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“There is nothing wrong with falling in love, especially since you are retiring as an agent after this case.”

“Falling in love?” he repeated back in disbelief. “I am doing no such thing with Miss Dowding.”

“Are you sure?”

Baldwin bobbed his head decisively. “I think I would know if I was falling in love with her,” he asserted.

“Then I stand corrected,” Corbyn said in a tone that implied he didn’t believe him. “That is probably for the best, because my agents haven’t been able to find any clue of Miss Hardy’s whereabouts.”

“None?”

Corbyn shook his head. “They have scoured London, but it would appear that Miss Hardy simply disappeared into the night.”

“That isn’t likely.”

“I know, but our leads have been exhausted,” Corbyn replied. “And I am unable to dedicate any more resources from the agency on her case.”

Running a hand through his brown hair, Baldwin said, “That news is going to devastate Miss Dowding.”

“It is a good thing you aren’t holding a fondness for her,” Corbyn remarked, amused.

Baldwin shoved his chair back and rose. “If you will excuse me, I have work that I need to see to. I trust that you can see your way out.”

Chapter Fifteen

“You seem awfully cheerful this morning,” Mrs. Foster commented as she pulled the thread through the fabric. “Is there any particular reason why?”

Madalene lowered her needlework to her lap and replied, “I find my thoughts continuously returning to the ball last night.”

“Is that so?” Mrs. Foster gave her a knowing look. “Are you thinking of anyone in particular?”

“No,” she replied, not daring to admit that her thoughts were repeatedly turning towards Lord Hawthorne. “The whole night was rather enjoyable.”

“You sound surprised,” Mrs. Foster remarked.

“Frankly, I am. I danced nearly every set, and I met the most interesting gentlemen,” Madalene said.

“That is generally what happens at a ball.”

Placing her needlework on a side table, Madalene admitted, “This was the first ball where I didn’t feel like I was a prize to be won.”

“I am glad to hear that.”

Madalene reached for the teapot and poured herself a cup of tea. She took a long, lingering sip before she lowered the teacup to her lap. “I think I would like to stay in London for the rest of the Season.”

Mrs. Foster’s brow shot up. “Truly?”

“My mother found immense joy in London, and I’m wondering if I can find the same amount of joy, as well.”

A frown came to Mrs. Foster’s lips. “Is this about a handsome marquess who has somehow managed to bewitch you?”

“I know not what you are talking about,” Madalene said, taking a sip of her tea.

“No?” Mrs. Foster asked. “Not only did you dance the waltz with him, but you also took a turn around the gardens.”

“That is true, but nothing untoward happened.”

“I never implied that it did,” Mrs. Foster remarked. “I am just concerned about your welfare, and that includes your heart.”

“Who said anything about my heart?”

“No one did, but it is rather obvious that you have developed feelings for Lord Hawthorne,” Mrs. Foster said. “And please do not insult me by trying to deny it.”

Madalene gave a half-shrug. “Perhaps I have developed some feelings for him, but that is a far cry from having my heart invested.”

“Then you are lying to yourself.”

Before she could respond, Graham stepped into the room and announced, “Mr. Walker is here to call upon you, Miss.”

“Will you send him in?”

Graham tipped his head and departed from the room.

A few moments later, her solicitor entered with an unusually solemn look on his face.

Placing her teacup onto the tray, Madalene rose and asked, “Is everything all right, Mr. Walker?”

Mr. Walker stopped in the center of the room, his back stiff. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I thought you should know before it hit the newspapers tomorrow.”

“Which is?” Madalene asked hesitantly.

“I’m afraid what I’m about to share is a little indelicate,” Mr. Walker said, wincing.

Madalene glanced nervously at Mrs. Foster, wondering why her solicitor was stalling. “Whatever is the matter?”

Mr. Walker took a shuddering breath before sharing, “Miss Hardy was found floating in the River Thames this morning.”

Madalene gasped as she lowered herself onto the settee. “How horrible!” she exclaimed.

“The Bow Street Runner that I hired to find Miss Hardy was able to identify her at the morgue,” Mr. Walker explained. “Apparently, she had been in the water for a few days.”

“And this Bow Street Runner is adamant that this person found was Miss Hardy?” Mrs. Foster asked.

Mr. Walker turned his gaze towards Madalene’s companion. “Yes, and her next of kin has been notified.”

Mrs. Foster rose from her seat and came to sit next to Madalene. “Are you all right, dear?”

Tears burned her eyes, but she fiercely blinked them back. “I don’t know what to say or do.”

“That is to be expected,” Mrs. Foster replied. “Edith was a dear friend of yours.”

Turning her gaze towards Mr. Walker, she asked, “How was she killed?”

Mr. Walker shifted uncomfortably before saying, “It would appear that she entered the water of her own accord.”

Madalene’s mouth dropped open. “You think she killed herself?”

“There were no signs of foul play, and the coroner ruled it as suicide,” Mr. Walker said, his eyes full of compassion.

Madalene started shaking her head profusely. “No, no, no…” she started. “That is impossible. Edith would never do that.”

“I know that it may seem impossible, but we don’t know if Edith was in her right mind at the time she entered the water,” Mr. Walker explained.

“The coroner is wrong!” Madalene exclaimed. “Edith was abducted. Her room had been ransacked, and the perpetrator must have killed her.”

Mr. Walker’s eyes were full of pity. “The constable now believes that Edith ransacked her own room before she headed towards the River Thames.”

“That is improbable!”

Mrs. Foster placed a hand on her sleeve. “It will be all right,” she encouraged. “You are just in shock right now.”

“Edith wouldn’t have killed herself,” Madalene asserted. “She was one of my dearest friends, and she would have told me if she was

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