Chapter 1 #2
The earl bit back a further retort. This wasn’t the first conversation they had engaged in concerning the proper decorum demanded of a highborn young lady. But alas, highborn was a rather sticky part of his argument …
And being a very bright and clever girl—as well as worldly beyond her age on account of her unconventional upbringing— Eddy immediately pounced on it.
“We both know that there’s a question as to whether I was born on the wrong side of the blanket,” continued Eddy, lifting her chin in challenge. “If I’m a bastard, the beau monde won’t give a damn about what I say or do.” She blew out a very unladylike sound. “Thank God.”
Torn between amusement and dismay—he sympathized with her dislike of the many silly strictures imposed on females, but being ostracized from society was no laughing matter—Wrexford studied her profile for a long moment.
He guessed that the lion’s share of her bravado was sparked by uncertainty.
And an underlying vulnerability. Her upbringing had been unorthodox, to say the least. He still didn’t understand all the nuances of the relationship between their father and Eddy’s mother.
However, from what he had pieced together, the Irish firebrand had possessed a fiercely independent streak and didn’t think twice about cocking a snoot at conventional rules.
But given his own notoriously eccentric reputation, criticizing such freewheeling attitudes would be akin to the pot calling the kettle black, he admitted.
In truth, he felt completely out of his depth in trying to guide his stranger-of-a-sister through the labyrinth of Polite Society.
Charlotte was much better at reading people than he was—
Seeing that Eddy was eyeing him expectantly, the earl shook off such musings and mustered a confident smile.
“Put such questions about legitimacy aside, Eddy. I am quite certain that we shall find the official marriage documents. Our father was the very soul of honor. He would never have been so remiss as to put your future in jeopardy.”
“H-How …” The flutter of her lashes cast skittering shadows over her eyes. “How can you be so sure?”
Because if the documents don’t exist, there are ways of snapping one’s fingers and conjuring them out of thin air.
However, he would prefer that it didn’t come to that.
“As I said, I know how much our father valued family.” He glanced around at the autumn-hued leaves, their colors deepening in fading sunlight. “Come, we really mustn’t dawdle any longer.”
With a subtle flick of the reins, Eddy turned the big black stallion she was riding and called out a challenge as she spurred forward. “In that case, I’ll race you back to Stanhope Gate!”
Shocked by Hawk’s uncharacteristic show of raw emotion, Charlotte held him close, waiting for his sobs to subside.
He and his brother never cried, so a myriad of grim scenarios as to why were already clawing at her consciousness.
But she kept them at bay. At this moment, he needed comforting, not questions.
Smoothing back his tangled hair, she pressed a kiss to his brow. “Whatever the trouble is, my love, you are not facing it on your own.”
His bony shoulders finally stopped quaking, and Hawk slowly lifted his tear-stained face. “M-Mr. Campbell …” His voice faltered for an instant. “M-Mr. Campbell was murdered last night.”
A gasp slipped from her lips.
“Somebody c-cut his throat on Threadneedle Street.”
She touched a palm to his still-wet cheek. “How terrible, sweeting. No wonder you are so upset.”
“He was a w-wery nice man,” mumbled Hawk, the mispronunciation further evidence of his extreme distress. He only mangled his consonants when he was upset.
“Indeed, he was,” said Charlotte. However, she had sensed there were shadows lurking beneath the gentle twinkle in the gardener’s eyes.
Life, she guessed, had not been overly kind to Mr. Campbell.
His gnarled stoop and misshapen fingers had given hints of some interlude of great physical hardship.
Perhaps he had been one of the unlucky fellows caught by the Royal Navy’s press gang and forced into life as a sailor …
But whatever his past story, his present situation as a humble gardener at the London Institution made him a very poor target for a footpad. She couldn’t help but be puzzled—
“We must find who did this.” Hawk’s shaky voice drew her back from her musing. “And see that the culprit answers for the crime. Mr. Campbell deserves justice.”
“Sweeting, all souls whose lives are taken from them before their time deserve justice.” Charlotte hesitated.
Before their paths had crossed with hers, Hawk and his brother, though only young orphans, had somehow managed to survive the brutal wolf-eat-wolf world of the London slums. So he knew better than most that justice was a luxury that was rarely bestowed upon the lower classes.
“But much as it pains me to say it,” she continued, “the sad truth is that the killer has likely melted away into the stews, and unless a witness steps forward and offers up some clue …”
“But Wrex and you have never been daunted by the fact that a crime doesn’t appear easy to solve!” he interrupted. “And Wrex is a patron of the London Institution. Surely with that personal link, he will wish to honor Mr. Campbell’s memory by learning the truth.”
A watery sniff. “Won’t he?”
Charlotte forced herself to meet his beseeching stare. “I—I didn’t say we wouldn’t try.” Though in truth, she had dismissed it as a lost cause. “We will speak with Wrex when he returns. But you must understand that despite our best efforts, the truth may never be discovered.”
“Oiy.” Hawk gave a solemn nod. “I know that Life isn’t fair.” Tears were still pearled on his lashes. “But as you always tell us, the battle between Good and Evil is never-ending, and even when things look grim, we must never stop fighting to keep Darkness at bay.”