Chapter Fourteen
The frantic pace of the morning could not be helped if Edward meant to do his job, protect Franny, and discover who meant to damage The Silk Knuckles Saloon. While Franny visited her father and Harry’s sickbeds, Edward joined the Davenports and the Wentworths for a midday meal.
“Calder is being quite stubborn,” the Dowager Viscountess Davenport said. “He insists on returning home tonight.”
“He is worried about Frances,” Viscount Davenport said from the head of the table. “Although you can’t blame him. The woman has no regard for her own safety.” He tipped his glass to the lovely brunette sitting to his right. “Reminds me of another chit I know.”
Catching her bent middle finger on her thumb, Josephine flicked, sending the viscount a lewd hand gesture.
Edward almost choked on his roast beef.
Grinning, Jonathan Davenport winked at his friend’s wife.
As unseemly as his host’s behavior was, it didn’t surprise Edward.
The viscount was known for being an irreverent rakehell with an endless list of female conquests.
And as for Josephine’s behavior, he’d expect nothing less from the plucky champion of the Duke’s and Dame’s Mill.
“Jonathan, please behave in front of the company.” Lady Davenport’s voice was firm, but her eyes impishly twinkled. “You don’t want Mr. Robinson to think we are churlish beasts.”
“But we are quite loutish at mealtime.” Josephine cast a charming smile at Edward. “Mr. Robinson, you don’t strike me as the type of man who stands on false pretenses.”
“Please call me Edward. And, you are correct, my lady. I do not,” he said. However, his mother would have taken away their dessert, and his father would have boxed their ears if he and his siblings had misbehaved at the table.
“See, ’tis settled,” Josephine said. “Edward is one of us now.”
One of them? The statement warmed Edward’s heart.
The camaraderie these individuals shared was infectious, so it would make sense that he might want to be included.
Maybe it was the delicious meal they’d shared with him, although Mrs. Benson was a fabulous cook, so that hardly seemed a likely reason to wish to be included as “one of them”.
Thunderation, he should be honest with himself. His silly sentiment was probably—no, completely—related to the spirited redhead who had turned his world upside down.
“Edward,” Nicolas Wentworth said. “I think you should know that last night my wife snuck out for a late-night constitutional, and someone followed her.”
“Good Heavens.” Lady Davenport brought a hand to her heart. “Josephine, we discussed this. You are not to go out alone until we understand who and what we are up against.”
“I did not sneak out,” Josephine said. “I simply needed some fresh air, and Nicolas was busy scribbling in his journal.”
“Do you know what Josie did?” her husband asked, shooting her a disgruntled look.
The viscount grinned. “I wager she turned the tables, chased the bloke until she tired him out, and then beat the shite out of him.”
Josephine grinned, then huffed. “I was minding my own business, enjoying the cool breeze. I was halfway down the street when I realized I was being followed. So, I turned around and yelled, ‘Ye better run for yer life because if I catch ye, ye are a dead man.’ And I started running toward him. The coward took off. I almost caught him, but he got away because a gig was waiting for him at the end of the street.”
Lady Davenport waggled a finger at Josephine. “And what if he had pulled out a pistol and shot you?”
“Exactly.” The future earl folded his hands across his chest and glared at his wife. “If she had only asked, I would have gone with her.”
“If he had shot me, you would find him and skin him alive,” Josephine said. “And besides, if he could have shot me, he could have shot you, too, and that’s something I would never allow.”
Her husband nodded. “True.”
“Without a doubt,” the viscount agreed.
Good God, no wonder Jabbing Josie and Fiery Franny were best friends. They were so much alike. Poor Coach Valentine. How had he managed the pair?
“Can you tell me anything about the man who followed you?” Edward asked.
“He was fast,” Josephine said. “Otherwise, I’d have caught him, and he’d have a couple of broken ribs.”
A couple of broken ribs, a broken nose, and his bollocks jammed up his arse, Edward wagered. Lucky fellow to have escaped.
“Was there anyone else in the gig other than the driver?” Edward asked.
“I don’t think so, “Josephine said. “I only saw the driver.”
“What did these men look like?” Edward asked, and reached for the notebook and pencil in his pocket.
He paused then. This wasn’t his case. Should he take notes?
Yes, he decided. But still… “If anyone asks, I’m not the runner assigned to this case, and any notes you see me take is the market list for my landlady.
” He lifted a meaningful brow and opened the notebook to a fresh page. Everyone nodded.
Josephine grunted. “The man who was following me wore a dark hooded cape and a black mask that covered half his face. The other man was too far away for me to see any details.”
Edward tucked the notebook away before he spoke, bracing himself for the pugilist’s wrath, expecting verbal ire or a feminine fist, and perhaps both. “My lady, your husband is correct.”
Instead of punching him, she regarded him with a raised brow, so he continued.
“ ’Tis probably best that you don’t go out alone for now.
I suspect those men meant to capture you and put you in their conveyance, but when you yelled—and came at them, something they probably never anticipated—they feared others were alerted.
” Edward cast his gaze on each individual at the table so they understood his seriousness.
“Coach Valentine and Harry should remain here under the Davenport’s care and protection, and I will continue to stay with Miss Valentine. ”
Franny would be the death of him, but it was for the best and for once, his brain and cock agreed.
Speaking of Franny, she’d been attending to Harry for a long time. Was there something between them? His thoughts provided an image of her kissing the man, and his heart clenched. But fortunately, Edward’s musings were interrupted when a massive man entered the room at the butler’s heels.
“His Grace,” was all the butler got out before the red-bearded man rushed past him.
“Tristan.” Lady Davenport rose and kissed the newcomer on the cheek.
Assuming this must be the Duke of Griffendale, Edward stood. “Your Grace.”
The duke motioned for Edward to be seated. “I just heard that Coach Valentine was injured. Is he here?”
“He was attacked on his way to The Spotted Octopus,” the viscount said. “Luckily, Mr. Robinson…I mean, Edward—” he gestured toward him—“came along and was able to stop the attack. The doctor saw to Coach, and he is upstairs resting.”
“Unfortunately,” Edward said, “the men got away.”
The duke regarded Edward, nodding in what seemed to be appreciation. “Ah, the investigator the magistrate assigned to find our arsonists.”
“Actually, I am not your investigator,” Edward said.
“Hold on.” The duke pulled a chair between the viscount and Josephine and sat, then stared at Edward with furrowed brows. “You’re not?”
“We got some dolt named Baker,” Josephine said. “But Edward is helping us anyway. If you see him taking what appear to be notes, he’s actually writing a market list.” She grinned like a devilish child who’d just gotten away with a prank. “He is an old friend of Franny’s.”
He most certainly was not an old friend, and Franny gave every indication that she detested him.
“I see,” the duke said. “Let me be sure I understand. The magistrate assigned a dullard to my case when a perfectly decent investigator could be working on it?” He drummed his fingers on the table.
It seemed like forever before he spoke. “If I find out Whitehill is behind this, I will meet him at dawn.”
“He is an arrogant, unscrupulous, misogynistic fool,” Josephine hissed.
“Mr. Robinson,” the duke said, his tone deadly serious. “Am I correct that Runners may take on private cases?”
“We can,” Edward said.
“I’ve already tried to hire him,” the viscount said. “He refused payment.”
“I will continue to investigate,” Edward said. “But since the magistrate has reminded me that he did not assign me to the case, I am keeping a low profile.”
“Interesting,” Griffendale said. “So, you continue to investigate without the magistrate’s blessing, and Whitehill has the magistrate’s ear.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Edward said.
Griffendale snorted. “Something about this stinks like an old chamber pot.”
“What are we going to do about it?” the viscount asked, a sinister smile spreading across his face.
“The usual,” the duke said.
“Ah, yes,” mumbled Lady Davenport.
What was this group of aristocrats up to?
“Mr. Robinson?” Josephine said.
Edward faced the pretty pugilist.
“Nicolas and I will stay at The Silk Knuckles tonight so that you and Franny can get a good night sleep. Somewhere where she will be safe. Mayhap your home?”
He expected someone to point out that this was most indecent, but no one said a word because they were all staring into space, grinning. Wickedly. Not at all suspicious. Edward frowned.
*
Now that Edward had seen to his stolen jewelry investigation, taken Franny to visit her loved ones, and filled his belly, it was time to track down Bear and Whale.
He excused himself and left the aristocrats to their scheming.
At least, he suspected they were up to something nefarious.
As he climbed the stairs and made his way to Harry’s chamber, trepidation churned in his stomach.
Nervous about what he might see behind the door, he placed his knuckle on the door and hesitated.
What did he care if Franny had spent the afternoon kissing Harry?
It’s not as if Edward had a relationship with the woman.
He, in fact, was not ready to pledge himself to any female.
Besides, it wasn’t as if Franny had confessed feelings for her groundskeeper beyond friendship.
This absurd jealousy was obliterating Edward’s common sense.
He shook off the useless emotion and gently knocked.
“Come in,” someone said.
Edward plastered an impassive expression on his face and entered.
To his delight, Franny was not in the chamber. Harry was propped against his pillows. An ointment was smeared over the angry burns covering the right side of his face.
Edward realized he had been a delusional fool because there was no way this poor man had spent an afternoon engaged in lascivious activities. His jealousy turned into shame.
“Good day. I am Edward Robinson. How are you feeling?” Although polite, it was a preposterous question, since Harry’s expression was distorted from pain.
“Good day,” Harry said, his voice weak. “Franny told me you are investigating who attacked me and Coach, as well as trying to find the arsonist. Do you think it’s the same people?”
“Logic says yes, but I don’t want to make assumptions.” Edward approached Harry’s bed. “Can you tell me anything about the man who attacked you?”
“I didn’t see him. I was on my way into the gymnasium when I noticed smoke on the side of the building. I tried to investigate and was hit from behind. When I woke up, Sky Johnston was dragging me away from the flames. The lad deserves a medal.”
That made four of them who had been close to these criminals and hadn’t seen their faces.
“I will let you rest,” Edward said.
“Please protect Coach and the ladies,” Harry said. “They are good people. I implore you to find who is behind this for their sake.”
“I will.” So help him God. With everything he had. Edward left the man’s room, closing the door behind him.
Edward’s next stop was at Coach’s chamber. He gently rapped. When no one answered, he cracked the door and slipped into the quiet. A ray of afternoon sunlight caught the sound-asleep Coach in its beam. Looking like a sweet angel come to Earth, Franny was curled up beside her father.
Edward froze in place, afraid to move or breathe.
If he awakened Franny, he could not watch her bosom rise and fall with her gentle breaths.
He would also be deprived of watching her eyelashes flutter as she dreamed.
The woman was so beautiful, and when she slept, he was safe to enjoy it because she couldn’t punch or scowl at him.
He brought a hand to his mouth to stifle his chuckle. The subtle movement must have disturbed her, because she stirred. Her lids lifted, and her pupils slowly focused.
“Edward?” she whispered in a voice so serene it wafted over him like a gentle breeze.
“Yes,” he mouthed.
She sat up and rubbed her eyes.
“I didn’t mean to wake you, but I want to talk to Vicar Williams,” he whispered so as not to wake Coach. “Would you like to stay here, or would you like to join me?”
Franny kissed her slumbering father on the cheek. Grinning as mischievously as the aristocrats in the dining parlor, she slipped from the bed and slid into her slippers.