You’re looking unfashionably hale and healthy. Pale is still the vogue here in London.”
Matthew Talbot felt his mouth stretch into a smile at the familiar voice of his best friend, Alexander Lovett, Marquess of Heathford. It felt surprisingly good to be back on the streets of the capital city after a year abroad.
Normally, Matthew didn’t mind long sea voyages, but this one had seemed interminable for some blighted reason. It wasn’t even as if Matthew particularly liked Britain, although he supposed he didn’t mind the foggy place of his birth. The isle offered enough flora and fauna to keep a chap like him busy sketching and categorizing, especially in the Scottish Highlands where he’d spent most of his early childhood.
It wasn’t precisely home, but then again, no place was. Matthew did not fit anywhere, especially not with his family. His father, the Duke of Lansberry, had never understood how a son of his could be more interested in studying a pheasant than shooting it. And his older brothers, especially Hawley… well that didn’t bear thinking about, not when the day was sunny and he was in the company of his best friend on the thoroughfare leading to his favorite place in all of London—the Black Sheep.
“Jolly Old England never changes much, I am afraid,” Matthew said as he waited for Alexander to catch up to him. Despite usinga cane for balance rather than fashion, Alexander moved quickly over the cobblestones. Matthew had tried to employ his skills as a surgeon to help straighten his mate’s clubfoot, but too many quacks had tried before him and had caused irreparable harm. But despite the twinges of pain Alexander’s leg gave him and his uneven gait, he was an athletic sort, engaging in sports from horseback riding to fowling. Yet somehow, despite Matthew’s preference for observing wildlife rather than chasing after it, they’d been fast friends for nearly two decades, bonded by their mutual outsider status at their boarding school.
“Oh, but there have been some developments in your absence. A new boxing arena opened, a veritable plague of highwaymen has beset London’s thoroughfares, and Mr. Powys has penned the most hilarious, scandal-ridden play,” Alexander said with mock theatrical drama as he reached Matthew’s side. “And you will soon discover the most interesting news and transformation when we reach our destination.”
“Do you mean something has changed at the Black Sheep?” Concern rippled through Matthew. The establishment was a safe haven. Where else could a man discuss the minutiae of Hooke’s and Leeuwenhoek’s theories on cells and the validity of immunization one moment, Pope and Swift the next, reform and the latest debates in Parliament the third, and finally the plants and animals of the Old and New World? It was at once radical and pedantic, and Matthew loved it.
“The very place.” Alexander winked. “The changes might leave you tongue-tied at first, but the place has become so deuced comfortable, I daresay that even you’ll unbend in due course.”
Although Matthew had become accustomed to giving large lectures at colleges or in front of learned societies, he was horribly awkward in social situations, especially new ones. If he kept the matters limited to science, he could muddle along until he losthimself in the facts. The more rigid things were, the more at ease Matthew paradoxically felt. He rather liked the Black Sheep’s spartan interior and high-backed wooden chairs. There was nothing to distract from the debate at hand.
“Have they redecorated?” Matthew asked, unable to hide his hesitancy. It was absurd, his reluctance to learn about the alterations.
Alexander paused, his hazel gaze sweeping up and down the street. No one was close to them, but Alexander still leaned in a fraction toward Matthew as he spoke. “Not exactly. They’ve opened a new room, a secret one.”
Alexander spoke the last two words with a flourish, but Matthew could muster no enthusiasm at the idea of a clandestine addition to his favorite retreat. He had enough covert activities to contend with already. He did not need to add more.
“At the Black Sheep?” Matthew asked cautiously.
Alexander laughed. “You needn’t sound as if I’d asked you to step into a pit of vipers.”
“I wouldn’t mind a snake den, as long as we’re talking about actual reptiles, not metaphorical ones. Serpents are rather fascinating creatures and deeply misunderstood.”
“Silly me for making such a comparison,” Alexander said jovially as they turned onto the street that led to the coffeehouse. “You probably would have preferred it if the Black Sheep left the cobwebs in the new space. You could write another paper on spiders.”
“‘On the Web-Weaving Mating Habits of the Black Lace-Weaver Spider’ was very well received,” Matthew protested, more out of reflex than in any real defense. Alexander had been the one person who had always supported Matthew’s academic pursuits, even the most outwardly prosaic ones.
“There is other news as well.”
At Alexander’s uncharacteristically somber tone, Matthew swung his head to study his friend. Alexander preferred to regardthe world through a lens of perennial amusement. When he sobered, the circumstances were always serious.
“What is it?” Matthew asked, keeping his voice low.
“Hawley’s second wife died about six months ago. Carriage wreck.”
Shards of icy horror met with flames of guilt. As the unholy mess churned in Matthew’s gullet, he remained outwardly calm. “I assume it was found to be an accident like his first wife’s fall from Hawley’s prized stallion?”
The viscountess had broken her neck after being thrown… even though she’d always been afraid of riding and refused to enter the stables. Yet no one openly questioned Hawley, as he liberally sobbed in public and waxed on poetically about losing a lovely bride still in the bloom of youth.
Alexander’s jaw tightened as he nodded. “This latest inquest was a farce just like the one for the first Lady Hawley, but I did attend. I took notes for you, especially when the surgeon who examined the body testified.”
“I shouldn’t have left on another voyage,” Matthew said grimly. “I should have stayed and found proof of my brother’s perfidy.”
But he’d also had duties to pursue in the New World—responsibilities that couldn’t wait either. If he had stayed, he would have condemned others to suffering. There had been no easy path.
“You spent a year trying to prove Hawley’s guilt.” Alexander stopped walking and clasped Matthew’s shoulder with the hand not gripping his cane. “You needn’t blame yourself when everyone considers Hawley’s wilder side a charming affectation.”
“He’s my brother. I should be the one to stop him.”
Alexander gave Matthew a squeeze before releasing him. “And you will, with my help. We must succeed this time. Your father and mine are discussing a union between Hawley and my twin. I can’t—won’t—let him marry her.”
“Your sister?” A sick sensation chilled every identifiable organ in Matthew’s body. Not Lady Charlotte. Surely, his father wouldn’t be so mad as to shackle such a bright, kindhearted soul to a villainous blackguard. Although the old duke was blind to his heir apparent’s murderous nature, he wasn’t completely unaware of the darkness in Hawley’s soul. After all, he’d helped cultivate it.
