“Thank you,” she said softly, looking him directly in the eyes for the first time during their ride.
“Just know if your brother ever found out, he would be livid.”
She shrugged. “If my brother found out many of the things I am going to do, he would be livid.”
Frowning, Owen dared to ask, “Such as?”
Tilting her head a little, she declared, “Finding the evidence to prove him innocent.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Adelia returned homefrom her ride in Hyde Park with the man who had sent her brother to prison. She felt guilty to her toes.
What kind of sister was she?
Yet, staying away from Owen Burnley at this juncture was like closing the stable doors after every horse had already run away. It simply did no good now. If she had never applied that blasted perfume, or if she’d stayed away from the viscount as soon as she saw the cursed handkerchief…
Her thoughts went in futile circles. It had taken all her strength to tell him repeatedly she would not allow him to escort her to a concert, despite him asking her a dozen times. And still, in her heart, she wanted to see the viscount again.Wicked, wicked woman!
She was exceedingly glad when she received a missive from Mr. Brassel, telling her when he would be in his office at Gray’s Inn and inviting her to come see him again.
Upon entering his cramped quarters, Adelia was welcomed by the solicitor who stood and again thrust out his hand, which she shook.
“What news, Mr. Brassel?” she asked upon taking a seat.
“Mr. Jaggers says he wishes to meet with you.”
By the look upon the solicitor’s face, Adelia understood this was a rarity.
“Why, do you suppose?” she asked, and why did she suddenly feel less afraid at meeting a stranger. She’d met and spoken to so many recently, it was becoming almost routine.
Mr. Brassel shrugged. “Your brother’s case is an unusual one.”
“If it will help Thomas, of course I shall meet with the barrister. When?”
“We can go at once, if you want. He has an office across the courtyard.”
They went once more through the great hall and out a doorway on the opposite side. Up a staircase, into a lighter, airier section of Gray’s Inn, she heard men’s voices booming from all sides.
“Barristers practicing,” Mr. Brassel informed her. “It is like a theatre production to present a case to the bench. They practice their speeches for the greatest effect. In here, please, my lady.”
Mr. Nigel Jaggers, Esquire, was quite different from the solicitor, in age, form, and demeanor. When they entered his antechamber, staffed by a clerk who announced them to Mr. Jaggers, he quickly appeared in his doorway, filling it and instantly commanding all the attention in the room. A tall man, he was barrel-chested, or so it seemed beneath his robes, which he flung to his sides as he moved from his office into the outer room, his head barely clearing the door frame due to his height.
At least a decade younger than Mr. Brassel, he had a thick crop of hair, which reminded Adelia of raven feathers, both for its blackness and its glossy appearance. His pale gray eyes locked onto her as if she were a painting he was admiring or a text he was studying with all due intensity.
“Come in, come in,” he boomed, gesturing with his arms, making his sleeves flap like wings.
Adelia and Mr. Brassel followed him into his spacious office, and the door was closed by the clerk behind them.
“Salutations,” he said, sticking out a hand to Mr. Brassel while keeping his gaze fixed on Adelia.
“Greetings, Jaggers. This is the young lady whose case I wrote to you about. Well, not hers exactly, but her brother’s. This is Lady Adelia Smythe.”
“Lady Adelia,” the words came out of the barrister’s mouth like rich, melted toffee. He took her hand and bowed over it. But instead of saying anything flattering about meeting her, he looked her in the eyes and said, “Tell me about this excellent case.”
Her gaze darted to Mr. Brassel, who gave his usual shrug and gestured for her to begin. As she started to speak, Mr. Jaggers released her hand and walked around his office, circumventing chairs and tables, swishing his robes as if it were an unintentional habit. She found it most distracting.
“Marvelous,” Mr. Jaggers remarked at intervals during her recital of the facts, which irked her for the term implied something of a wondrous nature, not the horrid situation Thomas was in.
