Chapter 18
Ives firmly believed that when a lover said it was over, it was over.
Not for him the humiliation of cajoling and begging.
Not only would that be undignified but it would also be hopeless.
His experience had been that women know their own minds very clearly on the question of whom they wanted to be naked with.
Rarely had he been thrown over, but it had happened.
He knew what to do. First, a night of drinking with friends—male friends—to balance out too much time spent in feminine company.
Second, renewed energy to matters of the mind—his cases, reading, and intellectual pursuits.
Third, the very prescription Padua had given him—find a mistress.
The steps did not have to be taken in order, or even one at a time. And so it was that two nights later, he found himself deep in his cups at Damian’s gaming hall, commiserating with Belleterre about the complications women brought to one’s life.
Belleterre had his own problems, far more colorful than Ives’s.
A well-known courtesan had pursued him last season, finally running him to ground at the very end of the festivities.
She had then discarded discretion and all sense, and fallen in love.
All summer long high drama built, until even Belleterre’s wife became aware of the affair.
Not a woman to suffer whores gladly, she had four days ago confronted him and issued her terms. The mistress, or her.
He had dutifully broken with his paramour, who now went around town announcing she would kill herself due to a broken heart.
“She has broken all the rules,” Belleterre complained.
“Miranda has never minded before, when it was kept quiet. This might as well have been a theater show listed in the papers. Now should anything happen to Charlene, it is my fault. Don’t tell me I won’t be blamed.
I am sure to be, and all I did was take a bite out of an apple that fell onto my head. ”
“It will pass. She won’t kill herself. You aren’t that fascinating, and you sure as hell are not irreplaceable. None of us are.”
“Hell of a thing anyway. It is all backward.” Belleterre gulped more of the whiskey they shared.
“I can tell you about backward, but—” He pantomimed at locking his lips.
“Have you been busy? A secret affair? Who is she? Do I know her?”
Ives shook his head and locked his lips again. “The important thing is we must get back on the horses again. And ride.”
Belleterre cackled into his glass. Ives realized that had sounded more bawdy than he intended, but laughed too.
“You should call on Mrs. Dantoine. My situation with Charlene need not stop you. Mrs. Dantoine was most interested in you, as I said. She is sweet. If it did not mean sailing too close to the rocks already battering my ship, I would set my course there myself.”
Ives idly wondered if Mrs. Dantoine would fit any of the qualities on that list he had made. Not that the list existed anymore. He had burned it last night when it fell out of the book he was moving. Why have such a list if the woman who fit every adjective did not want you?
“What ho, are you going to drink all of that yourself? I could use a few fingers.”
The voice hailing them came from Strickland. He dangled a fat, heavy gambling purse from his hand. Ives gestured for him to sit beside him. He pointed at the purse.
“Winning again?”
Strickland patted the purse and smiled like a contented cat. He helped himself to some whiskey. “Good to see you are back in town. Word was you had left for parts unknown.”
“Were you out of town?” Belleterre asked. “No wonder you did not know about my sorry plight.”
“I went down to Merrywood. My brother Gareth returned from the Continent.”
“Your half brother, you mean,” Belleterre said with a smirk.
Belleterre could be an ass when he drank. Ives had forgotten how much of one.
“It is good you are back, now that things are coming to a head with that case,” Strickland said.
Ives caught his eye and glanced to Belleterre. Strickland took the hint.
“I have to go piss,” Belleterre said, unaware of their silent messages.
As soon as he left them, Ives put his head to Strickland’s. “Sedition now? I don’t believe it.”
Strickland sipped whiskey and smacked his lips. “Not what you believe that matters, is it? What the jury believes is all anyone cares about.”
“Do they have anything at all to convince a jury about that?”
“Enough for a good barrister to get the job done. More than enough for you to do it. Belvoir was told there would be hell to pay if he did not cooperate. Them that said it, meant it.”
“One more reason for me to decline to prosecute,” Ives muttered.
Strickland stared at him. “You cannot be thinking of it. I heard you were firmly committed.” He bent forward and whispered, “That word came from way on high. Do you understand? He has every confidence you will do your duty, it is said.”
“I have a conflict.”
“A conflict? Well, get rid of it.”
He had gotten rid of it. Or rather, it had gotten rid of him. Still, he remained a far cry from committed. It did a man’s soul no good to do his duty if he had lost faith in it.
Belleterre staggered toward them. “Let us go find some women,” he declared.
“The way I heard it, the woman you married has your cock under lock and key these days,” Strickland said.
Belleterre looked at Ives, pained. “See? The whole town knows. If Strickland quips at my expense, imagine what is being said by those with some wit?”
Ives sent Strickland a sidelong glance. Strickland’s own glance met his. They burst out laughing. “Trust us,” Ives choked out. “You do not want to know what those with wit are saying.”
Dispirited, Belleterre downed more whiskey.
* * *
Padua entered the gaoler’s office. He eyed her from head to toe.
“It has been some time, Miss Belvoir.”
“It has.”
“No food? No books?”
She shook her head. “It will be a very brief visit.”
“Make it so. He has been designated dangerous, I’ll have you know. We are supposed to keep a closer watch on him.”
She left the office and strode through the prison. Dangerous. What nonsense. Were the authorities blind?
Then again, what did she know? Perhaps Papa was a criminal mastermind.
She found him sleeping in his corner. The other inmates of his cell had changed over time. She did not recognize most of them. She gestured to one, and then at her father. The big fellow went over, and gave her father’s hip a good kick.
He startled awake, cowered, frowned, then saw her. He closed his eyes again.
“I know about the house,” she called. “The one on Silver Street.”
His eyes opened again. Wide. He scrambled to his feet and shuffled over to the bars. “Padua, I—”
“Do not say a word. You have had precious little to say to me in ten years, so do not start talking now. Just listen. I found the house. I have been there. You have no pride left to protect with me. I should turn my back on you, as you have done with me so often. I will not, however. I promised Mama, and I am your daughter. I only want to hear one word from you. Will you now, finally, make some attempt to defend yourself?”
“You have been there?” His face flushed.
“I am living there.”
His eyes widened. “No. You cannot have—”
“Oh, Papa, for heaven’s sake. I have not begun working there. I am not one of Mrs. Lavender’s young ladies. I am up with the servants. I have to live somewhere, don’t I? If you were not too proud to own such a place, who am I to be too proud to take sanctuary under its roof?”
“It is different. It is—”
“One word, Papa. Yes or no. Will you finally fight this? If not, I will leave you alone, as you have so often insisted.”
He looked down. Emotion twisted his face. “I am sorry you know.”
“Yes or no, Papa?”
He weighed his answer for a long time. Exasperated, she turned to leave.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes.”
* * *
“Sir.” Vickers spoke lowly. “Sir, you have a visitor.”
Ives opened his eyes. Low flames in the fireplace greeted him. He had dozed off while reading a long, boring brief regarding a contested inheritance. It was the kind of family argument that made lawyers rich and the family in question much, much poorer.
“Send him away. Tell him to return tomorrow afternoon.”
“It is a woman, sir.”
Ives held out his hand.
“She has no card, sir. It is the same woman as before. The very tall one.”
Padua? Here?
He stood. “I will see her.”
“I put her in the office, sir.”
He wanted to tell Vickers to go and get her. Instead, he strode to the office.
She sat where she had been that first night. She appeared less distraught than that time. Less vulnerable. He paused at the door and admired her bright eyes and self-contained poise. Damnation, but it was good to see her. Too good.
She noticed him and he walked forward. “Padua.”
“I am sorry to come at this hour. Again.”
“You are welcome at any hour. Come to the library.”
“No. I would prefer we talk here. I have come to speak with the famed barrister, you see. Not my former lover.”
Her last words sliced at his heart. With difficulty, he became the barrister she sought. He sat in a chair facing her.
“I know you will not prosecute, and I know you cannot defend without great cost to yourself,” she said.
“However, I hope you will speak to him. To my father. You know everything—about the house and that income. Mr. Notley does not as yet. If you question him, you may learn things Mr. Notley never will. And, I trust you, as I never will trust another.”
Another what? Man? Lawyer? He did not ask.
“Do you have reason to think he will talk to me, Padua? Or anyone?”
“I saw him today. I told him I know about the house. He was ashamed. I think he did not want me or anyone to know about it. That was why he would not speak, I think.”
“Did he say as much? Will he cooperate now?”
“Yes. He told me he would. Will you do it? I know I have no right to ask it, but—”