“I agree.” He smiled pleasantly. “Which Grand Hotel?”

“What do you mean which Grand Hotel? The Grand Hotel.”

“And herein lies our first problem.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t see a problem. It seems very straightforward and sensible to me.”

“Perhaps it would if you were more prepared.”

She stared. “I beg your pardon?”

“Did you bring a guidebook to Paris with you? Do you have a listing of hotels? Did you think to ask your cousin exactly where she planned to stay in Paris or anywhere else?”

“No, but—”

“I suggest you take a look at this.” He handed her the Baedeker.

She took the book and opened it. “And what, pray tell, am I looking for?”

“You’re looking for the Grand Hotel of course.” He paused. “You will also find the Grand Hotel du Louvre, the Grand Hotel de Port Mahon, the Grand Hotel Normandy, the Grand Hotel de Chateaudun, the Grand Hotel—”

“How many Grand Hotels are there?”

“I counted twenty-seven in the guidebook. I have made a list of each and every one.” He paused. “But I might have missed some.”

“Good Lord.” She paged through the guide. “What utter insanity. How very...French!”

“I daresay there are a few Grand Hotels in London, as well,” he observed mildly. It was most annoying.

“A few is a far different matter than dozens! How can such a thing be permitted?”

“I doubt it can be prevented.”

“Even so—”

“You must admit—it’s an excellent name for a hotel. It conjures up an impressive image of hospitality and service.”

“They can’t all be grand,” she muttered, skimming the small, tight print.

“Probably not, but I can’t imagine a hotel attracting much business by calling itself the Almost Grand Hotel or the Less Than Grand Hotel. And would you really wish to stay at lodgings called the Tiny, Trivial and Insignificant Hotel?”

She closed the book and glared at him. “Now you’re being silly. And this is not the time.”

“Indeed I am, and it’s the perfect time.” He put his notebook back in his pocket. “I am trying to impart a certain lightheartedness to what is surely going to be a very long afternoon. And more than likely, just the first.”

“Well, I have no intention of being lighthearted.” She handed him the guide.

“No.” He accepted the book and opened it. “I didn’t think you did.” He found the page he wanted, studied it for a moment, then shut the book smartly and replaced it in his pocket. “I suggest we start at the first Grand Hotel listed, the one that is simply the Grand Hotel, as it is one of the largest hotels in Paris.” He accepted his hat from the butler and stepped toward the door. “There is every possibility we will be lucky and find your cousin firmly established there with not a care in the world, having completely forgotten about details like correspondence.”

“Do you really think so?” The sooner they found Heloise, the sooner India could return to her well-ordered existence.

“I don’t know her as you do, but I do think it’s possible.” A footman opened the door, and Derek waved India through ahead of him. “Not a very likely possibility, but stranger things have happened.”

“Yes, I suppose.” Stranger things certainly had. For one—India had never imagined she’d leave England at all, let alone travel to Paris to stay in a grand manor in the heart of the city with a dashing scoundrel for a host and an even bigger scoundrel by her side.

“Cheer up, India,” Derek said. “Very nearly all the grand hotels are on the Right Bank.”

“Are they near one another then?”

“Not really.” He chuckled. “But at least the haystack hiding our needle is reduced a bit in size.”

Derek hailed a cab and directed the driver to their first stop. Derek’s French was not as precise as hers but was less academic, friendlier perhaps. While she had no problem following the conversation, she decided to allow him to do most of the talking. After all, he had experience visiting other countries whereas she had never stepped foot outside of England.

Perhaps it was some misguided impulse on his part to share those days of his past travel or perhaps he was simply trying to be informative, but he spent the duration of their ride pointing out sights of questionable interest and expounding on the redesigning of the French capital that had begun some twenty or so years ago. From his tone, it was impossible to determine whether he approved of the changes in the city or not. But—in spite of her lack of interest in all things French—India rather liked the newly broadened boulevards and the impressive buildings that blended one into the next, their pale stone facades, matching ironwork and mansard roofs giving the impression of continuation, as if each side of the street was one endless structure. There was a sense of order here that she found both comforting and refreshing.

The first Grand Hotel—the Grand Hotel—was as imposing as its name. It was the same architectural style as the other buildings she’d admired and took up an entire city block. The hotel was highly recommended by Baedeker, the guidebook listing it as one of the most impressive in the city with somewhere between six hundred and seven hundred rooms.

They stepped into the lobby, and it struck India as more a palace than a hotel—not that she’d ever been in either—with a dazzling display of marble and crystal, painted decoration and gilt embellishment. Opulence and grandeur shimmered in the very air around them. This was a setting more befitting a dream than reality. It might well have taken one’s breath away if one was impressed by such an overt exhibit of extravagance and excess. India certainly wasn’t.

“Extraordinary place, isn’t it?” Derek glanced around with a smile. “I read once that it was the largest hotel in the world when it first opened. It might still be.”

“It certainly is grand,” she murmured.

As was the clientele. Judging by the universal air of wealth and importance of the well-dressed guests, they obviously took these ostentatious surroundings as their due. India had never been concerned about fashion. Her serviceable gray wool dress was more than acceptable for her needs. That it was not the latest style had never bothered her. But for the first time in her life—amid the grandeur of the hotel lobby—India felt out of place and more than a little dowdy. As if she should have come in through a servants’ entrance and not the front doors. As much as she tried to dismiss the feeling she couldn’t quite manage. Derek, however, fit right in.

She caught his arm. “I don’t think this is right,” she said in a low voice. “This type of hotel would never suit Heloise.”

“Why not?” He glanced around the lobby. “I think it’s quite impressive.”

“As well as quite expensive.” She shook her head. “The cost of a hotel like this would be well above my cousin’s resources.”

Derek cast her a puzzled look. “Are you sure?”

“Without question,” she said firmly. “This can’t possibly be the right Grand Hotel.”

“Well, we are here now.” Derek nodded toward the registration counter. “The clerk on the end appears to have a good command of English. Why don’t you wait here and I’ll talk to him?”

“Very well.” As there were no other women standing at the counter, it seemed a good idea. Besides, a well-dressed man like Derek would surely get more respect, and therefore more information, than an ordinary woman in serviceable gray wool. “Don’t forget the photograph.” She pulled it out of her bag and handed it to him.

Derek took it, strode off and India tried not to feel like she was somewhere she shouldn’t be, an imposter who didn’t belong. It was nonsense, of course. She raised her chin and adopted an air of mild disdain. As if she was neither aware of how out of place she appeared nor did she care. Although for some unknown reason, she did.

Derek returned quickly. “He didn’t recognize her. Apparently all older Englishwomen look alike.” He handed her the photograph. “And she’s not registered.”

“Well, was she registered six weeks ago?” Goodness, did the man not even know what he should and shouldn’t ask?

He paused. “The clerk said the hotel prides itself on preserving the privacy of its guests, so he couldn’t say.”

“He couldn’t say or wouldn’t say?”

He grimaced. “He said hotel policy forbids it.”

“Did you tell him a woman is missing? Did you tell him her last known location was his hotel? That if she was not found, his hotel might well be held to blame? Or, at the very least, subject to gossip and public scrutiny? I can’t imagine any hotel would wish to be known as the last place a missing Englishwoman was seen.”

Derek’s brow furrowed. “That’s not entirely accurate, India. We don’t know which grand hotel your cousin’s letter referred to.”

“He doesn’t know that.”

“India Prendergast!” He gasped in mock horror. “I never expected you of all people to advocate deception.”

“Oh, come now, Derek.” She stared in disbelief. Certainly Derek had admitted right from the start that he had no particular investigative skills, but surely this was little more than common sense. “Have you never read a novel of detection? Of mystery?”

It was his turn to stare. “Have you ever dealt with a French hotel clerk?”

“Did he frighten you?”

“No, he did not frighten me.” The muscles of Derek’s jaw twitched.

“Then go right back there and demand to see the register. Or insist he look at the register.” She thought for a moment. “And give him money.”

“Money?”

“Money.” She nodded. “Money often changes hands when one is seeking information.”

“I had no idea,” he said wryly. “Do you have an amount in mind?”

“No, but surely you’ve done this sort of thing before.”