Stroke of Midnight Read Free

she couldn’t rely on the police, then whom could she trust? Her former friends and acquaintances undoubtedly viewed her as a pariah. She had no living relatives—there had only been her and Papa. She was on her own now, a rudderless raft in a vast sea of humanity.
    She had come to London with the intention of nursing her father back to health. The news of his passing left her with the sharp ache of loss. The most prudent course of action would be to return to her little cottage in the mountains of Portugal. There she could eke out a living by selling her watercolors of flora and fauna. Yet something inside her resisted the notion of departing on the next ship.
    If indeed Papa had been murdered, she could not allow his death to go unavenged.
    It had long been her wish to clear his name by rooting out the villain who had set him up as a jewel thief. She would have done so already had not her father begged her to drop the notion as being too dangerous. The topic had come up several times over the years, most recently when she’d spotted that little article in The London Gazette commemorating the tenth anniversary of the spectacular crime.
    Now he was no longer alive to stop her.
    A sense of purpose revived Laura’s flagging spirits. There were several people in society who might have had reason to ruin her father—and her, as well. The trouble was, how could she question them? It wasn’t as if she could pay a call on any fine house in Mayfair. She was persona non grata to the ton …
    Of a sudden, Laura noticed that the store fronts had become more posh. The signs were gilt-framed, the windows displaying goods of the finest quality. Tall buildings with columned fronts lined the broad, curving road with its elegant carriages and coaches. Footmen carrying parcels trailed after ladies in costly gowns and feathered hats.
    Pausing beneath a marble colonnade, she realized that her idle wanderings had brought her to Regent Street. Though perhaps it had not been happenstance. Perhaps she had been drawn here by the allure of the forbidden.
    Caution told her to retrace her steps. It would be foolish to risk being spotted by an acquaintance from her old life. Her presence in London must not be known before she’d had time to make plans and determine how best to solve the mystery of her father’s death.
    Yet she hungered to view the window displays. To indulge in the pastime that had once been an integral part of her life. To relive the happy times when she had strolled here with Alex. Would it not be wise to study the latest fashions so that she might prepare herself for whatever lay ahead? She would, after all, have to blend in with society.
    The temptation proved too powerful to resist.
    Adjusting the hood over her head, she lowered her chin in the manner of the lower class. In her drab dark cloak she’d be taken for a maidservant out on an errand for her mistress. Laura started down the foot pavement, taking care not to meet the eye of any of the ladies or gentlemen promenading along the street.
    Her own eyes swept their clothing in surreptitious glances. How hopelessly outdated was her much-mended attire. The skirts now were considerably wider, the sleeves more voluminous than when she’d made her debut a decade ago. Living in the mountains, she’d had no reason to keep up with the latest styles, let alone pay for new gowns each season.
    But oh, how she would love to enter these shops and order an entire wardrobe without a care for the cost. To once again feel the cool slide of silk against her skin, to set a beribboned hat at a jaunty angle on her upswept hair. She paused in front of a display of fans, admiring the carved ivory sticks and painted folds. How lovely it would be to snap open the fan and peer flirtatiously at an admiring gentleman …
    The bell above the shop door tinkled as a trio of ladies strolled out in a waft of expensive perfume. They were too young to recognize her, so Laura saw no need to make haste