These Vicious Masks: A Swoon Novel(27)

I hated wishful thinking. It always made me feel useless.





I WAS ABLE to return to the Kents’ early enough for dinner. Lady Kent questioned me on my whereabouts the entire day, but Laura helped corroborate my hasty excuse about visiting my friend Catherine. To repay the favor, I spent far too long giving Laura an exhaustive account of my day with Miss Lodge. She almost fainted when she heard the drama of Mr. Braddock’s tragic past.

Before I could take my well-deserved rest, though, Tuffins informed me that Mr. Kent had come to speak with me. I groggily shuffled into the drawing room and found him standing by the fireplace, eyes full of pity.

“How was the search today?” I asked, my voice high and worry pounding in my ears. “Did you find anything?”

“No, and I’m sorry. I almost did not come because I hate the idea of delivering bad news to you, but then I realized that my absence would in itself be the worst news you could possibly receive.”

“Thank you for sparing me from such despair.”

“But to be positive, the list of druggists grows shorter, and from a broader perspective, we are one day closer to finding Miss Rosamund.”

“You don’t always have to bring me good news.”

“That comes as a relief, because try as I might, I cannot see the happy side to my other news.”

I sat down hard in an uncomfortable chair. “What happened?”

“I was just coming out of a druggist’s shop in Bloomsbury at about two thirty in the afternoon when I happened to see Mr. Braddock on the other side of the street. I followed him for—”

“Why would you waste your time—”

“Professional curiosity at first. I merely wanted to see where his ‘valuable expertise’ led him.”

Curiosity? It sounded more like competitiveness. “And where, pray tell, did he lead you?”

“He went from public house to public house, drinking and carousing with his many drunk acquaintances, and when he was tired of that, he went to a gambling den, where he knocked some poor fellow unconscious. I’ll admit the man had an abhorrent mustache, but Mr. Braddock went about it all wrong.”

He kept his voice light, but I could see the concern in his eyes. I would have thought he was fabricating the entire story, were it not for the display of Mr. Braddock’s fighting abilities last night after the magic show. “Is it not possible he was seeking information?”

“He capped off the night with a visit to a, uh, a brothel.” His lips tightened as he mentioned the unmentionable.

“Excuse me?”

His eyes locked on a candle in front of him. “Ask any decent Londoner about the Argyll Rooms and you’ll get a blush in response. They call it a dancing room, but that doesn’t change what it is on the inside. What could he possibly be investigating there?”

The news should have rendered my legs lame and kept me seated. Instead, it flared through my body, sending me up to my feet and almost out the window.

“There must be some mistake!” If it was true, I would kill, absolutely murder, Mr. Braddock.

“I assure you, there is not. Now, he doesn’t deserve a second thought, Miss Wyndham,” Mr. Kent said, seeing my anger. “Nothing will come of his assistance except distraction.”

“So what do we do, then?” I cried back. My shaky plan had fallen apart, and the others were even flimsier. I felt suffocated, buried under it all.

Mr. Kent’s steps moved closer. “If you wish to continue treating this friend of his, I will continue the search as I have until you’re ready to join me.”

I couldn’t meet his eye, electing for the floor instead. “I don’t know where else to search.”

His head popped into view, looking up at me from a kneeling position. “Fortunately, as the world’s greatest and all that, I have plenty of ideas, I promise you.” He rose back up and, with the slightest touch, raised my chin along with him. “We should rest. It’s been a long day, and you’ve done some kind and admirable work, regardless of the solicitor. Don’t regret that. Miss Rosamund will be proud when she hears of it.”

“. . . Thank you.”

He broke away and called for the footman, who brought his coat and cane for the brisk London night. “Call on me when you are ready,” he said, gently taking my hand. It was reassuring to have someone tell me the truth after such a day. I squeezed it back, not quite wanting him to leave.

The remainder of the restless night was spent composing angry tirades to Mr. Braddock in my head, but when the servants woke early the next morning, I only had a simple message to send: I no longer required his assistance. Two hours later, Tuffins warily brought me an unexpected rebuttal. A Mr. Sebastian Wyndham, my cousin, was waiting for me in the parlor. The nerve.

Fortunately, Lady Kent had left to make her morning rounds, so I didn’t need to explain the incredibly improper visit to her. I asked Tuffins to put him in the garden, bring tea, and make sure no one disturbed us. I couldn’t keep him inside when I planned on shouting the roof down.

When I came down, Mr. Braddock was already seated at a small table, staring at the mysteries of tea things, and appearing extremely out of place among the bright, flowery surroundings. He looked up in relief as I entered, greeting my frostiness with an insuppressible smile and a giddiness that could barely be contained in his bow.