Chapter 3
Padua did not ask the most likely man to refer her to a solicitor.
While Ives no doubt knew the best of them, she could not count on his impartiality.
A different option occurred to her as she blindly walked the streets near Newgate after leaving Ives.
Before returning home she visited the gaoler’s office again, and requested names of him.
“You cannot count on the judge allowing it,” Mr. Brown said. However, he provided three names of solicitors whom he thought to be honest and smart. Two days later she again slipped away from the school and made her way to the Inns of Court to call on one of them.
Mr. Notley listened to her tale of woe, his sharp, dark eyes peering at her over his broad, empty desk.
She suspected him to be one of those people who required exacting order in his life if he managed his affairs with so little evidence of industry.
His attention to his dress gave her heart.
Unlike Ives in his midnight banyan, Mr. Notley indeed wore black coats of perfect fit and had a clerk nearby taking notes.
His face indicated he was not a young man, but his hair remained as black as his eyes. Padua wondered if he did something to encourage the color. She found herself eyeing his collar, looking for dust or stains from dye.
“You say Lord Ywain will prosecute?” Mr. Notley found that detail of great interest. “That is, I am afraid to say, not good news.”
“I am so accustomed to bad news that I find I greet your observation with surprising equanimity.”
“He is very good, but that is not my concern. Due to his birth he has the highest connections, including a friendship with the prince regent.”
“I had no idea.”
“His father was the Duke of Aylesbury, Miss Belvoir, and his brother is the current one. He is asked to prosecute when the government has a particular interest in a case. We would prefer it did not have too much interest in this one.”
“I see what you mean about not good news now.”
“Indeed. However, at least he is honest. We will depend on that.”
She hoped the repeated we meant he was going to help her. Mr. Notley appeared to still be thinking it over.
“If your father will not aid me in his defense, my hands will be considerably tied, Miss Belvoir. I will feel like a thief taking fees from you.”
“I cannot allow him to be tried without someone speaking for him, however.”
“That is understandable.” He made a tent with his long fingers and pondered the point they made.
“If it comes down to providing a defense based on his character, I will do the speaking. Normally solicitors do not appear in front of judges, but matters are less formal in the criminal courts. However, if information develops that brings his guilt into question, we will need to obtain the services of a lawyer skilled in the theatrics of the courtroom, one who will match Lord Ywain in ability and prestige. That will be expensive.”
“Tell me how much when the time comes, and I will tell you if I have it. For now, please let me know what I will owe you.”
“Normally my clerk attends to that.” He looked at that clerk. The two exchanged knowing looks that said, Such is our lot to serve such as this.
“Two pounds for the preliminaries,” the clerk said. Mr. Notley managed to appear like he had not heard.
Padua had that much on her, and more. The valise under her bed grew emptier by the day. “If I give you ten shillings more, will you look into something else for me? It does relate to my father.”
Those dark eyes sharpened with interest.
“My mother passed away when I was fifteen. Soon after, my father came into a legacy from a distant relative. He used it to send me away to school in Birmingham. I rarely saw him after that. I would like you to see about that legacy if you can. I think it was a property, and if so, perhaps I can obtain some money out of it to help pay the fees of his defense.”
Mr. Notley jotted down some notes. “You are asking for a service that is more familiar to me than criminal work, Miss Belvoir, and more welcomed. I will see what I can discover.”
* * *
The note came to Ives at nine in the morning, before he had risen from bed.
It was the kind of note to get him on his feet at once.
Cursing all the while, he dressed fast and haphazardly and skipped a shave so he could gallop through town to Mayfair as soon as possible.
Arriving at the family house, he took the stairs two at a time and threw open the door to his brother’s apartment.
He found Lance enjoying the shave that he himself had forgone.
“What the hell has happened?” he demanded.
“What are you doing here?” Lance asked. “I did not expect you until afternoon.”
“Come immediately. I need you to serve as my second for a duel. That is what your note said.”
“Well, yes, but I did not think you would read it until noon, so then you would arrive around one.”
“Some of us rise earlier. Now tell me why you need a second and, by Zeus, your story had better show you the victim of some fool in his cups, and not the instigator of a challenge.”
The valet scraped the last of Lance’s beard, then laid a warm, damp towel over his face so only Lance’s dark hair showed. “I had no choice,” came Lance’s muffled reply.
“So you did issue the challenge.”
“Had to.”
“Damnation.”
The towel was lifted. Lance removed another one from around his neck. “You would have done the same. There was nothing else for it.”
Ives paced the chamber. “I would not have done the same thing, because I would not be in London. I would have listened to my brother, whose advice on such matters is sought by the highest of the high, and kept my ass in the country.”
The valet began tidying up the dressing room. Lance led the way to his sitting room.
“Why did you call for me to be your second?” Ives demanded. “Why not one of your friends in crime?”
“I thought your eloquence might be useful. I had to issue the challenge, but it would be better if we did not fight. I don’t want to kill another duke.” He caught himself, and laughed. “By another, I mean one other than myself, of course. Not one other than Percy.”
The explanation made Ives pause. “You did not have to explain the distinction to me, Lance. Surely you know that.”
Lance said nothing. Weariness marked his dark eyes. Being suspected of his own brother’s murder was taking its toll, despite his claims otherwise.
“Just which other duke is it?”
“Middleburrow. It was about Percy, of course. He was drunk, and lost a small fortune to me and could not resist thrusting a few daggers at my reputation out of spite. I could not let it stand.”
No, he could not. But a duel, let alone with Middleburrow, would do nothing to keep the hounds at bay. “I will find a way out of it.”
“He will have to apologize. Nothing less will do. I set the meeting for two o’clock, in the hopes of giving him a chance to sober up.”
Ives began planning how to affect this miracle. “If I succeed, you must promise me to go down to Merrywood again. I’ll not be fixing disasters for you over and over.”
Lance’s deep scowl reflected what he thought of that condition.
“Give me your word, Lance, or you can find someone else for the meeting.”
“Fine, damn it. You have my word. I will rusticate until I am gray and feeble and until a silken noose appears a mercy, if you want.”
Ives would have liked to reassure him that soon the current burden would be lifted, but in truth he saw no end in sight. When he left, Lance had begun cleaning his dueling pistols, should eloquence not avert the duel after all.
Ives had planned to go riding this morning, but by the time he left his brother, there was not enough time to go out of town and return in time for the meeting. He instead returned home to complete the grooming barely begun, then rode back to Mayfair in the afternoon.
The Duke of Middleburrow’s second appeared relieved when Ives explained that Lance felt an indiscretion blurted while drunk should not lead to a man’s death.
They spent an hour negotiating the language of the apology that Middleburrow would make.
Knowing Lance’s mind, Ives insisted it not be so qualified as to edge into ambiguity.
Lest Middleburrow balk, they also made arrangements for a duel should that be needed. Ives trusted those details would encourage Middleburrow to swallow his pride, claim incapacity due to spirits, and back out with grace.
The entire endeavor took most of the day. The intrusion on his time left Ives irritated. He returned home, determined to spend the morrow out of doors, on horseback, free of all obligations.
As he sat down with his book that evening, the paper with his list of mistress qualifications caught his attention again.
He read it, too aware that abstinence was becoming a nuisance.
With each item on the list, a face took clearer form in his mind.
Dark hair. Sparkling eyes. Determined expression. Uncompromising loyalty.
Hell.
He tucked the paper away again.