5
The indomitable duchess paid Edward a visit the moment he returned to his office at Scotland Yard, causing him to wonder if she was having him watched. He wouldn’t put it past her.
Lady Philippa Winterbourne, Duchess of Dorsett, caused quite a stir in the crowded offices. Such a lofty member of the peerage, a confidante of the Queen herself, rubbing shoulders with common bobbies. Quite the kerfuffle, as his Scottish compatriots would say. But the real disturbance was to Edward’s equilibrium.
Edward’s office – once a bedroom when the original building was used as a private residence – had been converted into the commissioner’s office when Sir Robert Peel took over the building and turned it into the headquarters for the Metropolitan Police. A bookshelf graced one wall stuffed with all manner of reference materials, books for research, and various ledgers. His inherited desk from the previous commissioner claimed the centre of the room. A behemoth monstrosity of dark wood, it was elaborately carved and sported a leather-covered top stained by all manner of things best forgotten. He hated it but didn’t have the time, money, or motivation to replace the thing. A large window on the far wall let in bright sunlight and allowed Edward a glimpse of the bustling street beyond.
Reading ushered the duchess in, and she looked dubiously at the hard-backed chair sitting opposite Edward’s desk. Instead of sitting, she paced. Her gown of deep purple was overlaid with some kind of black gossamer fabric. Jewels were sewn into the skirt and bodice at varying intervals in the shape of little starbursts. She looked like a sparkling midnight sky even in the drab surroundings of his office.
‘To what do I owe this honour, Lady Winterbourne?’
She paused in her pacing, raised a single eyebrow, and stared unblinking at him for what seemed an eternity. ‘You know why I’m here. I asked you to ensure Ivy’s safety. Now she’s being attacked by unnamed hooligans climbing through windows.’
‘It was just one hooligan, and we’ve no idea what his purpose was in trying to break into the orphanage.’
‘Succeeding. Not trying. He succeeded in breaking in. And if it weren’t for Ivy, he could have succeeded in much worse.’
Edward rarely saw Philippa flummoxed. ‘What has you so worried?’
She shook her head in tight, sharp movements. ‘I don’t know. I’m missing something and I don’t like it. While there’s no reason to assume this has anything to do with the Devil’s Sons, my instincts are screaming at me that it does. I just don’t know why.’
‘Perhaps it might help if I knew a little more about Ivy. Her father and brother were mixed up with this lot?—’
‘No, just her brother.’ Philippa resumed pacing. ‘Although her father was far from innocent. He was significantly more insidious than his son.’
‘Did he ever hurt Lady Ivy?’
‘That is not my story to tell. Nor is it one I know from the source. Just whispers. Insinuations. And my own suspicions.’ While Philippa gave no details, her judicious lack of commentary for certain questions he put forth revealed much.
‘Do you believe he abused her?’
Silence.
‘Do all men frighten her, or is it something about me in particular?’
Silence.
‘Is it wrong of me to include her in this investigation?’
An eye roll accompanied by silence.
‘I believe she is stronger than she knows, but I’ve no wish to push her beyond her boundaries. Am I pushing her too far?’
That elicited a snort. ‘Of course she is stronger than she knows. She’s been taught her whole life – as most women are – that she is the weaker sex and needs protection. Ironic the people she needs protection from are the same ones reminding her only they can provide such safety. Why are so many men such horrific examples of hypocrisy?’ Philippa finally stopped her pacing, snarled at the chair for sins Edward couldn’t begin to fathom, then carefully sat as if the thing might collapse under her insubstantial weight.
Edward dared not answer that verbal trap disguised as a question. Instead, he asked another. ‘Am I making a mistake, Philippa?’
For a moment, the duchess froze, her cobalt eyes holding his as she rubbed her thumb against her index finger in an endless circle. ‘If only you’d asked me that question twenty years ago.’ He didn’t miss the sharp edge of her voice. Nor could he plead ignorance as to why her words cut so deep.
‘I shall never forgive myself for her death, Philippa. I take full responsibility.’
‘And what good does that do?’ Philippa shrugged, her blood-red lips hardening in a firm line. ‘Living in perpetual self-punishment doesn’t bring her back. It doesn’t ease my grief or your guilt.’
Edward felt each word like a cudgel smashing into his soul. Because she was right. ‘If there was a way to fix my horrifying decision, to go back in time and undo the wrong I committed, I would do anything, give anything, to rewrite our history.’
‘I know. But you can’t. No one can change the past, Edward. We can only try to move forward. I have hated you for so long. But I grow weary of this loathing. It only ever takes, and I no longer wish to feed its endless hunger. I don’t believe she would want us to be forever at odds.’
‘She loved us both. Of that, I’m certain. Even if one of us was most undeserving of her love.’
