Where The Heart Leads by Stephanie Laurens Read Free Book Online

Stokes’s question without the need for any files.
    Barnaby halted on the steps of Stokes’s building. Hands sunk in the pockets of his greatcoat, now done up against the chilly breeze, he contemplated the buildings across the street while debating pursuing Penelope Ashford, albeit in search of answers.
    Being the sort of woman she was, if he hunted her up, she would assume he’d done so to question her.
    Reassured, he smiled, strode down the steps, and set out for Mount Street.
    By dint of asking a streetsweeper, he located Calverton House, and plied the knocker. A moment passed, then the door opened and an imposing butler met his gaze, brows rising in magisterial inquiry.
    Barnaby smiled with easy charm. “Is Miss Ashford in?”
    “I regret Miss Ashford is presently from home, sir. May I tell her who called?”
    Smile evaporating, he looked down, wondering if he should leave any message. Predicting how Penelope might react—
    “Mr. Adair, is it not?”
    He looked up at the butler, whose expression remained entirely uninformative. “Yes.”
    “Miss Ashford left word that should you call, sir, I was to inform you she’d had to accompany Lady Calverton on her afternoon rounds, as part of which she anticipated being in the park at the customary hour.”
    Barnaby hid a grimace. The park. At the fashionable hour. A combination of place and time he habitually avoided. “Thank you.” He turned and went down the front steps. On the pavement he hesitated, then turned west.
    And walked toward Hyde Park.
    It was November. The skies were overcast, the breeze chill. Mostof the glittering horde that populated the ton’s ballrooms had already decamped for the country. Only those associated with the corridors of power remained, as Parliament had not yet risen. It soon would, and then London would be all but devoid of tonnish society. Even now, the rows of carriages to be found lining the Avenue should have thinned significantly.
    There wouldn’t be that many dowagers and matrons, let alone sweet young things, to see and wonder why he was intent on speaking with Penelope Ashford.
    Crossing Park Lane, he strode through the gates and on, cutting across the lawns to where the carriages of the ladies of the haut ton always gathered.
    His estimation of the park’s inhabitants proved both right and wrong. The gossipy matrons and giggling girls were thankfully absent, but the gimlet-eyed dowagers and the sharp-eyed political hostesses were very much in evidence. And courtesy of his father’s prominence and his mother’s connections, he was instantly identifiable—and of interest—to all of those.
    The Calverton carriage was drawn up on the verge in the center of the line of carriages, ensuring he passed under the eyes of at least half the assembled ladies as he skirted the fringes of those passing back and forth. Lady Calverton was engaged in earnest conversation with two contemporaries; beside her, Penelope looked distinctly bored.
    Lady Calverton saw him first. She smiled as he approached the carriage. Penelope glanced his way, then straightened, her characteristic animation infusing her features, making them glow.
    “Mr. Adair.” Lady Calverton held out her hand, recalling him.
    He took her gloved fingers and bowed over them. “Lady Calverton.”
    Behind their gold-rimmed spectacles, Penelope’s eyes gleamed. He met them, and politely inclined his head. “Miss Ashford.”
    She smiled easily; social assurance was something neither she nor Portia lacked. Turning to her mother, she said, “Mr. Adair is assisting me with inquiries into the backgrounds of certain of our charges.” She looked at Barnaby. “I daresay you have more questions, sir.”
    “Indeed.” He, too, could play the social game. He glanced at the lawns nearby. “I wonder, Miss Ashford, if perhaps we might stroll while we talk?”
    She smiled approvingly. “An excellent idea.” To her mother she said, “I doubt we’ll be long.”
    Swinging open the