Chapter 17 #2
Luca sat behind his desk, his fingers riffling through the disordered heap of papers that littered the surface—ledgers, reports, correspondences—anything that might contain a clue as to where Charlotte was being held.
The usually tidy office now looked like a storm had torn through it.
The weight of his failure pressed heavily on his chest. Every second that passed was another moment Charlotte could be suffering because of him.
Alcott paced the cramped room like a caged beast, his agitation filling every corner. “This is a waste of time,” he barked. “We should be back at my townhouse, waiting for Charlotte’s abductors to make contact.”
“What am I missing?” Luca muttered, half to himself as he scanned another page, his mind racing to connect threads that refused to align.
Alcott stopped mid-stride. “Are you even listening to me?”
“I am,” Luca said, not looking up. “But I am trying to think. Where would her abductors take her?”
“We don’t even know who took her or for what purpose!” Alcott shot back, frustration sharpening his tone. “What if one of her suitors abducted her and they’re halfway to Gretna Green right now?”
Luca’s jaw tightened. “I doubt that.”
“But you don’t know with certainty, do you?”
He leaned back in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “It has to do with our investigation. Why else would she be taken now?”
“She is the diamond of the Season,” Alcott countered.
“Yes, but why now?” Luca pressed. “Why not last month, or the month before? No—this was deliberate.”
Alcott scoffed. “Why not now? Tell me, what other secrets have you been keeping from me?”
Luca met his friend’s glare, exhaustion mixing with guilt. “I told you everything on the way here—everything I know.”
“You don’t know much,” Alcott said dryly. He turned away, dragging a hand through his hair. “Good gads, this is my sister, Luca. My sister. I was supposed to protect her.”
The words hit Luca like a blow. “I should never have dragged her into all of this,” he murmured.
“It sounds like she was a willing participant,” Alcott said with a touch of weary resignation. “Charlotte isn’t one to do something she doesn’t want to do.”
A faint, pained smile crossed Luca’s lips. “No. She’s not.”
For a moment, silence hung between them. The air was heavy with unspoken fears.
Then Alcott spoke again, his voice softer. “I know you care for Charlotte—”
“I don’t just care,” Luca interrupted, his voice breaking with emotion. “I love her.”
The admission left him breathless. He had known it, deep down, but speaking the words aloud made the truth feel dangerously real.
A smirk tugged at Alcott’s mouth. “There you go. It’s about time you recognized that. A little late, if you ask me.”
Luca stared back at his friend. “You knew?”
“I did—from the moment you two announced your engagement.”
Luca huffed a laugh that held no humor. “Then I suppose I just need to convince your sister to marry me.”
Alcott sobered. “First we must find her.”
The fleeting levity vanished as dread reclaimed its hold. Luca’s chest constricted. “Yes,” he said quietly. “And I am at a loss as to where to start.”
A voice from the doorway cut through the tension. “I have an idea for that.”
Both men turned. Hillstead strolled into the room with his usual smug self-assurance, a small smile playing on his lips.
“When I learned about the Duke of Brackenford and Mr. Dawlish,” Hillstead began, “I had a feeling something was amiss between the two of them.” He tipped his head politely. “My lord,” he added to Alcott.
Alcott inclined his head in acknowledgment, though impatience flickered in his gaze. “Do not keep us waiting. What did you discover?”
“Well, I went to the probate court and requested to see the Duke of Brackenford’s will on file,” Hillstead said, his tone dripping with pride.
“And they just handed it over to you?” Luca asked, incredulous.
Hillstead chuckled. “Hardly. They threatened to call the constable on me.”
Alcott’s voice darkened. “How does this help us?”
“Because,” Hillstead said, looking insufferably pleased with himself, “I bribed one of the clerks to slip the will to me for a few minutes. Cost me fifty pounds, by the by—so you owe me.”
“Fifty pounds?” Luca repeated. “That is an exorbitant sum.”
Hillstead waved a dismissive hand. “I assure you that it is worth every shilling. The information was invaluable. Upon the Duke of Brackenford’s death, Mr. Dawlish is to inherit the Ravenhurst Trading Company and all its subsidiaries.”
Luca’s pulse quickened. “The Duke of Brackenford is the owner of Ravenhurst?”
“Yes,” Hillstead confirmed with relish. “But do you want to know why Dawlish inherits it?”
“Tell me,” Luca demanded.
“Because,” Hillstead said, clearly savoring the moment, “Mr. Dawlish is the duke’s illegitimate son. His only son, in fact. The rest of the duke’s estate will go to a distant cousin, along with the title.”
“Blazes,” Luca muttered. “The will stated that outright?”
“It did,” Hillstead confirmed.
Luca’s mind spun. Every piece of the puzzle—the ledger, the factory, the disappearances—clicked into sharper focus.
The secrecy between Dawlish and the duke now made perfect sense.
But the realization came with a sting of self-reproach.
How had he not seen this before? The connection had been in front of him all along.
Was he getting sloppy? He used to pride himself on seeing what others missed.
Yet since Charlotte… his thoughts had been anything but clear.
He clenched his jaw. Had he allowed himself to become distracted by love? And if that distraction had cost Charlotte her safety, he would never forgive himself.
A sudden, chilling thought struck him. What if Charlotte had been taken to The Chelmsford Asylum?
The possibility lodged itself firmly in his mind, refusing to be dismissed.
It would make sense—too much sense. The timing, the secrecy surrounding her disappearance, and the vile lengths some would go to silence her.
His stomach turned at the idea of her trapped within those cold, oppressive walls, her spirit crushed beneath the label of madness.
But he couldn’t abandon his current course, not now. There were too many moving pieces, too many lives depending on swift action. Still, the thought gnawed at him, refusing to let go.
He exhaled sharply and made his decision. “Rupert,” he muttered under his breath, already formulating the plan. “I’ll send Rupert to investigate The Chelmsford Asylum.” The man was clever, resourceful—and unafraid of danger.
Alcott turned sharply towards him, his voice cutting through the fog of Luca’s thoughts. “We need to go speak to the duke.”
“If we do,” Luca said, forcing composure back into his tone, “we’ll be forced to show our hand.”
Holding his gaze, Alcott asked, “What choice do we have?”
Luca hesitated only a heartbeat, the weight of the decision pressing against his chest. Then he rose from his chair. “None at all.”
He could feel the pulse of dread and determination in every muscle of his body. If the Duke of Brackenford was behind Charlotte’s disappearance—or even knew who was—Luca would tear down every wall in London to get her back. He would not stop. He could not stop.
Hillstead folded his arms across his chest, looking insufferably pleased with himself. “I do hope this means I will get a raise.”
Luca shot him a glance that was half-irritation, half-gratitude. “If we get Charlotte back, I’ll give you anything you want.”
“A raise will do,” Hillstead said, his grin widening. “Perhaps my own secretary.”
“Done, and done,” Luca replied briskly, already coming around the desk. “Now go. Stake out Dawlish’s residence. See if you spot his mother or anyone out of place.”
Hillstead bobbed his head. “I’ll go now.”
As Luca and Alcott strode out of the office, urgency driving every step, his mind churned.
He could feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears as they made their way down the stairs and out into the cool London air.
Every theory, every lead circled back to one conclusion: Charlotte’s abduction was tied to his investigation. There was no other explanation.
But what if he was wrong?
The thought rooted deep in his chest like a shard of ice. If this was personal—if someone had taken her simply to hurt him—then he had led her straight into danger. The fear was nearly paralyzing, but he refused to let it take hold.