Quickly masking his brief look of horror, Bamfield retreated.
“What is it?” Farleigh asked as they sat waiting. “Something has set you on edge.”
“I doubt you’d believe me if I told you. But when Wickett arrives, you may hear the conversation for yourself.”
They fell into a companionable silence.
Vane replayed the events of the evening in his mind. Had he seen their granddaughter and imagined a likeness to Miss Darcy? The thick fog had hindered his vision. The faces of those surrounding him had barely seemed real. Whenever he tried to picture the angel’s sweet face, he only saw Estelle.
Bamfield returned. “Wickett is just scraping his boots, my lord.”
Wickett appeared and came to stand between the two chairs, much to Bamfield’s chagrin. “You sent for me, my lord.”
Vane stood and placed his drink on the mantel. “When you entered the alley off Longacre, how many people did you see?”
Wickett frowned. “I saw you sprawled on the ground, and the old couple hovering near your body.”
“Anyone else?”
“Only the young woman.”
“The angel?” Vane attempted to clarify.
Wickett nodded. “She was a pretty thing, of that there’s no doubt. Soft skin, pink cheeks and full lips. Happen most men would describe her as such.”
“But not a real angel.” Lord, he sounded like a simple-minded buffoon, a bedlamite. “Not a heavenly vision.”
Lord Farleigh cleared his throat. “Perhaps Bamfield is right. We should send for a doctor.”
“Oh, she was a vision all right. Happen she knew you, though she’s not one of them hungry wolves hovering around the mews.”
“Wolves?” Farleigh snorted. “In England? It seems your coachman has taken a knock to the head, too.”
It couldn’t be Estelle. The words echoed in Vane’s mind. Fate was not that kind. He was not that lucky. “But you have reason to believe the lady was a relative of the Erstwhiles.” Strange how he remembered their name.
“She looked too young to be their daughter.”
“Describe her. Describe this angel we both saw.”
“Black cloak with a gold lining, hair as dark as night.”
Vane caught his breath. “What else?”
“Eyes wide and just as dark.” Wickett touched his hand to his shoulder to indicate her height. “Small and slender, light on her feet. Called you by the name of Ross.”
Estell
e!
Lord Farleigh inhaled sharply. He sat forward in the chair. “No one calls you by that name, not anymore.”
“No. They don’t.” Vane’s pulse thudded in his ears. Even his beloved sister, Lillian, called him Vane. “Wait here a moment.”
Vane strode from the room to the study further down the hall. Taking the key from the bookshelf, he opened the drawer and ferreted around inside. He tried to ignore the slight tremble of his fingers as he withdrew the miniature portrait.
Resisting the urge to look at the beautiful image encased in the gilt frame, he returned to the drawing room and thrust it at Wickett.
“Is this her?”