Chapter Eight
Edward stood in the doorway of a guestroom at the Davenport’s home observing as he tried to blend into the background.
The heartbreak in the room was palpable.
Franny knelt by her father’s bed holding his hand, and tears glistened in Lady Davenport’s eyes.
Nicolas Wentworth wrapped his arm around his wife as if helping to hold the champion pugilist upright.
Meanwhile, Viscount Jonathan Davenport paced the room, blasphemies flying from his mouth every few minutes.
“Please do not fret over me,” Coach Valentine said, his voice weak. “I will be fine. The doctor said ’tis just a few bruised ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and a broken nose.”
Edward suspected that Coach Valentine had more injuries than he’d confessed since his pupils were unfocused.
“Papa, your entire body is bruised,” Franny said. “I swear to God, when I find out who is behind this, I shall kill every single one of them.”
Undoubtedly, she would, because Frances Valentine was akin to a one-woman army.
“You shall stay here until you are back on your feet, Calder,” Lady Davenport said. “Both you and Harry are welcome here until you are fully healed.”
Edward fought the urge to proclaim that if the injuries continued, Greenpark House might run out of guest rooms.
The viscount stopped pacing. “I wager Whitehill is behind this.”
“Whitehill?” Edward asked, breaking his silence. So much for no one taking notice of him since everyone turned to stare.
“You don’t look surprised,” the viscount said. “Why is that?”
Edward couldn’t betray that the magistrate had mentioned the peer’s name. However, he could collect information. “Tell me why you think Whitehill is involved.”
Franny glared at him. Bloody bollocking hell! Using only his fists, he’d sent the two men attacking her father running for their lives. And still, she appeared to hate him.
“Runner Robinson, how is that you have no idea who attacked my father?” Franny asked, with an accusatory and wholly predictable lilt to her voice.
He would not allow the disgust she laced into her insulting address needle him. But how could she think he was somehow to blame? He’d simply decided to patrol the streets around her gymnasium in order to protect her and her business when he’d stumbled upon the scene in a side alley.
“Frances Valentine,” her father scolded. “The men wore masks and may have beaten me to death if Mr. Robinson had not happened along.”
“Oh, dear,” Lady Davenport gasped. “Thank you, Mr. Robinson. What a miracle that you were there.” She sank onto the end of the bed by Coach’s legs but then seemed to realize how inappropriate that was and popped back onto her feet as if on a spring.
The others didn’t appear to notice her actions. Instead, they hummed agreement with her declaration. Franny, however, still looked at him as if he were rat dung.
“Back to Whitehill,” Viscount Davenport said.
“He has loudly condemned Griffendale, Wentworth, and me for our involvement with an establishment that supports women. He is afraid that we have so much sway over the House of Lords that we will persuade Parliament to reconsider views on women’s property rights.
Especially since Wentworth had legal papers drawn up stating that he does not own The Silk Knuckles Saloon. ”
“Interesting,” Edward murmured. “Let me be sure I understand. My lord, although your wife owns a share of The Silk Knuckles Saloon, you do not own any part of it?”
“I do not,” Nicolas Wentworth said. “I’ve thumbed my nose at coverture laws and Whitehill is not happy.
’Tis none of his bloody business. Although I care very much about female autonomy, my decision was made because my family has had financial difficulty, and I won’t have my wife bear any of my forefathers’ mistakes.
Ironically, the angrier Whitehill gets, the more he bellows contradictions, thus solidifying my and other’s opinions that women need control over their own destinies. ”
Lord Davenport grinned. “And I find women are willing to grant me even more special favors if I support female autonomy.”
Josephine backhanded the viscount.
“Ouch,” he said as he rubbed his shoulder. “I was teasing.” He smirked. “Although ’tis a nice bonus.”
“Do hush, Jonathan.” Lady Davenport glared at her son before focusing her gaze on Edward. “We were in the middle of penning concerns for His Grace when Calder was injured.”
Franny growled. “What if Lady Hillcaster is telling her arse-kissing sycophant sons about our meetings and they are telling Whitehill? I have no idea why Lady Siddons brings her to our meetings.”
“I agree with Franny,” Josephine said.
“Ladies,” Lady Davenport said. “Lucille may appear stodgy, but she is quite trustworthy.”
Josephine harrumphed and Franny snorted.
“Something else is concerning me,” Josephine said. “Right before our gymnasium was set on fire, a couple of men showed up asking Franny and I to fight for them.”
Why didn’t Edward know about this?
“The men who interrupted the women’s exercise and defense class?” Coach asked.
“Yes,” Josephine said. “We explained that neither of us is currently competing.”
“Why is that?” Edward asked.
Josephine grinned at her husband, and he beamed back at her. “We are trying to start a family.”
“Why aren’t you competing?” Edward asked Franny.
An uncomfortable silence settled over the room. Apparently, Edward had hit a nerve.
“I also don’t trust the vicar,” Franny said.
The woman was a master of deflection. Luckily, Edward was a master at solving puzzles and he would discover the truth of this matter.
“Williams is always lurking about,” Franny said. “I’m certain he sent those self-righteous biddies to harass us.”
“What self-righteous biddies?” Coach Valentine asked.
Franny filled her father in on the visitors, ending her tirade with, “Of course, Runner Robinson treated them as if they were not barging into my place of business. He had the nerve to try to charm them as he escorted them out.”
As attractive as Franny Valentine was, Edward was tired of her accusations. “I was gathering information, Miss Valentine. That is what I do.”
“I’m happy that you have been assigned to our case, Mr. Robinson,” Josephine said. “Mr. Baker does not seem very thorough or intelligent.”
Edward clamped his lips together, stifling the declaration of agreement he itched to voice.
“Runner Robinson has not been assigned to our case,” Franny said. “He’s simply sticking his nose in my business.”
Edward was over the termagant. He would continue to investigate because it was the right thing to do but Frances Valentine could bugger off.
Nicolas Wentworth’s brow furrowed as his gaze traveled back and forth between Franny and Edward. “I dare say, I believe we would be better served to have you, Robinson. Baker has a reputation for being the worst investigator in London.”
Franny stopped glaring at Edward just long enough to glower at Wentworth.
“We shall take this up with Griffendale,” the viscount said.
“Please don’t.” Hesitating, Edward rubbed his chin and searched for honest words that did not divulge too much, settling on, “I am investigating on my own time.”
“Hah! I told you all.” Franny pointed an accusatory finger at Edward.
“Frances!” Coach Valentine grabbed his daughter’s hand and stared into her eyes. “He saved my life. Let him help us.”
Franny’s expression softened for the first time in hours, almost endearing the woman to Edward. Almost, because fortunately, he caught himself in time to remember he was over his infatuation. Or whatever the nonsense he felt was.
“Robinson, my good man,” the viscount said. “I shall pay you to look into this for us.”
Edward shook his head. “I do not require payment. I’m seeking the truth because ’tis the right thing to do.”
Franny cleared her throat. “I shall stop by Harry’s room and check on him before I leave.” She kissed her father on the cheek. “Sleep well.”
“Frances, stay the night,” Lady Davenport said. “I had a guest room prepared.”
Franny dismissed the offer with a flick of her wrist. “I would like to return… Well, return home, of course.”
“Stay here,” Josephine pleaded.
Shaking her head vehemently, Franny stood.
“Harry is in the last room before the stairs,” the viscount said. “But he may be asleep.”
“In that case, I shall just peek in.” Franny blew her father a kiss. “I love you, Papa. See you tomorrow.”
Against his better judgement, and sensing Franny was up to something, Edward stepped to the side to let her pass.
Nicolas Wentworth scratched his head. “I dare say, someone should stop her. Did you see the look in her eyes? She is going to get herself into a muddle she can’t get out of.”
“Good luck to whoever tries,” Josephine said.
“Mr. Robinson,” Coach Valentine croaked out. “Will you keep an eye on my daughter until I am back on my feet? It should only be about twenty-four hours.”
Edward wagered it would be at least a week. And unfortunately, even though he no longer favored the sour woman, he couldn’t let her run amuck looking for her father’s attacker while the poor man tried to regain his health. She would get herself killed and he did not want that on his conscience.
“Of course.” Edward bowed slightly, exited the room, and then tracked Franny’s delectable rose scent.