“Not all the time, no, but when his temper flares, it is white-hot. You must try to knock sense into his head,” George insisted.
Knock sense into his head!As if anyone could knock away the memory of Sophia lying dead on the floor of a shabby upstairs room in a tavern.
“I shall go to his home at once,” Chris said. “If Spencer hadn’t had the touch of stomach flux, I would have been over there yesterday.”
“Is the baby well now?” George asked.
Owen waited for the answer with bated breath. He’d already suffered a devastating blow. He didn’t think he had it in him to witness his friend’s son come to any harm.
“On the mend with Lady Jane at his side,” Chris reassured Whitely. “I doubt she’ll leave Spencer to go with me to visit Burnley, and that’s just as well. I don’t want him to have to pretend to be social at a time like this.”
“I have been over there a number of times,” George said, “and believe me, he is not worried about civility or being social. Although to spare Lady Jane, maybe you are right.”
“Is Burnley drinking too much?”
“Strangely, no. Personally, I can imagine diving into a bottle of brandy and not coming out, but he said he refuses to muddle his mind until he’s caught the killer.”
“That’s a good thing,” Chris said. “If he was in a drunken rage, it would certainly be worse.”
Blazes!To listen to his friends speak about him as if he were a reckless buffoon did nothing to help his mood.
“Shall I go with you?” George asked.
“No need,” Owen told them as he strode into the room, feeling his anger surge. “I’m already here, and I will thank you two not to talk about me behind my back.”
“We said nothing we wouldn’t say to your face,” George protested. “How are you?”
How was he?Mad as hell at his own ineffectiveness so far. Slightly offended, too, that Whitely would even ask him how he was.
“Better than my parents,” he snapped. “And I’ll be far better when I catch the murderer. At least I can work toward something. My mother doesn’t particularly care about the killer. It won’t bring Sophia back, and that would be the only thing which could lift her from her despair.”
“I am terribly sorry,” Chris offered. “Perhaps the helpless feeling is the hardest part.”
Owen didn’t think so. The hardest part was knowing he could never see Sophia again.
“The irrevocable finality of it,” he muttered, his voice catching.
They were all silent a moment.
“Do you want to know why I came here uninvited?” he asked finally. In truth, he’d had no reason in particular, except wanting to be with friends.
“You don’t need to explain yourself,” Chris assured him. “You are always welcome. And I hope you’ll take a meal with us. You’re looking a little thin.”
Owen shrugged before realizing Westing couldn’t tell how he looked—thin or fat.
“You’re shrugging, but I cannot see you,” Chris pointed out.
“It seems you can.” Owen almost smiled at the wonder that was his friend, a marquess who’d had everything at his feet prior to being blinded. With Lady Jane’s help, he’d got it all back again and more. Naturally, he’d married her.
“Apparently, you can detect the thinness of my body by my voice, too.”
Chris gave a lopsided smile.
Owen might as well ask them the question that would raise further queries from his friends. “What do you both think of Lady Adelia Smythe?”
Chapter Five
“I’ll tell youwhat I think about Lady Adelia,” George quipped. “Absolutely nothing at all—for she contributes nothing to any gathering at which I’ve ever encountered her, including the recent croquet match in which I filled in for you. I rounded out one of the foursomes as requested. Yet, with Lady Adelia, it seemed like a threesome.”
