“Is he gone, my lord?” Jed asked, standing beside him.
“Yes, poor fellow. Stay with him, Jed. I must talk to the lady in number four.” Ash’s voice sounded unfamiliar to his ears, a low growl of fury and frustration that the likes of Farnborough could succeed in their dastardly aims, while anguish at his failure to save the laird twisted his gut.
Mrs. Corrigan, a widow of some fifty years, was prostrate with grief at the dreadful news. He learned nothing helpful from her, as she became hysterical and had to be subdued with a few drops of laudanum in a glass of wine. Ash doubted she had anything useful to impart. Only Spencer could have fully explained what lay behind this murderous plot, and he was gone.
Ash left the lady with her maid.
Geoffrey Bannockburn, Diana’s former husband, was once the wealthiest man in England. Ash needed to find out the names of the trustees of Diana’s estate and what the document entailed. Something had happened to cause Farnborough to resort to violence. Spencer feared Julia was in grave danger. But she was Farnborough’s stepdaughter. What might Ash do to help her?
Jed rose from beside the body as Ash crossed the lane. The dog howled.
“Here, Whisky!” Ash crouched down, and the animal slowly shuffled over to him. “Good boy.” When he patted the wiry coat, the dog leaned heavily against his leg.
Rising, Ash went to alert Spencer’s household, who must deal with their master’s body. The dog followed at his heels. He would have to delay his trip north until the end of the week. Bitter disappointment tightened his gut at having failed to save Spencer. Blast it! Why had the man ventured outside unprotected?
An hour later, Ash returned to Jed, who held the horses. He’d agreed to take Whisky with him as the dog lived in Scotland, and no one in the Chelsea household offered to care for him.
With the dog sitting obediently beside him, Ash took up the reins. A means of protecting Julia, for a while at least, came to him. Whether it would give him more time to deal with Farnborough remained to be seen.
Chapter Nine
Thea lay awakefor hours, going over and over in her mind how the day had unfolded. If she hadn’t agreed to meet him in the library, well, maybe… But it was useless. Grainger appeared every time she shut her eyes. She found his calm acceptance and the affection he revealed toward her terribly appealing. But was it merely an attempt to reassure her? He would never have sought her hand if circumstances were different. What a disastrous way to begin a marriage. Would this always lie between them? She moaned, feeling helpless and guilty.
Thea sniffed and blew her nose. She could well imagine the kerfuffle it would cause should she suggest they call off their engagement. But she could see no other way out of this. Surely, Grainger would agree. She would make him see it was in their best interests for the wedding not to go ahead.
Thea sat up in bed and fumbled for the tinderbox on the table beside her to light her candle, hoping it would shine more light on the idea. Soft candlelight flickered over the room, scenting the air with beeswax. Would he be sympathetic toward her should she explain marriage would spoil her chance to write articles for newspapers? She very much doubted it. He’d think her foolish. She flopped back on the pillows. Losing his respect gave her no joy. And the future looked bleak. In no time, she’d be back on the marriage mart, fending off gentlemen who failed to measure up to Grainger in every way imaginable. And her angry father would take matters into his own hands.
She rested her head on her arm as the other worrying problem caused her heart to flutter with anxiety. What had occurred between Papa and Farnborough? Did one ever know their father completely? It was as if they lived two lives, one as the head of their family and the other their business and social life in the London clubs. Papa did not take her mother into his confidence, but Mama didn’t seem to mind. But she would most awfully.
Anxiety and a profound sense of loneliness such as she’d never suffered in all her born days churned her stomach. There was no one she could seek for advice, because it was always her father she turned to. Grandmama? No, of course she loved her son and thought highly of him, as all the family did. To question his integrity would put the cat among the pigeons and create a terrible ruckus.
Her eyes blurred, and she fumbled for her handkerchief again. Should she tell Grainger about the conversation between her father and Farnborough? The viscount was the only one who might listen to her. No, he was honor-bound to act on anything he discovered, and that could endanger her father, especially if it concerned something unlawful. She wished to keep things as they were. Grandmama and Mama thought Papa was wonderful. And despite the doubts she had, so did she. He did what he thought best for her. But this business with Farnborough. Why did it alarm her so much? It needn’t be very bad, she told herself, but doubt lodged in her chest.
Thea sighed and turned over in the bed. She would look like an old dishrag in the morning. Would Grainger call tomorrow? She must speak to him. He was so strong and dependable, and even if she couldn’t reveal all her concerns, just seeing him would make her feel better. And he might have rescued the laird. She had the utmost faith in him.
The next morning,Ash met Peter in an inn that could be relied upon to serve a tasty breakfast.
“I failed you, milord.” Having learned of Spencer’s death, Peter muttered an obscenity under his breath and pulled at his unruly black hair.
“You weren’t to know Spencer would go straight out again through another door.” Aware of the ex-soldier’s fierce pride, Ash resisted pointing out to Peter that he could also have been struck down if he’d confronted the vicious murderer. “I require you to keep watch over my fiancée, Miss Tothill, when she’s in London. An important assignment, Peter. If either Farnborough or a Mr. Corbet, the thin, red-haired man who killed Spencer, approach her, I rely on you to do what you must to protect her.”
“Have no fear, milord.” Not above a bit of violence himself when warranted, Peter grinned as he tucked into his eggs and bacon. Perhaps he relished the chance to redeem himself. He swallowed a mouthful. “Your fiancée, milord? All the best to you and your lady.”
“Thank you.” Ash still wondered at it, but since allowing his imagination to run riot with Thea smiling at him while naked in his bed, he’d become surprisingly impatient for the wedding. “Miss Tothill resides with her grandmother at No. 10 Mount Street. She is to accompany me into the country at the end of the week, but until then…”
“No need to concern yourself about the lady.” Peter scraped the last of the egg from his plate with his toast. “Eyes in the back of me head, never fear, milord.”
“You’ll need to keep a sharp lookout for this red-haired cove. He’d run you through sooner than blink.”
“I’m onto it.” His plate clean as a whistle, Peter rose and touched his cap. Leaving the inn, he strode purposefully down the street.
Ash hoped to find Corbet at home, sleeping off a night of murderous skullduggery. Farnborough could plan to send him to Julia’s school, and Ash wanted him stopped before that happened. Murder was an unsavory tool of an agent’s clandestine activities. All for the greater good. He’d prefer to hand the villain over to Bow Street but was prepared to use force if necessary. With Corbet out of the picture, it could take Farnborough some time to find his replacement, although he couldn’t be sure of it, for Farnborough had connections in an East London gang. There was no end of eager criminals to choose from within the mean streets of the Seven Dials “where misery clings to misery for a little warmth, and want and disease lie down side-by-side, and groan together,” Ash quoted the fitting words by the poet Keats.
He threw back the last of the coffee in his cup, rose, and tossed down a few coins. Ash had enjoyed writing to his grandfather with the news of his engagement and their imminent visit. He walked around the corner to the stables for his horse.
He pulled his pocket watch from his waistcoat pocket—eleven o’clock. Despite the early hour, he must call on Thea and her grandmother before he went in search of Corbet. Thea would expect to hear news. He would have to tell her about Spencer, even though the prospect tasted bitter in his mouth. She had trusted him to save the man and would be deeply disappointed in his inability to do so. He cursed. Disappointing Thea hurt him far more than he expected. Her trusting green eyes had something to do with it, he decided bleakly.
Ash rode to Mount Street and tied his horse to the rail outside Lady Trentham’s townhouse. A butler answered his knock.
