Five miles away, in an old hunter’s cottage, Jack Bender sat drumming a scratched old table with his fingers, smoke from his cigar curling up to the ceiling. He should be feeling victorious. No mistakes. A flawless execution that had appropriately brought terror to the house of Devonshire. He’d made sure of it himself.
But the rising swell of victory eluded him. If only he had not seen Marian. By some sick twist of all the fates, he had crossed around to the back of the inn and looked through the very window where she stood. Ten years had only enhanced her beauty and his desire. He had almost aborted the plan in that moment, his feet frozen to the ground. His eyes, glued to the window, had stared at a repulsive scene inside. Marian was laughing, smiling up into the face of her duke. And they were dancing, sure of no audience and laughing louder and louder, faces flushed and exhilarated. The duke had spun Marian in a wide arc around him, grasping her hand in his, and then he’d brought her up close to kiss her.
The sight had brought bile into Jack’s throat. He hadn’t been able to turn away, the pain as horrifying as it was addicting. The duke had looked into Marian’s face with such tender attention there could be no doubt of his feelings. He loved her. Jack searched Marian’s face, hoping she did not return the feeling; hoping to see friendship, camaraderie, anything but love. What he’d seen there had stolen his breath: a heart-stopping expression of pure joy. It brought his whole life of effort in a mad parade before his eyes, and all of it was found wanting. What could he ever do to be worthy of such a look from such a woman?
Jack Bender’s throat closed, obstructed by a shard of conscience, a poignant regret for all the many awful things he had done choking him. As was want to happen, however, remorse was quickly replaced by a sinister reminder. That joy could have been yours. Her lips on yours.
This rush of thoughts and emotion had sped up his heart, fueling his anger and spurring him to move forward with the plan to throw the awful-smelling linens and rock into their daughter’s room.
His fingers drummed the tabletop again. Here, in this old and musty cottage, he realized he expected a little happiness of his own, some sort of triumph knowing he had stripped theirs. He waited for it to come, for even a bit of satisfaction. It did not. Instead, he felt hollow. And he felt alone. His fist crashed down onto the table, and he dropped his cigar onto the floor, grinding it deeper into the dirt with the toe of his boot.
Amanda’s eyes watered as she tried not to sneeze. Dust had gathered in the passageway behind the wall in her father’s study. If her parents weren’t going to tell her anything about the rock, then she’d use her own methods. She adjusted her body so that she could see better out the small peephole in the wall.
Her father toyed with Cook’s biscuits on his tray, staring unseeing out the window. A stack of unanswered correspondence sat in front of him, and his brow was deeply furrowed.
Her uncle Ethan had just arrived up the front drive, and she hoped they would finally discuss the rock in the inn and whoever this Jack Bender person could be.
A sharp knock made her jump.
“Enter.”
In the doorway, nearly filling it with his bulk, stood a man near in age to her father and, except for his lighter hair, almost identical in appearance as well. The duke arose to greet his brother, the Earl of Norfolk, with a shake of the hand and a pounding on his back. “Oh, it’s good to see you brother!” her father said.
“I got here as quickly as possible. Your express was so cryptic. I hardly know what to think,” Ethan responded.
A maid brought in the tray with sandwiches, and the earl helped himself to some brandy from the sidebar. He brought a glass for the duke, who swirled his glass and stared at the amber color for a minute before speaking. “It’s Bender. He crossed the line, Ethan, at the inn in Traunton—threw a rock through the window. It was a calculated threat against my own child. In Amanda’s bedchamber no less. He had to have known.” He paused then looked up at Ethan as he said, “He sent a written message this time.”
Ethan raised his eyebrows in surprise.
Her father reached into a drawer and drew out the cloth bearing the written threat.
Amanda swallowed and wished for a larger peephole.
“Freedom for all or none. What does that mean, precisely?” Ethan asked, exasperated. “And what in the blazes does he hope to gain by threatening a child?”
“She’s sixteen, Ethan. Which in some ways concerns me more than if she were still in leading strings. We are looking into it. I have a few Bow Street Runners on the hunt as well as a couple of men Simmons knows. I hope to have some answers by the end of next week. But from what I learned just listening at White’s last month, Bender and his gang are terrorizing other families as well. They want common rule.”
“Common rule! The uneducated and inexperienced ruling England!” Ethan stood and started pacing. “What would they have us do, vote your dear Simmons into Parliament?”
“Ethan, lower your voice.” The duke paused. “Apparently Bender himself isn’t too keen on the idea of nobility as a whole. Wishes to do away with all of us.”
“And who, may I ask, would take care of all of these good common people in England, if not the nobles? Who would make sure they have food during harsh winters and offer them employment in our houses? Are they suggesting landownership for everyone?”
Amanda’s father cleared his throat. “Some of the more radical groups are. Bender is. Our very existence stands as a threat to his idea of a free society of universal opportunity, including landownership for all who can afford it and equal votes across the country. I’m not opposed to the idea. But even the factory workers should have equal rights, says he. Poorhouse inhabitants. Prisoners! He is beyond the pale.”
Boring political talk between her father and uncle was not what she expected, and Amanda struggled to understand it all.
“But what does this have to do with Amanda? Why a rock through a young lady’s bedroom window?” Ethan rubbed his hand across his forehead.
Amanda stilled her breathing.
The duke’s brow furrowed. “I can’t make sense of it. The Bender we know doesn’t care about this stuff and nonsense: freedom, equality, any of it. I fear he means us ill will, our family in particular.”
Ethan grimaced. “A form of revenge.” He shook his head. “And now our Amanda, a victim of his depravity. How is she?”
“Right as rain.” The duke chuckled. “She has quite a lot of gumption, that one, and courage too. She is pacing in the library this minute, bemoaning how we won’t include her in the Bender discussions.”
Ethan laughed. “I’ve always admired her pluck.”
“I need your thoughts, brother, about my instructions to Simmons. He is handling the Bender situation for me.”
“That sounds ominous, Will.” Lord Ethan stilled his cup. “Just what did you ask Simmons to do?”
“Return him to prison and ask that he be sent straight to the gallows. No mercy this time. I should have done it years ago.” The duke’s face was rigid with stress. “We are to blame, you know. If it weren’t for us, there would be no threat of Jack Bender. There would only be Jack Bender the barrister, or Jack Bender the solicitor. We created this monster, you and I and the boys at Eton.”