“I hear discretion is the better part of valor.”
“Yes.” She moved back toward the exit.
Clancy returned. “Our fellow, Jonesy, he brought a carriage around.”
“Thank you.” Mrs. Johnson pulled on her chestnut coat and fled.
Chuckling to himself, Wycliff pulled out his pocket watch. It was late. Christopher was probably in bed. He’d like to check in on the little fellow.
“Might I see you for a moment?”
A deep baritone voice caught Wycliff’s attention. He turned and saw a very big man, an easy six-four and two hundred pounds, coming toward him. The patriarch of the Croomes, Josiah Croome.
The man wore a slate-colored jacket against his deeply-bronzed skin.
“Now, Lord Wycliff.”
“Mr. Croome, I presume? Yes, we were to meet yesterday, but for the frog incident.”
“Thank you for that. I hear you had some quick thinking. Right, Bexeley?”
A younger fellow stood beside Ruth’s father. He was tall, athletic, and as pale as Wycliff, paler.
“This must be the legislator, Mr. Bexeley, the husband to Mrs. Wilky’s sister.”
Bexeley’s deep-blue eyes slid away, but his confident smile remained. “Let’s go to Mr. Croome’s study. It will be an easy chat.”
He wasn’t concerned about the politician, they were about the same height, but Wycliff was more muscled. Working the depths of the frigate had given him the ability to hold his own, added power to delivering his blows.
The older man, though crippled in his leg and using a cane, probably threw a vicious punch.
What a time to be without his sjambok. Wycliff put his hands behind his back. “After you, gentlemen.”
They led him down the hall to the room opposite the parlor, the book-lined study where he’d found Ruth during the garden party.
Bexeley shut the door. It closed with a solid slam.
“Gentlemen, is this the Croome welcoming committee?”
The politician’s smile widened, but the old man’s face remained stone.
“You are related to Wilky,” he said, as Bexeley eased him into his chair. “Adam’s cousin? He was a real person. Horatio was telling me Adam was true. Not a lie.”
“Yes, Adam Wilky was a flesh-and-blood person, and he loved Ruth Croome desperately. They married in Gretna Green.”
“So why are you here now?” Croome pounded the top of his desk. “Though I am grateful for what you did for my grandson, four years is a little late to come for a visit.”
“Yes. I’m very late, but I’ve only been back to London since December, four months ago. Made it back in time to spend two months with my father before his passing.”
“You are new to the barony.” Croome sat back in his chair, as if it hurt his back to do so. “So is Wilky dead or run off?”
What a way to put things. “Ruth and Adam were attacked en route from their wedding, five days after marrying. It was believed that both died, but you know how hard it is to find a body when some murders are committed.”
Croome sat up a little straighter. He surely caught the reference to his own brother’s death.
The man nodded “Yes, Wycliff. That’s true. You do your work, finding things out.”
“Sorry for your loss, Wycliff,” Bexeley said. With folded arms he leaned against a bookcase. “But my wife tells me you’re up to no good. She described a horrible scene at your Blaren House.”
