Thinking of his sister caused the familiar surge of anger, and he glanced around the establishment for someone who could match him or who deserved a sound beating. Seeing neither, he settled on another tepid round with an old friend who kept calm in the face of Owen’s unwarranted hostility.
When he left an hour later, he did the same as he had done every few days since the murder. He visited the hapless detective and, gleaning nothing, went to see his parents. With no new information from London’s finest police force, Owen endured another meal with three broken people sitting in near silence, trying to comfort each other and failing miserably.
“I am giving up my seat,” his father announced over the pudding course. “I am doing nothing useful in Parliament. Despite more bobbies on the streets than ever before, crime is obviously running rampant, as is poverty. Beggars are everywhere. The East End is…is despicable.” He stopped talking abruptly.
Owen could think of no rebuttal. He could hardly contradict anything his father said. London was filthy and smoky. It often smelled bad and was rife with pickpockets and murderers, at least in some areas. He also thought it a wondrous city in which to live. Or he had, until the tragedy.Did he still?
“What will you do with your time?” he asked his father.
The elder statesman shrugged. “Keep a closer eye on the mining, I suppose. Will you take up the slack in Parliament?”
“I will.”
Owen’s friend Westing relished going to Parliament and sitting in the House of Lords, even after losing his sight. Owen had never been quite so enamored, but he would do his duty without fail. He could imagine spending the rest of his years asking random parliamentarians for their handkerchiefs until he was condemned to an asylum.
“Will you remain in London?” He glanced at his too-quiet mother.
His father shrugged uncharacteristically. “Your mother and I will stay to be near you until the Season ends. Who knows if we will return from the country next year?”
Sophia’s killer had destroyed far more than her life. He’d stripped the joy from the Burnley family.
Thank goodness his parents had each other.
And what did he have?
Adelia’s face came to mind. He was looking forward to their next encounter. Escorting her to the ballet was, in fact, the only thing he was looking forward to with any happiness at all.
Chapter Eleven
Adelia had managedto get to her brother’s room and remove all his handkerchiefs from his bureau prior to him going to the pugilist’s club that afternoon. She’d even gone so far as to tell his valet she was surprising Thomas with a new set and to please only give him plain ones until such time.
“Plain ones, my lady?”
And she’d handed the man a stack she’d purchased at an emporium as soon as her driver took her there. Why, she’d raced out of the house so quickly after lord Burnley left, she was surprised her carriage hadn’t overtaken his in the street.
“If Lord Smythe asks, please tell him to speak with me, but whatever you do,” she’d urged the valet, “do not let my brother leave this house with an old kerchief.”
Despite his eyebrows raising nearly into his hairline, he had nodded at her orders.
“As you wish, my lady.”
Next, she went to have the same conversation with Mr. Lockley.
At dinner that night, Adelia was relieved to hear her brother had an uneventful time at Teavey’s club.
“I saw Lord Burnley there,” he remarked.
“Did you?” She was hesitant about telling him she, too, had seen Lord Burnley.Had Thomas lied to her about knowing Lady Sophia?She’d wracked her brain for another explanation as to why the young woman had been found clutching her brother’s handkerchief.
“Lord Burnley is taking me to the ballet tomorrow night,” she said, watching Thomas’s face.
“Two outings in the span of a fortnight?” he asked, smiling at her.
She paused. Although she liked the viscount tremendously, she would have turned him down if he’d allowed her. It seemed the prudent course was to put as much distance as possible between herself and the man who believed the handkerchief in his possession belonged to a killer. However, Owen had been so insistent, she had finally given in.
“Why didn’t Burnley mention the ballet to me at the club?” Thomas asked her.
“I guess he didn’t think he needed to ask your permission since I had already agreed. In any case, there is something far more serious we must discuss.”
