Chapter 16 #3
The vicar shook his head, his expression faintly wistful.
“Oh, no. That would have been a fine occasion to witness, but alas, my brother could not secure an extra invitation. In any event, there was a bereaved family in our parish that day. My wife and I sat with them well into the night. Sad business.”
Julius composed his features into sympathetic lines, though a flicker of quiet triumph stirred within.
The information matched what they had hoped to uncover.
With this account in hand, it would be easy to verify Stone’s whereabouts and eliminate him and Montague as suspects.
That would allow them to turn their full attention toward Simon Scott.
“That is dreadful news,” Julius murmured. “Is there anything we might do to assist?”
Stone proceeded to recount the passing of a local merchant and the grief of the widow and her children. As he had said, it was, indeed, a sad affair.
Brendan responded with suitable compassion. “We should like to pay our respects personally. Might we visit the family?”
The vicar offered the name and address, which Brendan recorded with discreet efficiency. After further assurances that the promised donation would arrive in the coming days, the two lords rose to take their leave, offering final pleasantries as they stepped back out into the gray light of day.
They returned to the waiting carriage and resumed their journey.
This time to pay a call upon Montague. Once seated, Brendan removed his beaver and placed it on the bench beside him.
He peeled off a glove and ran his fingers through his hair, a habitual gesture Julius recognized at once.
It meant Brendan had something on his mind and was uneasy about voicing it.
“Julius …” Brendan began, his voice cautious. “Are you certain about this arrangement with Miss Gideon? She is a beautiful and capable young lady. Considering you will be wed, might she not make a good wife?”
Julius kept his gaze fixed on the window, watching the bustle of London rush past in a blur of mud-spattered wheels and umbrellas.
He had hoped Brendan would not revisit the subject.
Private matters were rarely discussed between them, especially matters of the heart.
But Brendan was a changed man since his marriage to the delicate and brilliant Lily—besotted, settled, transformed.
“I do not wish to be wed,” Julius said flatly.
Brendan sighed. “Then why are you marrying her? Surely, you care about what happens to her?”
He could not answer the question, not to Brendan and not even to himself.
The very idea of marriage filled him with dread, as though shackles were being fastened about his ankles.
And yet, the thought of Audrey leaving England, sailing away into some unknown future without him, made him want to howl.
Reconciling those two truths, his fear and his longing, was proving impossible.
“I must protect her,” he said at last, his voice low and firm.
That was all he could offer. And with that, silence settled between them like a shroud.
Outside the carriage, the city surged on—iron-rimmed wheels striking the rutted earth, street cries rising and fading, horses snorting and hooves clattering—but inside, neither man spoke again until they reached their destination.
Montague was, fortunately, at home. He received them with a puzzled smile and a cordial greeting, and they made their excuses for the visit without trouble. But this time, it was not so easy to determine where he had been on the night of the coronation.
Montague grew evasive when questioned, his answers vague and meandering. There was no flash of fear in his eyes, only an awkward reluctance to offer detail. When they left, it was without resolution.
During the return journey to the Stirling townhouse, Brendan leaned back in his seat, hands folded, musing aloud. “He did not strike me as defensive,” he said. “Embarrassed, perhaps. But not guilty.”
Julius nodded, considering. “I think you are right.”
Brendan suggested that two of the runners assisting the investigation might pay a quiet visit to the physician’s surgery.
One could distract the doctor with a minor ailment, while the other stole a look at the accounts book.
If Montague’s billing records revealed a recent appointment for treatment, perhaps even the same barbaric blistering Audrey had so emphatically denounced, it might explain his discomfort.
If that were the case, and Montague had been incapacitated by the very remedy Audrey had once condemned, they could safely rule him out. A man enduring such agony was unlikely to slip out at midnight to bludgeon a baron.
The matter was nearly settled. Only Simon Scott remained, and they would confront him in a few days’ time. The case, at last, was narrowing toward a conclusion.
Which left Julius with no further distraction from the greater, more personal dilemma—his wretched, tangled betrothal.
He leaned his head against the side of the carriage and closed his eyes briefly, a sigh caught behind his ribs.
He missed Aunty Gertrude’s house. Missed the solitude and the peculiar, perfect charm of those strange days spent with Audrey.
Days filled with unlikely adventure, heartfelt embraces, and unexpected laughter.
It had been the most fun he had had in years.
Simpler, too. Before expectations and scandal had wrapped their thorny vines around their strange and promising alliance.
Now it felt as though everything had shifted beneath his feet.
He wanted to seek her out. He longed to enfold her in his arms. But after his dreadful proposal—his appalling terms and colder-than-ice logic—he doubted such advances would be welcome.
He had ruined it. And he was not sure he knew how to mend what had been so briefly, so beautifully whole.