Chapter Thirty-Eight
Frederick
“I repeat, Miss Lynton is not receiving callers.” Mr. Grosse glared at Frederick before slamming the door.
He rocked back on his heels. He was becoming tired of doors being shut in his face. Tired of having to explain why he, an officer of the Bow Street magistrate, arrested a person suspected of murder.
And more than anything, he was tired of not knowing how Eleanor fared. Was she crying? Was anyone making sure that she ate? He needed to know these things, and closed doors weren’t going to stop him.
Making sure no one was watching, Frederick went through a gate into the yard on the side of the house that was more wilderness than garden. If he were a gentleman, he wouldn’t know which window on the first floor led into Eleanor’s bedroom.
But where Eleanor was concerned, he wasn’t a gentleman. He’d made no claim to be one. And she was going to learn that tactics like refusing callers, while successful on the men of her station, did nothing more than delay him.
Unfortunately, there was no handy trellis that led to her window.
No covered portico he could climb onto and from there gain entry to her room.
There was, however, a ramshackle shed in the corner of the yard, and inside that was a rickety ladder whose strength he decided not to ponder as he leant it against the wall of her home.
The fates were with him. Her window was unlatched, a fact he would scold her for later. After all, if it was easy for him to break into her house, anyone could do so.
The window pulled open without a sound. He pressed his palms to the sill and hefted himself inside. The room was silent, still, and he had a moment to wonder if she was in a downstairs parlor. He could have broken in at a much easier location.
“Climbing through windows seems most improper for an officer of Bow Street. Some might say its criminal.”
Frederick swung his head around. There, on her back on her bed, hands folded across her abdomen, Eleanor lay staring at the ceiling. Her gown’s lavender color almost matched the counterpane.
“I know you feel duty bound to arrest criminals,” she continued, “but I see logistical problems trying to arrest yourself. I suppose you could turn yourself in.”
He went and sat down on the side of her bed. He placed his palm near her thigh, the edges of her skirts just under his fingers. “I know you’re angry. I understand it, but there are things we must discuss. I can help you through this process. You don’t have to face this alone.”
“Without my mother, I am alone.”
He curled his fingers, dragging an inch of fabric into his fist. “You might feel that way, but it isn’t true.
Eleanor, I….” How did he express all the feelings he had about their relationship, the expectations he had?
His hopes? Yes, he was the instrument that had brought her sorrow, but he could also be the one to comfort her.
“I want to be your husband. The one you turn to in times of trouble. I know the timing isn’t ideal—”
She barked out a laugh. Finally, she turned her head to look at him. “Husband? You want us to marry?”
The back of his neck burned. She didn’t have to make it sound outlandish.
After what they’d done, of course he’d thought they’d marry.
She should have assumed as much, too. The fact that she didn’t only served to heighten his irritation.
Had she really thought so poorly of him?
“You could be carrying my child at this moment, one who will need the protection of a father. Yes, we will marry.”
And, God forgive him, he hoped she was with child.
He hadn’t thought he’d need something to bind Eleanor to him besides the feelings they had for each other.
Now, he realized he’d been na?ve. Feelings weren’t enough.
Love wasn’t enough. Because she loved her mother, too. And he’d taken her mother away.
Her throat rolled as she swallowed. She turned her gaze back to the ceiling. “I won’t marry you on a chance. I’ll wait to see if I’m…well, you know.”
“You will tell me.” She didn’t answer, so Frederick gripped her thigh. “Eleanor, you will tell me as soon as you know.”
Her chin jerked down in a quick nod.
Even though she’d agreed, Frederick wasn’t satisfied. How could he be when he didn’t see a path to his and Eleanor’s happiness? He loosened his fingers on her leg, but didn’t remove them. He needed the connection, and until she told him to release her, he wasn’t letting her go.
Clearing his throat, he tried a different tack. “You hired a solicitor for your mother?”
“Yes.” She tapped her thumb on the bodice of her gown.
“Did you know defense counsel can’t call their own witnesses or address the jury in felony cases?
He will only be able to cross-exam the prosecution’s witnesses and evidence.
I hadn’t known that, not until today. The attorney informed me of all sorts of limitations that prejudice the court system against the accused. ”
“It might not be perfect, but—”
“How many innocent people do you think have been convicted in our courts? Have been hanged?” Eleanor’s chest heaved up and down. “I’d accepted that a few sacrifices might have to be made to keep our system running, but one feels differently when it’s one’s mother on the altar.”
Frederick traced the slight quiver of her chin with his eyes. Saw as her hands clenched into fists. “I spoke with the magistrate. He knows your mother isn’t well. He’ll ask the prosecutor for leniency. She can be sent to an asylum for the mentally ill.”
“An asylum for the rest of her life might be worse than hanging.”
“The evidence is there,” he said softly. “I know you don’t want to believe it, but you’ve seen with your own eyes the rages she can fly into. And if she can harm her own daughter, what wouldn’t she do to a woman she considered her enemy?”
She said nothing.
“I couldn’t turn a blind eye.” The back of his throat burned. “You can hate me. I can even hate myself, but I won’t let a killer roam free to hurt others, even if that killer is someone you love.”
She muffled a sob, the sound a dagger to his heart. “You’re wrong. You’ve arrested the wrong person.”
He could take it no longer. “Move over,” he told her, his voice gruff. Not waiting, he pressed his hands to her sides and pushed until there was enough space on the bed for his body, as well.
“What are you doing?” She glared at him as he lay next to her, facing her on his side.
“You can be angry with me again in an hour.” Wrapping an arm around her waist, he rolled her until she was tucked against him, his chin tucked over her head, her breath hot against his throat. “Right now, let me just hold you.”
He expected her to object. To push at him. Pound him with her fists. When she gripped his shirt and pressed her cheek to his chest, he knew just how badly he’d broken her heart.
“Only an hour,” she whispered.
Frederick gripped the nape of her neck, holding her close. One hour to hold her in his arms, to feel her heart beat against his.
An hour wasn’t enough.