grant approached.

“I do hope so. Found myself in some trouble. Thought perhaps coming here would help,” said Grant vaguely, hoping the lad would reveal something.

“Trouble with your vowels, sir?”

“Find myself quite at a standstill. Heard this place might help,” fabricated Grant.

“Candyman’s busy now. Come back later perhaps.”

“Could I wait for him? Pockets to let.”

The lad sized him up, then nodded and led him to a small, dark room behind a door in the paneling. “Wait here.”

Grant sat at the table of the dim room until he heard other customers enter the shop and figured the lad would be busy. He opened the door on the other side of the room. It could not be a coincidence that Genie had visited a chocolate shop that doubled as what appeared to be a moneylender. Did she need money? Was that why she pretended to take the letter?