A Perfect Gentleman by Bárbara Metzger Page B

“Perhaps, since we have begun anew, you should begin at the start.”
    “Very well. To put it simply, my sister is missing. I will do anything it takes to find her, including hiring a—”
    “Bow Street Runner?”
    “Precisely. Mr. Lattimer. Except that he cannot go the places you can go. He cannot introduce me to members of society who might recall meeting her, or remember whom she spoke to, or who was the particular gentleman who took her fancy. He cannot make inquiries at the gentlemen’s clubs about who left Town, or who needed money so badly he might have abducted an heiress.”
    Stony let out a deep breath. “Is that what you think happened to your sister?”
    “I do not know. No ransom note has been sent, nor a wedding announcement with a demand for her dowry. I do not know what to believe anymore.”
    At the quaver in her voice, Stony started to reach for his handkerchief, but Miss Kane gathered her composure and said, “Nevertheless, I do believe I will find her.”
    Gwen would have turned into a watering pot by now, Stony knew. He was glad Miss Kane was made of sterner stuff. She would have to be, to face such a crisis. Now he felt bad about the disparaging thoughts he’d had of her. No wonder the poor woman was ready for Bedlam. Anyone would be, he supposed.
    “Why don’t you tell me what you know, so I can better understand what you want me to do?”
    So she did. She explained how Isabelle had come to London at their aunt’s invitation—and Ellianne’s own urging—to see something of Town, to meet eligible gentlemen and attend parties. She was under no obligation to find a husband, not at nineteen years of age, not with her substantial income. She had left home four months ago, well before the start of the social Season, so she might shop and see the sights.
    Her first letters were of the places she had seen, the stores and the commotion that was London. Then she mentioned paying calls with Aunt Augusta, and receiving invitations. Their aunt’s health was deteriorating, she wrote, so they did not accept as many of those as they had hoped, but Isabelle was content. Not used to having three entertainments every evening or changing her outfits four times a day, Isabelle was happy enough to have made some new acquaintances. One was a special friend, she hoped, but would not dare put her emotions on paper, not even to her sister, until she was certain her feelings were reciprocated.
    “Ah, the unnamed suitor.”
    Ellianne nodded. “She never mentioned him by name, only as her special friend, and that Aunt Augusta did not encourage his interest.”
    “Which might have meant your aunt knew the fellow was unworthy.”
    “Or it might have meant she had another choice in mind for Isabelle, one of higher birth.”
    “Not…?”
    “Yes, Baron Strickland.”
    “But he is far too old for a young female, far too worldly for an innocent maid. Surely your aunt could not have promoted a match between them?”
    “I assure you she could, despite my remonstrances. Isabelle’s next-to-last letter was about a drive she took with his lordship. Aunt Augusta declared herself too ill to leave the house, and Strickland was the only escort she would permit my sister.”
    “No wonder the chit disappeared.”
    “No, she did not leave because she feared marriage to Lord Strickland. She knew I would never allow her to be wed against her will. And he knew that I controlled her dowry, so he would never get his greedy hands on the property he craved.”
    “Unusual, isn’t it, for one young woman to manage another’s estate?”
    “Unusual, but not unheard of. When I turned one and twenty, I decided to examine our inheritance more carefully. I found that the bank’s trustees, our trustees, were embezzling funds. With proof, I had the courts make them surrender their guardianship—and replace the funds, of course—or face imprisonment. No one was named in their stead.”
    Stony was impressed and said so.
    She thanked