“He said he was going to start working on the defensebeforereceiving your notes on my brother’s statement.”
They had reached her carriage, and Mr. Brassel patted the closest horse to him.
“That is how barristers work,” he said. “Jaggers will start the flowery part, as I call it, probably over a glass of port. And he’ll fill his speech in with the particulars when he receives them, painting your brother as a paragon of virtue. Still, an alibi would help.”
Distracted by the meeting with the barrister, she’d almost forgotten to tell Mr. Brassel what she’d learned.
“Unfortunately, the night of the murder, we were not attending a scheduled gathering. I was home writing…letters and such, and my brother was out. Sadly, that’s all I know. Perhaps if I go back to Thomas and give him the day and date, he will remember where he was.”
“Indeed. Or perhaps that female friend of your brothers can provide clarity. I have not received anything from the detective indicating he has spoken with her as yet.”
“I shall go see her at once.”
He gave his familiar shrug. “Remember what I told your brother. If they were…ahem…secluded in her flat, it will be of no use. They need to have been out in public where the earl’s presence can be corroborated. Elsewise, the court tends to frown upon taking the word of what they would consider a woman of loose morals. If she is free with her person, they will consider her free with the truth as well, and it might make his character appear somewhat shady by association.”
“Understood, Mr. Brassel. I shall get on my way and see what I can discover.”
“You’ll end up a detective yourself if you keep this up.”
Both laughing at the absurdity of a female employed by the Metropolitan Police, he helped her into the carriage.
*
Owen could scarcelybelieve Adelia had allowed him to ride alongside her. He was practically humming with glee. Even with all that had happened, he had no wish to stop seeing her, which was a singular occurrence. In the past, he pursued a lady who sparked his interest, and usually, within a week, sometimes two, he couldn’t care less if he ever spoke with her again.
At first, he blamed the females, and then, if he considered his own capriciousness, he joked with his friends about his severe personal failing, namely his fickle nature.Red wine or white, stilton or cheddar cheese, Elizabeth or Helen?The number of women to whom his name had been linked in recent years had got him soundly branded as a rake.
With Adelia, he looked forward to every encounter. It was as if his blood sang when she was near. Indubitably, his manhood welcomed her by springing to attention. But more than that—at least, he hoped it was more than that—he liked coaxing words from her. He found her thoughts interesting and valued her opinion—except as pertaining to her brother.
How would she cope with an earldom without an earl?Not to mention how she now had to run a mining company.
Anger surged through him at the way her brother had not only destroyed Sophia but had also put Adelia in a perilous position. Unscrupulous men might try to swoop in for her inheritance, offering friendship in hopes of gaining her hand. Others would try to offer spurious counsel regarding the mining business. There would be some who might offer to relieve her of its worrisome burden.
A half-hour later, he was at Teavey’s feeling as if he’d been the cause of most of Adelia’s worries, and was forcefully boxing with Whitely.
“Ease off, old chum,” George said, “or I shall stop. My face must remain perfect as it is, and I should very much like my ribs to remain whole.”
“Sorry,” Owen muttered. Besides, punching his friend was doing nothing for his mood. Something was bothering him, and he couldn’t put his finger on it. Perhaps it was a stray thought from a conversation he’d had or something he’d seen. It would come to him if he stopped thinking about it.
Regardless, he couldn’t shake the discomfited feeling, nor that it had to do with Adelia. He went to the Carlton Club with Whitely and, after, stopped in at his parents’ home merely to make sure of their continued health. He was a little worried his father would let the business slip away, despite having promised he would devote his attention to it. The elder Lord Burnley seemed to be devoting his attention to nothing more than sitting in his favorite chair, staring into space.
“Why would an earl kill our Sophia?” his father asked as he had done each time Owen saw him since Smythe’s arrest. He asked this question only if they were alone, never speaking of the murder openly when Lady Burnley was within hearing, as it seemed to shatter her all over again.
“I don’t know.” Owen tried not to spend time thinking about it since he had no answers, and Smythe wasn’t going to tell him. It could have been anaffaire de coeurgone very wrong. However, that wouldn’t reflect well on his sister, so he decided it best to leave it be.
“But it makes no sense, Owen. I need to understand why this happened,” his father added.
Owen sighed. “We may never know.”
His father shook his head. “Sheknewhim. That much is certain. Sophia read the note and obeyed. Why? Why did my daughter go to her death?”
For his father’s sake, Owen decided he would try to discover the answers no matter how sordid. “It may come out during the trial—”
“I shall not go to that,” his father broke in. “I cannot. If I did, I would take a pistol and shoot the earl myself. And that would do your mother no good.”
“No, I daresay having you locked up after losing Sophia would not be advisable.”
Owen knew how his father felt. Wanting to carry out the justice swiftly, even to look Smythe in the eyes while doing so, would be far more satisfying than merely watching him hang. Nevertheless, that would have to suffice when the time came.
