Lucy grinned. Smart lady. “Yes. Hart’s father still used a stamp with the symbol on it in his correspondence with these old friends. The stamp was also on a threatening letter he received warning him to not back out of some deal. We’ve figured out who a few of the members are. Yesterday, we overheard through a partially open door, a group of men talking about Hart’s father at the Hollins’s party. We couldn’t place the voices, but we do know who exited that room.” She turned to Hart. “But how to know which ones were involved in the duel and the subsequent whitewashing of the incident?” Her brain tumbled over all the information they had learned. “And how did Robert end up in the middle and dead?” She continued to muse.
Hart and Miss Harper stared at her aghast.
Lucy cringed. “Oh dear. I’m sorry I did not mean to sound blasé about Robert’s death. I should have kept my thoughts to myself.”
“No, that’s not why I’m staring. I love how your clever mind works,” Hart said. “I was thinking that the men in that room yesterday all knew what happened and so we can safely assume they are all members. The betrothal must have been the broken deal.”
“I feel as though you two are speaking in code. I hate not knowing all the information,” Miss Harper grumbled.
Lucy exchanged another look with Hart. The editor of a scandal rag hardly seemed a good person to confide in what they had figured out thus far. They had probably told her too much as it was. Hart wore a matching skeptical expression.
She speared Miss Harper with a piercing look. “You have hardly been kind to us in your paper. Why would we trust you not to spill the information we have gathered all over London?”
The lady sighed. She looked at Hart. “I suppose… that the vitriol came from a place of bitterness. You are still alive where he is dead.” She grimaced as she turned her gaze to Lucy. “And you are living the life that would have been mine. It makes me a bit ashamed to say out loud that I feel the same way as the despicable Lord Griffen. I thought I had made peace with my life.” She shook her head. “I have made peace. I have a wonderful little boy and a business that supports us. It is enough.”
Lucy didn’t know what to say. She was still angry at what had been said in the paper at Hart’s expense, but she also could understand Miss Harper’s bitterness. The woman had suffered an enormous loss. She squeezed Hart’s hand. He sat with his brows lowered, his expression heartbreakingly sad.
“I have wished many times over the last five years that he was still alive. I would have willingly taken his place to have that be a reality.” Hart turned his gaze to her and lifted Lucy’s fingers to his lips. “Not anymore though. Now, thanks to my wife, I can finally see the bright possibilities my future can hold.”
Lucy leaned forward and kissed him tenderly. This man, with his surprisingly sweet moments, was going to make her cry again. And she did not like to cry. Lucy made herself turn back to the editor.
Miss Harper glanced back and forth between the two of them. “Listen, I have a large network of informants that could be of use in this matter. Finding out what happened to Robert is just as important to me as it is to you. You can trust me. I swear.”
Hart nodded. “After Griffen said, ‘That girl is living the life my daughter should have had,’ another man taunted him for his bad decisions.”
“But it was the other man who Griffen accused of ‘killing the boy.’ It seems both deaths weren’t Lord Griffen’s doing,” Lucy said.
Miss Harper’s lips pressed into a tight, thin line. “The sheer gall of these lords. They just do whatever they want with no consequences. Protect each other at all costs. It’s disgusting.”
“These were my father’s trusted confidants, and they killed him. Some brotherhood.” Hart spat out. “There will be consequences. I promise you that, Miss Harper.”
Miss Harper nodded. “I believe you, Lord Hartwick. Give me the names of all the men in that room. And I will gather every piece of dirt I can on them. Maybe something useful will come to light.”
Lucy rose to her feet. “Thank you, Miss Harper. We truly appreciate your help. And if there is anything we can do to help you, let us know.”
Hart stood as well. “Yes, I won’t let you or my brother’s son flounder in any way. Whatever you need. You are both now under the protection of the Duke of Hartwick.”
Miss Harper’s mouth fell open. Lucy chuckled at the lady’s shocked expression.
She leaned down to buss her cheek and whispered, “It’s a wonderful place to be.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
The atmosphere insidethe carriage was tense at best. Across from her, Hart was deep in thought. Lucy didn’t blame him. The truth behind his father and brother’s death was shocking. And the child… in another life, the boy would have been heir to the dukedom. She stared out the window as they headed back into Mayfair. These men had been friends since adolescence. And still they had killed each other. Men and their stupid honor.
“Hart, what will you do now that you know?” she asked.
Hart’s gaze sharpened as he focused on her. “I don’t know. My first instinct is to confront Griffen. Yell and rage. But to what end? It was a duel, a matter of honor. It was his right to take his shot.”
“But they were friends, long-time friends if we believe he was part of their group at school.”
“Yes.” Hart’s eyes turned steely. “My father trusted him enough that he thought they would raise their pistols. That his friend wouldn’t kill him. And what of Robert? How did he end up dead? Griffen accused another man in that room of killing Robert, but who?”
“I can’t figure out that part. There would be no reason to kill his second. Unless something is not as it seems or something went very wrong,” she mused.
“I need to figure out who was at the duel, who of his trusted circle would let the tragedy happen, and then help keep it a secret. Then I can decide properly what retribution must be dispensed.”
The violence in his eyes concerned her, but his anger was well deserved. She was angry too. Hart’s family had become hers as well for the time she lived at Belstoke. Their deaths had been her heartache, too.
