“No. He may not believe you, and I won’t have you taken away from us.” She could not imagine their lives without this wonderful man in it.
“Never,” he said, holding out a hand to her. She gripped his fingers briefly.
“Now about this Detective Fletcher. His first name is not Grayson, is it?”
Leo nodded to their uncle.
“Cold, emotionless type of fellow and extremely unhappy that we were doing what we did tonight,” Alex said.
“By jove,” Uncle Bram said. “Grayson Fletcher. I wondered what happened to him.”
“What do you mean, Uncle?” Ellen asked.
“He’s the Earl of Draven’s son, or so I believe. The eldest, Christopher, was at Eton with me. An obnoxious sort, but we tolerated each other on the few occasions I was unlucky enough to see him,” Uncle Bram said. “Last time we met, he was with his mother. I asked after his brothers, and when he didn’t mention his youngest, Lady Draven told me her son had joined Scotland Yard. Christopher was not pleased she’d mentioned him.”
“Snobbish nobleman.” Ivy sighed.
“Exactly, my love.”
“Grayson is not a common name, and becoming a detective would be the height of embarrassment for Christopher and his father,” Uncle Bram said.
Could it be true? Ellen wondered again about the vision she’d seen of a boy standing at a graveside. Was it Grayson Fletcher or someone else? And who was he mourning?
“And now let us tell you about tonight,” Alex said. “And the reason Fletcher thinks we’re indolent noblemen with little to occupy our time but be vigilantes.”
“Not quite true,” Ellen said. “He has no idea what we get up to other than tonight.”
“But he saw us fight,” Leo added. “And wasn’t happy you were in the thick of it.”
She sipped the cup of tea Bud handed her.
“Tomorrow we are paying a call on this detective, Ellen. He needs to know what you did and that I was away from London when George was murdered.”
“Oh, but—”
“We do not break the law, niece.”
She lapsed into silence as Alex started retelling the story of Penny’s rescue. Ellen didn’t know why the detective unsettled her, but there was no doubting something about him did. After tomorrow, she would make sure never to see him again.
She’d vowed after leaving society, no man, other than family, would ever be important to her, and she had a feeling the detective spelled trouble for her and the Nightingale family.
CHAPTERTWELVE
Gray woke in his room, as he had every day since he’d inherited his aunt and uncle’s town house. Six bedrooms, several parlors, and too many floors for a single man. He’d loved it since he’d stepped foot in it. Their furnishings had filled the place and made it home. Gray had changed nothing.
The day he’d been told this was his, he viewed it and then had ridden home to his father’s town house and told his family he was moving out. At twenty-four, they could not stop him. He’d left and never gone back. What he’d told them he was about to do had confirmed that he was from that moment on his own.
His mother’s brother had been a second son of a duke but not happy to live off his family. He’d chosen to study law. He’d then amassed a considerable amount of money with his wife’s help, investing. That money had all come to Gray, as they’d had no children of their own, much to his family’s horror.
“Your bath is drawn, sir.”
“Thank you, Albert.”
This room had soft beige walls, cream trimmings, and drapes. A huge fire and two big comfortable armchairs set before it. It had been the one Gray chose out of the rooms to make his.
He’d been lucky to have relatives he’d loved. His grandfather, Aunt Tilda, Uncle Henry, and Aunt Louisa. They had made sure to spend time and love the third son of an earl when no one else would. He’d been surplus to requirements and therefore left with a nanny more often than not.
When his aunt and uncle visited, they’d always spent time with him. Telling him he could be whoever he wanted to be. Not to live in the shadow of his family. He hadn’t, and his family had never forgiven him.
