Larkin Woodville, Earl of Waring, heir to the Duke of Beaufort, loved gossip. He supposed he could feel fairly secure of his place in society, which allowed him to indulge in the sort of frivolity printed in the scandal sheets. He handed a few coins to a paperboy and started to unfold the paper as he walked to Hugh's house on Upper Brook Street. Most of today's tittering was about various people who were seen and heard at the Rutherford ball two nights before. Lark chuckled at the mention of his own name in connection to a young lady he'd danced with, but that was a nothing story; she was the sister of one of his schoolmates, not a prospective wife.
There was an interesting article about the Earl of Canbury being spotted in women's clothing again. That was an old story and Lark had long pondered the truth of it. Canbury was an especially loud voice in the House of Lords and was angling for a diplomatic position, so his political rivals were working hard to tear him down. Canbury was not especially well liked on a good day, and now that he'd been all been licking the Hessian boots of the Prince Regent in the hopes of gaining a government job, he had enemies coming out of the woodwork. Lark had always assumed the rumors that he liked to dress as a woman in public were just bad actors trying to embarrass him. Not to mention, the earl and his sister bore an uncanny resemblance to each other, so it might have just been a case of mistaken identity.
Not that Lark cared a whit about what people did with their idle time. If a man wanted to wear a dress in public, Lark took no issue with it. Women's clothing seemed so complicated, though, almost not worth the effort. And Lark himself had not exactly been a paragon of Christian virtue, so unless someone was doing something that harmed another person, he was content to let it be. Judge lest not ye be judged, right?
He certainly was not anxious to let it be known that he'd recently spent a few glorious nights in the bed of the Marquess of Beresford.
He arrived at Hugh's house, tucked the paper under his arm, and knocked on the door.
Hodges, the Swynford butler, opened the door with a concerned expression on his face.
"Is Swynford in to callers?" Lark asked.
"He is not in, my lord, but I believe Her Grace would like to speak with you."
This seemed like bad news. Lark stepped into the house. Hodges escorted him to the red sitting room, where the dowager duchess sat with a book in her lap.
"Good afternoon, Your Grace," Lark said.
"My goodness. Oh, Lord Waring, it is good to see you." She set the book aside and braced her arms on the chair as if standing would require substantial effort.
"Please don't get up on my account. What has happened? Is something wrong?"
She sighed and sank back into the chair. "It's Hugh. He… he did not come home after the Rutherford ball."
"He… what?" Hugh hadn't made it home? In more than a day? How could that be?
"The carriage returned without him. When did you last see him?"
Lark's knees felt a little wobbly, so he sat in the settee near the dowager. "We left the Rutherford ball together. But then Father insisted I ride in the family carriage because I'd… well, let us just say, Lord Rutherford has an excellent store of whisky. Hugh told me he intended to walk home to clear his head. Last I saw him, he was headed here on foot."
The dowager shook her head. "London is not safe at night. He thinks because he is a duke that no harm will come to him, but even in Mayfair, dangerous men lurk in the shadows."
Lark's heart pounded. It was very unlike Hugh to simply disappear; there were few men who understood their place in the world and their responsibilities better than Hugh Baxter. But more than that, Hugh had clearly intended to walk home, and he wasn't that drunk. Something must have happened to him en route.
"Have you told anyone?" Lark asked. "Alerted Bow Street?"
"No, not yet. Hodges and a few of the footmen did a thorough search of the area yesterday. So I know that he is not lying dead in a rose bush in Grosvenor Square. But where else could he have gone?"
"I'm afraid I don't know, but I will do everything in my capacity to find him."
The dowager gave Lark a watery smile. "I know you will. You and Hugh have always been like brothers."
Lark was about to get up when the dowager added, "Speaking of family, Collingswood is in town."
Lark had to work to keep his face from wrinkling with distaste. Lord Collingswood was Hugh's cousin. He was a small, petty man who, although he'd made a fortune from the family plantation in Jamaica, had the misfortune of not being born into the Baxter line destined to inherit the dukedom. Lark suspected this was why the dowager had been pestering Hugh about marriage lately; she wanted a grandson and heir to ensure Collingswood never got his hands on that title.
"Has he been to see you?" Lark asked.
"Yes, three days ago. He came by while Hugh was out meeting with his solicitor. He wanted to speak to Hugh directly and would not share the topic of his meeting with me, so we exchanged pleasantries and then he left. I was supposed to pass the message on to Hugh but did not get a chance before…"
Lark blew out a breath. "Collingswood should have stayed in Jamaica."
"Indeed, but I suspect he has business here in town."
The dowager reminded Lark quite a bit of his own mother, so he understood that she was implying that, in addition to trying to track down Hugh, Lark should try to learn why Collingswood was in town. He nodded. "It appears I have quite a bit of work to do."
"I recommend speaking with Hugh's solicitor. Matthew Hogarth. He has an office on Broad Street."
That seemed like a reasonable suggestion, so Lark nodded and stood up. "I will call on him as soon as practicable and report back when I learn anything."
"Much appreciated, my dear."