It was the same remark he had made a hundred times before, in fact, ever since the third day of his search when the Earl had confided in him as if he could not bear being alone with his anxiety any longer.

As the Steward brought the brandy to the Earl, both men were thinking of the steps they had taken to trace one elusive young woman they knew so little about that it had made the difficulty of finding her almost insuperable from the beginning.

Investigations by Henry in Shepherd’s Market had told the Earl that a gentleman had arrived late in the evening with two expensive carriages each drawn by four horses.

It had not escaped the notice of curious neighbours that he had not been at Number 82 for very long before he left together with the whole household – Mrs. Carver, the servant Hannah and Thalia.

They had driven away without luggage and without returning as the Earl had at first thought they must do to collect anything the small house contained.

It seemed to Richard even more incredible than it did to the Earl.

“Why should they have taken nothing with them?” he asked.

“Presumably because it was no further use to them,” the Earl replied. “I know that Thalia was very poor. Carriages and horses cost money. Obviously the man who called for her and her mother could afford to pay for them.”

When the Earl had first been informed of the circumstances of their leaving, he had thought with a fury, which he had later recognised as jealousy, that Thalia had been swept away from him by some ardent lover.

Then common sense told him, when he could think about it more sanely, that it was unlikely if she was going on a romantic journey that she would have been accompanied by her mother and Hannah.

The only information the Earl had not communicated to Richard was that he had given Thalia one thousand pounds and that she had returned it to him within a few hours.

That was a secret between himself and Thalia and it merely contributed to his theory that whomever she had left with must be a rich man.

At night when he could not sleep, which he had failed dismally to do ever since he had lost Thalia, he would go over their conversations together word by word, trying to discover a clue, even the slightest hint, that might give him some idea of where she had gone.

Without this, he asked himself, how could he even begin to search the length and breadth of England for a young woman who had intrigued and mystified him ever since he had first known her.

Intent on his own problem, he was not aware that Richard regarded his behaviour first with astonishment and then with compassion.