Apart from that, he had only seen them when they happened to be present during the farce that was his courtship of Cilla.
Aunt Ginny might have worried about what he was up to while out from under her eye, but at least she did not know. And since she had no influence over him whatsoever, not knowing what he was doing must be less disturbing to her peace of mind. Or, at least, that was Livy’s opinion.
Cilla was thrilled to have him absent. “The way he looks at me makes me want to go and scrub myself all over, with soap and hot water,” she told Livy. Since Livy felt the same way about Curston, she absolutely understood.
*
Bane
Bane and Drakewere visiting the Pentworths’ new workshop, which had been set up in a building owned by Drew’s father. Drew’s younger brother, Lord Barnabas, who was himself an engineer, had his own workshop in the same building.
They had been introduced to Lord Barnabas when Pentworth gave them a tour. The two engineering workshops each included copious storage and even a room with a desk for paperwork and a bed for nights when they worked too late to go home. In addition, the building housed a blacksmith’s forge.
“The blacksmith works for the duchy,” Pentworth told them, “but we have the use of the forge by arrangement with him, and he will also take commissions to do the more crucial pieces that require a higher level of precision.”
“It could not be more perfect.” Mrs. Pentworth was close to gushing, which was far from her usual practice. “And the new rooms you found for us, Mr. Sanderson, are just a two-minute walk away.”
The couple were now living in a mews behind some large houses that had been split up into apartments. Many of what had once been stables and carriage houses for the former owners had also been converted into pleasant, if small, dwellings for rent.
“My sister in Sheffield writes that the men who were sharing the lies about you and us have been exposed, and are facing charges,” Mrs. Pentworth added. “Silas and I must thank you for that, too.”
Drake said the right thing before Bane had managed to think of an answer. “The attacks on you were because of us, Mrs. Pentworth—because you and your husband allowed us to become your investors. It was only right that we did what we could to restore your reputation along with our own.”
The investigators had done their job, finding who was spreading the rumors and tracing them back to Colin. Bane’s half-brother had not replied to the lawyer’s letter, which warned him that evidence had been filed and a suit for slander laid. But he had withdrawn to Marpleton and—the investigator must have suborned the postmaster—stopped sending letters to his crony in Sheffield and to his friend Curston.
As for Curston and Marple, they also received letters, and withdrew from London entirely. The surge of gossip when the accusations were first made had died down to nothing in their absence. Thanks, in large part, to Livy’s ladies—Bane knew, for Jenna Thornstead had told him, that Livy had rallied her andher friends to Bane’s and Drake’s cause, and with them, their powerful mothers.
Livy. She consumed Bane’s thoughts. A lady of fire and steel, and yet with deep veins of vulnerability that she barely showed him and never showed the world. She feared marriage. He had gathered that. She feared the loss of control that marriage implied, and Bane was both unsure that he could convince her to trust him and certain that all his happiness for the rest of his life depended on him finding a way to do so.
“Do you agree, Mr. Sanderson and Mr. Sanderson?” Mrs. Pentworth said, bringing Bane out of his thoughts. He had no idea what he had just been asked, but Drake was nodding and smiling.
Bane was about to admit that he had not been paying attention when they were interrupted. “I believe the gentlemen you seek are through here,” said Drew’s voice, and it was Drew who looked around the door. “Bane and Drake? There is a messenger here for you. He says it is urgent.”
Lord Barnabas threw a sheet over the pile of iron on the floor, and Mrs. Pentworth folded up the engineering diagrams and put them into a drawer.
“Bring the messenger in, Lord Andrew,” Pentworth said.
Drake recognized the visitor before Bane did. “Caleb! What are you doing here?” It was a footman from Bancroft House, their old home, and he was wearing a black armband.
“Frannie? The children?” Bane asked.
“It is Mr. Colin, sir. Dead. Mrs. Sanderson sent me. There’s a letter.” He fumbled in the satchel he wore around his neck and handed a thrice-folded and wax-sealed piece of paper to Bane. “She needs you, sir, and you, too, Mr. Drake, sir.”
Bane opened the letter, and Drake came to stand by his elbow and read it with him.
To my esteemed brothers-in-law.
My husband, your brother, has been shot. It may give you comfort to know that he died quickly. I found his last will and testament, and if I could bring him back to life, I would, just so that I could kill him again.
He has appointed two of his horrible friends as guardians of our children and trustees for our eldest son, who inherits everything. I need you both, and especially you, Bane, for you know the business. Colin has been bad enough for it. What Marple and Curston will do to it I dread to think.
Please come.
In frantic need, your devoted sister-in-law,
Frances Sanderson.
“We have to go,” Drake said to the Pentworths. “Our brother has died, and his wife has sent for us.”
