“Brilliant.” He held his hand out for the papers and then scanned them quickly. “My Bow Street contact should be able to help us. ’Tis probably better that ye stay out of things as much as possible.”
“Why? A few well-placed questions, and I may be able to determine who is calling the attacks.”
Colin looked up from the papers. “Because these men have shown themselves to not be above violence. I’ve no one to worry about, but ye. Ye have a family. We cannae let them get involved.”
Lucas’s gut wrenched at that. “Yes. Yes, thank you, Colin. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
Colin nodded. “They’ve no connection to ye yet, but it may be only a matter of time. We ought to hold them off as long as possible.”
Lucas expelled a breath. “I never imagined they would get this up in arms. If they truly wish to retain their employees, they need only pay them better. Or give them better working conditions.”
Colin barked a laugh. “Ye are sounding like a regular working man. Keep talking like that, and yer Society won’t welcome ye any longer.”
“Some days I think I would not mind that too much. You said they have no connection to me, but what of the club? Do they know we are involved?”
Colin sighed.
“Do they?”
“When your brother was hurt. Some men were asking questions about the club just as ye left, names of patrons and such. I dinnae tell them anything, o’ course, but I think they recognized yer brother.”
“Charlie?”
Colin nodded.
Lucas swore. “Charlie’s been home since the injuries, though.”
Colin nodded. “Keep him there. ’Tis another reason to keep you out of things as long as possible. We dinnae want to solidify any connection to your family. I know this is important ta ye, Lucas, but we have ta be prepared ta pull back on our work if needed. We started this, as you said, ta help people. If these men from the canal group keep poking their heads in our business... well, things could get hostile. We would nae be helping if we dinnae stop afore more people get hurt.”
Lucas ground his teeth, but he nodded.
“We can find other ways ta help if needed.”
Again, Lucas nodded. Then he rapped his knuckles against Colin’s desk. “I should be going. Send me word if something else develops.”
“I will.”
***
Lady Cheltenham and Lydia had just returned from a morning call with Lady Norwich. Upon their arrival, the marchioness declared a desire to rest and encouraged Lydia to find something to amuse her in the house. So Lydia was left walking through the ornate portrait hall, trying to pick out family traits among the many Marquesses and Marchionesses of Cheltenham and Earls of Berkeley. She stopped in front of a portrait of Lord Berkeley. It hung at eye level in a large, decorative frame. If she had toguess, it had been done within the last two years. Her gaze traced the lines around his eyes—he seemed to have more than most men his age.
She cocked her head, admiring the portrait in the way she could not admire the man, letting her eyes linger on the broad expanse of his shoulders and the strong set of his jaw. Objectively speaking, he was incredibly attractive. Coupled with his title, it was no wonder he was so well-liked in London, particularly by the female set.
Gracious, anyone hearing her thoughts might think she was jealous. But she was the last woman in London who could marry Lord Berkeley. She could not marry at all.
“Miss Faraday. I apologize, I did not know this room was occupied.”
Lydia jumped back in surprise, head swinging to see Lord Berkeley himself several steps into the room. He hesitated, looking behind him at the doorway, then came farther in. Lydia tried not to let her eyes stray back to the portrait, but as if he could sense the struggle, his own gaze shifted to it. He let out a small chuckle—unusual for him—and quirked an eyebrow at her. She very nearly blushed at his learning that she’d been staring at a picture of him.
“Enjoying the artwork, are you?”
She turned to teasing to hide her discomfort. “Oh yes.” She clasped her hands behind her back, feigning nonchalance. “Artists are very skilled at accurately representing their subject. Well, except this one, of course.” She tilted her head at Lord Berkeley’s portrait.
“Oh? And why is that?”
“I should think it was obvious.”
Again, that infinitesimal eyebrow lift.
