Chapter 4 #2
With that, she moved back to her seat, floating through the air like a leaf dancing in the wind. The silk of her gown whispered as she moved, and Lily watched her carefully drape her skirts as she sat down—elegant, composed, and entirely cold. It was a dismissal.
Turning, Lily grabbed Nancy by the arm, who was standing close to the door with wide eyes and craning to hear the exchange.
“We are leaving, Nancy.”
“We are grieving?”
“LEAVING!”
Lily stalked through the door, her kid boots striking the polished floor with determined rhythm as thoughts collided in her head. Had she made matters worse? How was she to fix this? Mr. Ridley was innocent, and the dreadful viscountess would not lift a finger to help him.
“You must inform the coroner where you were. It is the only way.” The earl’s frustration with Brendan was rising, evident in the clipped edge of his voice.
“Who is the lady you were with, Brendan? Perhaps I might visit and persuade her to assist.” The duke’s tone was even, but his concern was drawn in the lines between his bronzed brows and in the slight narrowing of his eyes.
Brendan shook his head. He could not reveal that without the lady’s consent.
Be honest with yourself.
He winced. Wishing to speak to Lady Slight before revealing her identity was part of it.
However, the truth was his affair with Lady Slight embarrassed him.
Richard despised the woman for her involvement with his brother, Perry.
Brendan could not blame him. His behavior from the outset had been despicable, and he knew it.
He knew it had been dishonorable to dally with the widow, taking advantage of the vacancy left by Perry’s marriage.
You were thinking with your baser instincts.
This was hard to refute. The bitter self-rebuke settled over him like a wet wool coat.
Lady Slight, while an elegant presence, certainly did not provide scintillating conversation or challenge him as an educated man.
She was all artifice and allure, with none of the intellect or warmth that had made Emma—Perry’s wife—so singular.
There was a reason Perry had fallen in love with a woman who bore no resemblance to the widow.
Richard stood with a grunt of disgust, stalking over to the library windows to gaze sightlessly. His polished boots thudded dully on the worn rug, the hush of the room amplifying the movement. Shaking his head, he turned back to bark the question Brendan had been dreading.
“Who is she? It must be someone we know, or you would not be so reticent! We are your friends—! Your family! We cannot help you unless you tell us all that happened.”
Brendan shook his head again. “The lady does not signify.”
Lady Slight might be interesting to visit, but he knew without a doubt that the woman was selfish and would never agree to be involved in his troubles at the cost of her reputation.
It was one thing for her to engage in affairs privately, and most of polite society was well aware of her behavior.
But admitting such formally would be ruinous.
The lady would be shunned by the very nobility who had visited her boudoir in secret or had tittered behind their fans with her as they gossiped about their respective liaisons.
The hypocrisy of their set was not lost on him.
If he had been more honorable himself, he might now have a legitimate alibi to call on. He could not blame Lady Slight for being in this predicament. There were only his own poor choices at fault.
“We must focus on finding the true culprit.”
The earl shook his head in disgust at Brendan’s proclamation. “How are we to investigate while the taint of suspicion lies on you?”
The duke sighed, sitting back in his chair and resting his hands on his long, muscled legs. His tailored trousers bore faint creases from the day’s wear, and he shifted with the weary elegance of a man who had carried too many burdens.
“I agree. I looked into this Grimes, and he has important supporters, as Briggs asserted. There could be serious repercussions to this if we do not clear your name quickly.” He paused, the weight of his words hovering like fog in the stillness between them.
“Even now there is talk of your guilt running through the halls of Westminster, which could severely detain your confirmation as baron. Meanwhile, the household and tenants of Baydon Hall, along with the rest of your people, are without representation. There is no lord to sign any documents or to approve any matters. No method to pay any wages.” He leaned forward slightly, his voice low and calm, though it carried steel beneath its surface.
“We must prevail on this woman to come forward, even if we must offer the proper incentives, discreetly and with honor.”
Brendan sat back, rubbing his temples as he tried to think.
Two days ago, he had been an heir to a barony, spending his allowance and basking in the indulgences of idle society—dancing, drinking, and casting appreciative glances at widows like Lady Slight.
Now he stood on the brink of scandal, facing an accusation of murder and the chilling possibility of confinement in the Tower.
How many men have ever walked free from the Tower once imprisoned?
Brendan shivered at the thought. Cold dread settled between his shoulders like a weight of stone.
“It will not come to that,” he said aloud, though mostly to himself.
“We simply need to find the actual perpetrator. I am sure having a servant attest to my arrival earlier this morning should stave off any imminent accusation, so we might proceed with hunting for the perpetrator ourselves. Perhaps we can hire Briggs to look into it further, even if the coroner will not do his duty.”
Halmesbury ran his fingers through his hair, his disquiet evident in the way they dragged and stilled at the crown of his head.
“What is it?”
Richard returned to his seat, dropping into it with more force than usual before fiddling with his cravat. Brendan’s tension coiled tighter, a dull throb beginning behind his eyes.
“What is it?”
Halmesbury cleared his throat, then leaned forward, resting his wrists on his knees, his boots planted wide. “None of the servants have admitted to opening the door for you this morning.”
“What? I came in just past six o’clock, and I certainly was not carrying a key! Someone opened the door when I knocked on it.”
Both the earl and the duke were silent.
“You believe me, do you not?”
Halmesbury’s head snapped back. “Of course we believe you. The old man was horrible. I wanted to throttle him myself on many occasions for how he diminished Annabel. But you are a civilized man, and we are practically brothers. There have been no thoughts in my head that you did this terrible thing.”
Brendan’s chest heaved in relief. “Thank you.”
Across from him, Richard chuckled. “Personally, I am not so magnanimous. I did briefly wonder whether you may have done it.”
A glance of rebuke at the earl only caused him to chuckle harder.
“I appreciated your old man for allowing me to escape my circumstances at home during my troubled youth. Visiting with you over the holidays saved my sanity. But he did send you to Cambridge, after all.”
Brendan gave a half-laugh, amused despite his panic and the burdens he had been carrying since finding the baron in the study. “Cambridge is a fine university, you dolt.”
Richard shrugged, his grin wide. “Ah, the defensive lament of all those who did not attend Oxford.”
Brendan kneaded his temple with a thumb, chortling at the ridiculous distraction. His entire life might be in crisis, but at least he did not face it alone.
“Is it possible that the truth of my relationship with the baron might come out?”
Halmesbury flinched. “By Jove, I hope not! That would certainly provide further motive for Grimes to pursue the matter.”
“Is there anyone other than us who knows the truth?”
Richard fidgeted in his chair, drawing their attention. “The rumors are true, then? The baron is not Brendan’s father?”
Brendan slumped, groaning as he collapsed back into his chair and furiously rubbed at his temples.
“You know of the matter?” Halmesbury’s question was almost inaudible, denoting his worry.
Richard nodded. “I heard whispers of it while we were at Eton, and again at Lords, when the baron would come up in conversation. It was not my place to question Brendan about it.”
Halmesbury shook his head. “I am afraid we might be out of luck.”
Tension was boring through Brendan’s skull. He half expected to find a hole in his temple, but there was no physical evidence of his torment as he kneaded the spot with growing desperation.
“What is it that Grimes can do? As coroner?” Brendan addressed the question to the duke. He was helplessly out of his element, never having dealt with any criminal matters before.
“If he thought you were a legitimate suspect, he could arrest you while we await a coroner’s jury to confirm that the baron was indeed murdered and that you are the primary suspect.
It is promising he did not do so today. It suggests that the jury will be called to review the facts of the case, which means there will be more parties involved to advise prudence. ”
Brendan felt a flood of relief. Perhaps Grimes would continue to investigate until more suspects were found. The man’s disapproval of him had been distinct, and Brendan had been fighting off panic since their meeting.
“Unless …”
Brendan and Halmesbury both turned to Richard, his unease stamped across his features.
“Unless he wanted to confer with his supporters. He could still arrest Brendan once he has secured their approval to proceed.”
JULY 22, 1821
Lily paced up and down. She had been doing so since dawn. The patterned rug beneath her feet was worn soft from years of service, and the muted thud of her slippers marked each turn in the still, breathless quiet of the morning.