“May I handle this?” Benson whispered, his gaze searching hers.
Fanny bit her lip. The warmth of his touch shot like an arrow to her heart, giving her strength. Just for a moment.
He strode to the door and had words with the stranger, then returned with a piece of paper promising to pay one R. Edwards thirty-two quid.
“Is this your stepfather’s signature?” he asked.
She nodded with dawning horror.
“Then it is owed, but it won’t hold up in court. He has no legally witnessed and notarized documentation and so no recourse in the courts, but he could make trouble. He has several of them, Miss Hancock.”
She glanced at the window and nodded morosely. “Tell him he is last.”
A grin broke Benson’s bland, professional expression. “Good answer.”
He strolled to the door as if he dealt with gamblers every day, nodded to Wil to open the door, and told Edwards exactly that.
“Last? I’m in line jest like you said. I have a right to my money.”
Fanny’s heart leapt into her throat when she saw Edwards point a filthy finger at Wil through the open door. “That boy’s ’is father’s heir, not the wife’s bastard. He owes me, and I’ll have me money. One way or another.”
Fanny strained to hear the rest, but a clamor of voices from the waiting creditors covered whatever was said, and Edwards was shoved aside. Moments later he glared at her through the front window, black eyes spearing her with threat as obvious as if he had spoken the words. He’d be back.
