He blinked, surprised. “Because you believe the new Marchioness of Rothley is beyond reproach?” Indeed, grace came to her as easily as breathing.
“Because there’s something between you. Something that feels like it was meant to be.”
The comment slipped past his armour. “Like you, Mrs Boswell, perhaps she will prove to be a faithful friend.”
“I sincerely hope so, my lord. Shall I have her things moved from the Peacock Room to the grand suite?”
“You seem quite certain I will bring my wife home.”
Her smile held the assurance he had come to expect. “Once you set your mind to a task, the devil himself couldn’t shift you.”
“Then no. Lady Rothley will choose her own rooms when she returns.” He checked his watch. “Inform Molière we will dine later, at nine. Tell him if he dares complain, I’ll request toad-in-the-hole every night for a week.”
“I expect the threat will leave him trembling. Shall I have the table laid in the dining room or your private quarters?”
“The dining room,” he said at last. “Lady Rothley has a penchant for mausoleums.”
While the soot-streaked facade of Bow Street’s Magistrates’ Office projected an air of authority, Gabriel saw only irony.The structure was sound. The morals of some who served within were not.
He climbed the steps, the valise light in his grasp, the blasted trinkets clattering like the questions that plagued him. He hadn’t meant to bring it, but leaving it unguarded had seemed the greater risk. Still, he had come to free his wife, not to seek answers.
The law had to tread carefully around a lady of rank, and he meant to use that to his advantage. The sooner this farce was over, the sooner he could take Olivia home. Yet as the thought formed, doubt gnawed at him. How many secrets could one woman carry before the scales tipped beyond reason?
Armed with his rapier tongue, he strode through the hall to a clerk hunched behind a crude oak table, quill scratching in a ledger while constables came and went.
“Lord Rothley to see Sir Basil Marden. He’s expecting me.”
The clerk’s quill froze mid-stroke. He glanced up, eyes widening a fraction before he scrambled to his feet. “Yes, my lord. Sir Basil is in chambers. I’ll inform him you’re here.”
He didn’t wait to blot the ink but left his stool and disappeared through the door at the far end of the corridor. Murmurs rippled among the constables, the kind of wary silence that followed whenever a man of rank crossed their threshold.
Gabriel ignored the stares. He was used to such reactions.
But then the whispers faltered, their attention drawn elsewhere.
Aaron Chance, Earl of Berridge, strode into the office, his weeping countess at his side, and fixed Gabriel with a stare sharp enough to draw blood.
Cursed saints.
Joanna looked up as she dabbed her eyes and drew a shuddering breath. “Gabriel.” She hurried to him, reaching for his hand as dear friends do. “Have you heard the dreadful news? You were right. You’ve been right all these years, and no one believed you.”
He’d been called a madman and a murderer for being the last person to see Justin alive. Yet vindication brought no comfort, only the hollow sting of loss.
“Rothley.” Her husband’s measured tone spared Gabriel the trouble of reminding him he’d once saved his life. “We’ve just come from the watch-house in Chelsea. The coroner insisted on a formal?—”
“Damnation. You let her identify the body?”
Berridge’s jaw tightened, guilt flickering through his expression. “Trust me. I would have cut off my own hand to prevent it.”
“I insisted.” Joanna smoothed her palm over her abdomen, a futile attempt to steady herself, to draw strength from the child she carried. “He was my brother. I had to be certain.”
Bile rose in Gabriel’s throat. “Is it him?” He wouldn’t believe it until he’d seen the evidence with his own eyes.
“Yes.” She shivered, visibly shaken by the recollection. “He looks older than his years, but he has the same dimple in his chin, and the scar by his brow where he fell from a tree when he was ten.” Her voice broke on the memory, the sound twisting something deep in him.
Questions crowded his mind. Did they know the body had been found in Olivia’s cottage? Did they truly think her capable of murder?
“I’m so sorry, Gabriel.” Joanna clutched his coat sleeve. “Instead of answers, we’re left with more questions. How long had he been living in that miserable cottage in World’s End?”
