Daventry came to the rescue, as he always did. “The only concern now is finding the person who tried to frame Lady Rothley for murder. I’ve agreed to look into your brother’s disappearance, Lady Berridge, and to review the past evidence.”
“You’ve made a formal identification, then?” the magistrate asked her delicately.
Joanna swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“I’d also like to view my friend’s body,” Gabriel said, using the term loosely. “And I insist on seeing it tonight.”
Joanna gasped. “You mean to visit the watch-house on your wedding night? Will that be before or after your romantic dinner?”
He should have scoffed, but one glance at his wife brought a pang of regret. He pictured her cold and alone in the dark, while he hid in his own chambers at the far end of the house.
Devil be damned.
He was a fool to think this could ever work.
But his wife chose to prove him wrong.
“If my husband intends to seek the truth tonight, then so be it. There’s ample time for an intimate wedding supper.”
Sir Basil clapped his hands once. “Very well. I’ll have a note drawn up for the watchman, granting you access.” He reached for a sheet of foolscap, scrawled a few lines, then pressed his seal into the wax. “Present this and he’ll admit you.”
Gabriel accepted the folded paper with a curt nod.
He made no mention of the valise. It belonged to Olivia, and he would show Daventry only once he and Olivia had time to examine the contents more closely themselves.
“I suggest we all gather at my office tomorrow,” Daventry said. “To examine all lines of enquiry.”
“A few days would be better,” Gabriel replied. “We’ve much to discuss before then.” He hoped Olivia would read his mind and understand they needed time to weigh the possibilities before Daventry took command.
Daventry agreed. “It will give me time to send an agent to Cambridge to request the original inquest report.”
Sir Basil nodded approvingly. “Very good. Report to me once your enquiries are under way, Daventry.” He shifted his attention to Gabriel. “In the meantime, Lady Rothley is to remain at Studland Park. She is not to leave town without my permission. I trust that’s understood.”
Gabriel inclined his head. “Perfectly.”
He would watch her like a hawk. To keep her safe. To guard his heart. For whatever truth lay buried in the past, he would uncover it before it destroyed them both.
Chapter Nine
“I must admit, I feared what the countess would say.” Olivia studied Gabriel in the confines of his carriage, wondering how to raise the matter of the gold button and why he’d not mentioned it the second they left Bow Street. “I presumed she would hold me responsible.”
He paused as if considering his reply. “Joanna was once suspected of killing a man. Like you, she was innocent. And she feels the sting of Justin’s betrayal almost as deeply as I do.”
He sat with easy confidence, legs spread wide, one arm resting along the seat. There was strength in the set of his shoulders, control in every measured breath, yet beneath the calm she sensed a gathering storm.
“Is that why you insist on seeing Justin’s body tonight? So there can be no doubt?” She understood. He couldn’t bear to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder.
He glanced out of the window as if it were a mirror to the past. Rain streaked the glass, dulling what remained of thedaylight. “I’ll not be played for a fool again. Not by him. Not by anyone.”
“Is that why you’ve not asked about the gold button?”
He looked at her from beneath lowered lids, a faint air of mistrust curling between them like fading pipe smoke. “I see no point asking a question you cannot answer. You could have removed the button. Leaving it in the valise serves no purpose other than to prove your honesty.”
“You’re right. I don’t know how my father came to own it. Perhaps you do. Perhaps I’m the fool, and you’re part of this treachery too.”
“If you believed that, you wouldn’t have married me.”
“I’m still waiting to wake up and realise it’s all been a dream.” Or for someone to pelt her with fruit from the theatre stalls, and she’d know it was part of some absurd play.
