Chapter 33
James stared at the piece of folded parchment he’d received. It hadn’t arrived with the regular post, but by messenger. A large blob of red wax sealed it, the emblem embedded upon it, the image of a bird in flight.
Elks had brought it to James earlier, but rather than tear it open at once, he’d put it in his pocket for later. Just in case it had come from her.
The chance of its doing so, was slim, but the address was penned by a feminine hand, and he could think of no one else who might send him a letter. So if it were indeed she who’d done so, he wanted to be alone when he read it.
Gently, he tore the seal, doing his best to keep it from cracking. He then unfolded the paper and dropped his gaze to the bottom of the page where the sender had written their name.
His pulse leapt.
Sincerely,
Edwina Lillianne Cooper
Hunched over on the edge of his bed, James started to read.
Dear Mr. Murry,
I hope this letter finds you well and in better health than when I last saw you.
I’m sorry for what my brother did, though I cannot deny being glad of it at the time.
I was wrong to repay you with such contempt when what you deserved was my everlasting gratitude.
Had you not arrived at The Albion when you did, my life would no longer have been worth living.
Thanks to you, however, I did not suffer the unspeakable things that might have been done to me otherwise. For this, I am in your debt.
You risked a great deal for me. The situation I placed you in when I asked for your help was not a simple one. Yet you did what you could to accommodate my wishes. More than anyone else would have dared.
Please know that I do not blame you for returning me to my brother’s care.
Upon reflection, it was the right thing to do.
Should you ever be faced with a situation where I might be able to offer my assistance, please don’t hesitate to ask.
Yours sincerely,
Edwina Lillianne Cooper.
James read the letter twice more, his heart still hammering hard against his ribs. She’d had no obligation to write, yet she had. He considered each word, each phrase, as if somewhere within the text, he’d discover a clue about how she felt.
Toward him.
He dropped his head to the palm of one hand and closed his eyes. Lord help him but he truly was an idiot.
An unhappy laugh burst past his lips. The lady was merely being polite and absolving him of any potential guilt he might have.
In doing so, she was probably absolving herself as well.
And yet…
He considered the way she’d signed off, providing not only her full given name, but leaving the honorific out. It was almost as though she’d removed the barrier between them while also providing him with more information about her.
No.
He refolded the letter and shoved it beneath the clothes he kept in the bottom drawer of his dresser. This was nonsense. A line of thinking that could only lead to more trouble.
It was best if he accepted the letter for what it was — a chance for her to thank him. Nothing more.
With this in mind, he left his room and returned to his duties. Croft wanted his help identifying all the men who’d been part of that auction. He’d sworn he’d deliver a list of their names to Wrengate. What the duke chose to do with that information would be up to him.
Since these men had worn masks, figuring out who they were would take time.
The effort had begun a few days earlier when James had accompanied Adrian back to The Albion.
The hall boys who worked there had been most helpful, providing descriptions of some of the men they’d seen there in the hours leading up to the auction. Before they’d put on their masks.
On the basis of this alone, Croft had managed to compile five names. In the days that followed, interviews conducted with hackney drivers had managed to give them three more.
An achievement that kept James’s mind firmly on the woman who deserved to be avenged. Hell, he was tempted to murder each of these men himself. The only thing stopping him was the knowledge that Wrengate was more deserving of his revenge.
Still, the case prevented James from thinking of other matters.
And eventually caused him to seek out the letter he’d hidden away in his dresser.
It truly was stupid of him to respond, but it might also be considered rude if he didn’t.
After all, Edwina was a lady, and she’d thanked him profusely.
The least he could do was acknowledge that.
He scratched the back of his neck, mulled the matter over a few more times, and finally left his room in order to find some writing supplies.
Instead of going to Croft, he chose to ask Pierson, one of the footmen, who corresponded regularly with his sister.
He would surely be in possession of both paper and ink.
“Certainly,” said Pierson when James made the request. “Just take the whole lap desk and return it once you’re done.”
James promised to do so with thanks and returned to his room.
He prepared the paper and quill, then paused. How the hell was he meant to begin? Should he use the honorific or ignore it as she had?
Maybe there was a way to avoid any mention of her name altogether.
He frowned at his foolishness and at all the time he’d wasted on staring at the blank page sitting before him. It wasn’t as though he’d ever see the woman again, so why did it matter?
With a sigh, he began.
Dear Edwina…
* * *
The gentleman was more optimistic than he’d been for several days by the time he left Bow Street.
Even though an unfortunate interference on Kendrick’s part meant that Gabriella would no longer serve as the gentleman’s unwitting informant.
Apparently, Kendrick didn’t approve of his wife discussing cases with anyone not directly involved. No matter who that person might be.
Nevertheless, the gentleman was glad to learn that Lady Edwina was safe. According to the Kendricks, she’d recently been returned to her brother’s care. By Croft, of all people.
Apparently the gentleman had underestimated Croft’s involvement in securing her safety. His ability to do so without any seeming engagement while simultaneously dealing with the birth of his daughter and subsequent fire proved he was made for this kind of work.
Would his father have been proud of him? The gentleman wondered.
George Croft had lacked his son’s ability to sympathize with others. He’d kept other criminals in check solely by securing his own interests. The threat of blackmail he’d held over anyone of importance had greased the wheels of his operation and kept him out of prison.
But he’d been cruel and ruthless, not just in the way his son seemed to be.
The gentleman liked this change. It made him feel better about his own choices, like the decision he’d made to sacrifice Evelyne Croft. Her death had not been for nothing, but had helped save numerous other lives while also shining a light on deplorable members of the peerage.
On this thought, the gentleman climbed into his awaiting carriage and set off for home. It was time to celebrate the successful conclusion to a difficult case with a glass of brandy in his study.