Chapter 14
It was almost two by the time Melody arrived home with Edward. When they’d left Saint George’s, Samantha was propped up in bed and devouring a fragrant chicken soup while her daughter, who would later be christened Alexandra, slept in her father’s arms.
It had been a turbulent night, filled with so many different emotions, Melody’s heart and soul both felt exhausted. And yet, it wasn’t quite over. There was still so much for her and Edward to discuss.
Her stomach tightened as she preceded him into the foyer. His words from earlier gave her hope. They filled her with joy and relief. But what would it be like now when they were alone, free from fear and the panic one felt in times of stress? Would he still feel the same?
Neither of them had spoken much during the ride except for reiterating how happy they were on behalf of Adrian and Samantha.
Awkward was the word that best described it.
A difficult state that required addressing if they were to find their way past it and make a true effort at living together as husband and wife.
“If it’s all right with you,” Edward said, “I’d rather not wake the servants.”
“Of course,” she agreed. “I believe we can easily manage without.”
He closed the door behind them and locked it for the night, then began removing his gloves while she did the same.
“I um…I meant what I said earlier.” The comment came as he set his hat on the hallway table.
He sent her a sidelong glance, appearing to weigh his next words while she untied the bow that held her bonnet in place.
“If you’re willing, I’d like to start over.
I realize there’s no forgetting how our marriage began, but in time, I hope a more positive experience will eventually overshadow it. ”
She removed her bonnet, placed it next to his hat, and turned to face him directly. “I am more than willing to do as you suggest. Indeed, I would welcome it with all my heart.”
He took a step toward her, then stopped, uncertainty crinkling the corners of his eyes and furrowing his brow. “Forgive me but…after everything I’ve done — the hell I put you through – I’ve no wish to overstep.”
Understanding him and sympathizing, Melody closed the distance between them and set her hand to his cheek. “I forgive you, Edward.”
Endless sadness filled his gaze. “Then you are kinder than I, for I’m not sure I can ever forgive myself. I’m a monster. No better than Adrian’s father — a man I swore I’d never bear any resemblance to.”
“In time, once the guilt passes, you’ll see that you’re treating yourself unfairly.
Though I know next to nothing about Adrian’s father, I can tell you that you are no monster.
Had you been, you would have no remorse.
You certainly wouldn’t have apologized to me, nor would you be willing to forgive the wrong I caused you. ”
“Melody, I—”
“We are both to blame for what happened between us. Trust was broken and in order for it to be restored, I’ll need to be fully transparent with you.”
“And I with you,” he murmured.
She smiled. “I’m sure you’ll find my past and all my endeavors more shocking than I’ll find yours. Tomorrow, I’ll tell you everything there is to know about me.”
“And until then?” The question was hushed, yet with an underlying hint of hope.
Determined to get her marriage back on an even keel, Melody rose up onto her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his, then whispered, “We never had our wedding night.”
No sooner were the words spoken, than Edward wrapped his arms around her and deepened the kiss. It was heated and desperate, a prelude to everything Melody had dreamed they would one day share.
It ignited not only passion, but also the certainty that all would be well between them from this moment on.
* * *
James Murry stretched out on the bed he’d slept in the last three nights while staying at The Mad Bull Tavern.
Remaining here saved him from having to trek back and forth between the East End and Portman Square twice a day.
Instead, he used a messenger boy named Kip to relay whatever messages needed relaying to Mr. Croft.
The interview he’d conducted of Mr. Henshaw’s servants the same night Mrs. Croft went into labor had offered no leads. With Croft’s own family affairs demanding his attention, James had taken charge of the search for Lady Edwina.
A process of elimination, based on the list of names Henshaw provided, had brought him to this part of Town.
He’d spent the first night visiting every inn and tavern within a one-mile radius of The Veiled Lantern.
When this had led him nowhere, he’d gone to the brothels, after which he’d expanded his search to Saint Giles, then Seven Dials, followed by Bloomsbury as he moved eastward.
He’d been searching for over seven days now. Today would mark the eighth. He must have spoken to well over two hundred people at this point, yet he might as well have just started for all the progress he’d made.
Nothing.
That was what he’d achieved so far. For all he knew, Lady Edwina had already been auctioned off and was now imprisoned by the man who’d won her.
He shuddered at that thought, at the idea of what such a monster might put her through. Fists clenched and jaw set in anger, he pushed himself upright and crossed to the washstand.
Five minutes later, he sat at a table downstairs, waiting for a quick meal to staunch his hunger.
The tavern, filled with the sound of men cheering on fighters each evening, felt uncomfortably quiet now.
Empty and cold. Devoid of life. A young man kept busy sweeping the floor in the opposite corner, each pass of the broom an audible ‘swoosh’ in the silence.
The purposeful clicking of heels announced the maid who brought his coffee and food.
All were placed on a tray which she set directly before him.
A chunk of bread accompanied by a piece of smoked sausage, a slice of ham, and some cheese.
Acceptable but nothing special, not that he’d expected much from a place such as this.
He sipped his coffee, which was blessedly hot, then dug in and ate while planning where to continue his search. Southwark would be the next logical place, though he’d want to cover the docks first.
Swallowing his last bite, he prepared to set off when the Tavern’s front door swung open, and Kip walked in. The boy glanced around, spotted James, and approached.
“I’ve news fer ye,” Kip said and retrieved a folded piece of thoroughly creased paper from his pocket. “’Ere.”
“You’re lucky you caught me. I was just about to head out.” James took the missive and thanked him while studying the boy’s scruffy appearance. “Hungry?”
Kip shrugged even as he said, “I could eat.”
“The kitchen’s through there.” James jutted his chin toward a door that stood open. “Go tell whoever you find there that Murry would like one more breakfast plate.”
The boy left to do as suggested and James unfolded the note. As expected, it was from Croft. A reassurance that both Mrs. Croft and the baby were well preempted the true purpose for writing.
Murdoch has met with success. An informant of his has seen an invitation on his master’s desk.
Several desirable items are to be auctioned off this evening, including Francois Boucher’s painting, Venus Playing with Two Doves – a provocative work of art that I know to be Viscount Glendale’s pride and joy.
Considering the man’s propensity to show it off at every available chance, I doubt he plans to part with it. Rather, I suspect it may be a code for the woman we’re seeking, should the invitation fall into the wrong hands.
Kip returned and scooted into a seat. Noting the way he eyed James’s coffee, James nudged the cup in his direction, invited him to drink, then resumed reading.
You should know that the man who received the invitation in question is none other than the Earl of Elmhurst. As such, I recommend caution, since it would seem that the men involved in this scheme are not only wealthy but very powerful.
Should they feel threatened, they will likely do whatever is necessary to preserve their reputations and to avoid facing charges.
James skimmed the closing phrase which contained the auction’s location and time, along with a recommendation to wear a mask, for the sake of anonymity. He took a deep breath and expelled it. Finally, something concrete for him to sink his teeth into.
The auction wouldn’t begin for another eleven hours, but that didn’t mean he would sit about doing nothing. “I have to go.”
“Need me to come with you?” Kip asked even as the maid brought him his plate.
James watched the eager look that brightened the young boy’s eyes. “No. Stay and eat. Come find me at Mivart’s later. Six o’clock.”
He dropped some coins on the table to cover the cost of the food, then pushed back his chair and left, happy in the knowledge that Kip wouldn’t steal the blunt. The boy would get a much bigger reward at the end of the day, provided he didn’t betray James’s trust, and he knew it.
James exited the tavern and hailed a hackney, which he directed toward the address where the auction was set to take place. Number 21 Lisle Street, where Mivart’s competitor stood, a hotel built by the social-climbing Mr. Drake.
The Albion was inferior to Mivart’s—more inclusive with regard to clientele—and rumored to share a connecting door with the brothel next door.
It surprised James that he hadn’t considered it as a point of interest, for upon reflection, it would serve as an excellent location for all manner of private parties one wished to keep secret.
Including a scandalous auction.
* * *
“Will crime in this city never cease?” Gabriella asked Peter when they returned to the Bow Street office and got back to work.