Reminded that he wanted her brother to be found guilty of murder, Adelia gritted her teeth and looked past him for the butler. “I shall leave without my mantle,” she threatened.
He called out the man’s name, and once more, the butler appeared from the recesses of the hallway, holding her gray mantle over one arm.
Owen took it and draped it around her. The brush of his hands upon her shoulders dredged up the memory of how it felt to be touched by him, especially when he’d kissed her soundly. Her heart beat faster, and a part of her wished she could turn in his embrace and be comforted. If she’d told him as soon as he first showed her the handkerchief that it was her brother’s, the same result would have occurred—except she would have missed out on a few weeks of being courted by this enticing man.
Sighing, she couldn’t look at him. Too easily, he would see the longing in her eyes. The Westings’ butler opened the door, and she headed out to her carriage, almost wishing Owen would say her name and call her back to him.
Chapter Nineteen
Owen watched Adelialeave, knowing he should be the one assisting her into her carriage, not her driver, but he had to keep his distance. Seeing her today, finding her unexpectedly at his friend’s home, had brought all his conflicted emotions to the surface.
He could admit to himself unequivocally one thing—he had never wanted another woman the way he did Adelia Smythe. And yet, his denunciation of her brother made any further pursuit of her impossible. He might have tried it nonetheless, so strong was his attraction to her, but he knew she would rebuke him. Particularly when her brother might end up swinging from a rope in the public execution area next to the prison.
The previous night—actually, it was mere hours ago in the early morning—his anger at her had felt all-consuming. She had lied to him. Try as he might, now that the initial shock had worn off, however, he couldn’t blame her. If she felt for him the smallest part of what he felt for her, she’d had little choice but to divide her loyalties. She’d been forced to protect her brother while allowing their relationship to blossom. In a similar situation, he would have done the same.
A relationship that was now at an end. And still, he wanted her.
Owen returned to the drawing room, wishing even then that he was by Adelia’s side to protect her from whatever came next.
*
It had beendifficult to see Owen and more difficult to calm her racing pulse once in her carriage. Finally, she had a sweet, intensetendrefor a man, and wonder of wonders, he had returned the sentiment—only for him to become someone with whom she could never share a life.
Bollocks!she swore as she’d heard her brother do, and it felt woefully inadequate. Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew the paper again and unfolded it. Lady Jane had written “Mr. Brassel, Gray’s Inn.” After instructing her driver, she sat back against the squabs and, in no time, traveled from Oxford Street to Holborn. They turned left onto Gray’s Inn Lane Road and stopped.
For a few minutes, Adelia sat in her carriage, her heart continuing to pound over what she must accomplish, wondering if she could actually go in, past all the clerks and lawyers whom she could see rushing to and from the buildings. And she would have to speak with strangers.
Clamminess dampened the back of her gown, and she closed her eyes. Breathing steadily, sitting quietly, she knew her driver was used to her odd habits and would not bother her until she tapped on the roof.
For Thomas, she reminded herself. She was at the Inns of Court for him. Then she said aloud, “Good day, sir. I hope I may have a moment of your time.”
After practicing that thrice, she tapped on the roof. A few seconds later, her carriage door opened, and Henry assisted her. She had no chaperone or companion since not much could be safer than a building full of lawyers.
Gray’s was the smaller of the legal Inns. All the same, after passing through the wrought iron gates at the main entrance on Field Court with the badge of the griffin keeping guard, it took Adelia a few minutes to wind her way through the paths between the structures. After gathering her gumption, she approached a clerk seated at a desk in the entryway of the main building.
“Mr. Brassel, if you please,” she managed to address him.
The young law clerk led her through their great hall with its soaring roof and richly colored, stained glass on their way to the solicitor’s office. It was impossible not to halt as she experienced a rush of wonder in the vaulted interior where stained buttresses seemed to fly from the walls to meet overhead. And on the high-paneled walls were plaques and coats of arms of the great men who’d gone before, as well as a painting of Queen Elizabeth I, whom the clerk informed her was Gray’s Inn’s patron lady. A statue of Shakespeare spurred the clerk to tell her the Bard of Avon had performed in that very hall as well.
Adelia took in the solemnity of the venue and its purpose. This was serious, and if she had doubted it for an instant, the interior of Gray’s Inn reminded her, with all the black-robed men going hither and yon like great, scary ravens.
Finally, the clerk knocked on a door, pushed it open, and said distinctly, “A lady to see you, sir.” After pushing the door open wider, he offered her a friendly nod and departed.
Adelia entered the astoundingly tiny room, with barely enough space for a desk, a bookshelf, a chair for the lawyer, and one for a guest. Already standing, a man with wiry gray hair, a blue suit, and kind eyes reached out to shake her hand across his desk, an action which she found endearing.
“I’m Mr. Brassel,” he said in a rich tone that belied his age. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
She began what she’d practiced in her carriage. “Good…sir. I hope a moment of your time.”
She grimaced. It had come out all wrong, but he seemed to understand.
“Yes, of course. Your name, if you please?”
She could easily answer that. “Lady Adelia Smythe, sir.”
“My lady,” he bowed. “You seem to be anxious. Please, take a seat and tell me how I can help you.”
Thank goodness her skirts were not any fuller, or there would not have been room for her to squeeze between the desk and the chair.
