In the weeks since she’d been married, Emma had developed a work habit she rarely strayed from. Today was the exception as she’d received an extraordinary summons. Instead of heading to her bank, E. Cavensham Commerce, like every morning except Sunday, Emma made a detour to the Earl of Sykeston’s London home. Yesterday, she’d received a note from the earl advising of his arrival in London and stating concisely he’d be pleased if she’d visit. He apologized for the inconvenience and explained that he wasn’t making social calls of his own.
He’d kept her waiting for over an hour before he appeared. When his door finally opened, the man who entered bore little likeness to the Lord Sykeston once known as the catch of the Season. With his gaunt frame and long brown hair, he could have been easily mistaken as a street beggar. Only his mahogany-colored eyes resembled the old Jonathan, a man who once took immaculate care of himself.
With an uneven gait, he used a cane for balance. With every step of his left leg, he grimaced in pain.
They had always shared an easy friendship, one developed from the years when he’d escorted both Lena and her to social events. As one of Will’s best friends, he’d been a frequent guest at Langham Hall.
Even with all the history between them, the earl now regarded her as if she was a stranger.
“Hello, Jonathan.” Emma stood as he came to her side.
“Lady Somerton.” Aloof, he briefly bowed and turned to a small table that held assorted bottles of spirits and a few glasses. “May I offer you a refreshment?”
Emma shook her head.
“More for me.” He poured a generous three fingers of brandy into a snifter. After a hefty swallow, he returned to her side. Instead of waiting for her to sit first, he plopped into his chair and exhaled as if the effort had drained him.
“It’s good to see you.” Without Jonathan’s invitation, she sat opposite him. “Will sends his regards and promises to stop by soon.”
He didn’t acknowledge her greeting, but instead, studied her.
“How were you injured?” Never one to be reserved, she went to the heart of the matter.
He responded with a bark of laughter and then rewarded himself with another healthy swig. “You were never afraid to ask what no one else dared.”
If Lena were alive, she’d be appalled at the state of her brother. The two siblings had been close, even more so after their parents had fallen ill and passed away within days of each other. For over ten years, Jonathan and Lena had been each other’s only family. To see her brother in such a state would have devastated her.
“I made it for three years on those godforsaken battlefields without a mark on me. When I received word about Lena’s death, I immediately resigned my commission and arranged to come home. Alas, I mounted my horse, and before I could even make it out of camp, a band of French renegades attacked. My leg was completely mangled by a bullet. The old surgeon assigned to our unit wanted to amputate, but I told him no. As there’s not much call for a one-legged earl in London, I didn’t much care if I’d lived.” He threw his head back and stared at the ceiling. “So prosaic to discuss death these days.”
He wasn’t as unaffected as he’d pretended. “I’d have missed you. And Will, too.”
A look of confusion crossed his face. He took another swig and emptied the glass. “I’m thirsty. Be a dear, Emma, and refill this for me.”
She retrieved his glass and filled it with only a finger of brandy. Gently, she set it on the table next to him. When she took her seat, the glass sat empty, completely drained.
He rested his head on the back of the chair with his eyes closed. The odors of alcohol and day-old tobacco surrounded him in a haze of fetor.
“Jonathan?” Emma stood to rouse him. She’d waited for over three months to see him and wouldn’t let him waste time in a nap. “There are matters that must be discussed.”
“Sit down. I’m just resting my eyes.” He didn’t move.
With a sigh, she did as directed and opened her reticule. She’d tolerate his insufferable behavior as her heart went out to him. Somewhere under his bitter and cynical persona was the man she once knew. She had to believe it. He was the person Lena had loved above all others.
“Your sister wrote you and me letters on her deathbed.” The pain poured into her, and the hint of hot tears burned, but she fought back. His mood required she keep her grief in check. “Mary Butler sent them to me for safekeeping until you arrived home. I have one addressed to me and your unopened letter. I also have a letter she wrote to Audra, her stillborn child. I want you to read them.”
“In my own time,” he muttered.
“I went to Portsmouth and talked to Mary. Aulton killed Lena.”
He didn’t move or open his eyes at her words.
“I read the coroner’s inquest findings. Aulton paid him to write Lena had been drinking and fell down the steps. He’s threatened Mary and her mother, who just happens to be his housekeeper, by promising to accuse them of stealing if they say a word.”
With every passing second, her anger increased. The lack of response was disrespectful to her, but more importantly, to Lena. Silent, he appeared frozen, but when his hand wrapped around the arm of the chair, the knuckles were as white as ocean spray.
“Jonathan, did you hear what I’ve said?” she whispered.
“Every word.” He pushed away from the back of the chair. “Why are you telling me this?”
Infuriated, she bit the inside of her mouth to keep from blistering him with a wealth of words. She imagined grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking until his teeth rattled. At least it’d be some response.
“You have to bring charges against Aulton. You’re the only one who has the ability and the authority. This is the best way to see him punished for his crime.” She softened her voice. “With your military service, your title, but most importantly, the fact you’re Lena’s brother, the House of Lords will act, and he’ll go to trial. People will listen to you. You can seek justice and make Aulton pay for what he’s done.”
“I can’t go against him. I’ve read the coroner’s findings, and it disputes everything you’re saying.” He picked up the empty glass and examined it as he twisted it in his hand. He held the glass to her again. “No one gives a fuck.”
“What is wrong with you?” she asked incredulously. If he hoped to find answers or comfort in the brandy, then the war had damaged his judgment as much as his leg. “I care. Will cares.”
“Pardon me, Lady Somerton, if I’ve offended your tender ears.” He waved his hand in the air as a smirk tilted one side of his mouth. “Don’t you have some ball or luncheon to attend?”
It was simply easier to ignore the insult than accept the bait. His bloodshot eyes made him appear weary, but his focus seemed to have improved.
“You must pursue the charge of murder. With your influence and my husband and family behind you, we’ll see he’s punished.” Her fists ached from clenching them so long in response to his behavior. “I’ve done everything I can. I’m married and want to give my full attention to my husband. Please do this for Lena.”
“I can’t. Do you understand?” Jonathan stood so quickly that he teetered before catching his balance.
With his cane, he limped to the side table and refilled the glass himself. He apparently didn’t care for her miserly servings, which, in her opinion, was just as well. The next time, she would have thrown it in his face.
“This is Lena we’re talking about.” He’d completely changed. The old Jonathan would have already challenged the Earl of Aulton to a duel. Known for his excellent shot, he’d have had Aulton either dead or escaping from England in the dead of night.
“Don’t you understand?” he growled.
“No. I wish I did,” she offered.
“Must I spell it out for you?” He slammed the glass on the table, tipping one of the decanters.
It twirled for a moment, giving all appearances it would settle upright. Slowly, as if it lost the will to fight, just like Jonathan, it tipped to the floor. The leaded glass smashed against the marble of the fireplace hearth. Pieces of crystal and drops of spirits scattered like a flock of birds flushed from their nests. The strong smoky scent made the room smell like a distillery.
He viewed the mess and shook his head. “I’m about as capable as that decanter. Or what used to be that decanter.” He turned and, with an arrogant tip of his chin, stared at her with an air of challenge. “Have you taken a good look at me?”
“What are you saying?” She bit out, not bothering to temper her anger. “My God, you’re her brother.”
“I’m not the man I once was, Emma. If you haven’t noticed, I can barely walk. Stairs are a nightmare.”
His flat intonation made her finally see him for what he was—a ghost, one completely consumed by his own self-loathing.
“It’s over. Nothing I can say or do will bring her back. Leave it and me alone.” He grimaced, but it didn’t hide the breathtaking vulnerability in his eyes. He was hurting over more than Lena’s death.
Once he’d realized she’d seen his pain, he schooled his features.
“Jonathan,” she whispered. She took a step to take his hand and offer comfort. Together they could grieve, or she’d just listen. She’d help him with whatever he needed—except more brandy.
“You need to leave.” He turned his back on her. “I have a busy day ahead of me.”
“I see.” She bit her tongue. She was certain the only things on his agenda were more drinking and self-loathing. She sorely doubted if Jonathan was capable of accepting anything from anyone at this point.
“Thank you for your time and your stewardship of my sister’s letters.” His formal tone clearly indicated she was dismissed.
“Jonathan, I know you’re hurting. But taking action on her behalf will help—”
“Good day, Lady Somerton. I apologize, but as you can see I’m quite busy.”
She picked up her reticle and, by some miracle, made it to the door without crying. No matter how horrid his behavior, she truly cared. She turned once more to engage him in hopes she’d break through the façade he’d erected to protect himself. “Lord Somerton and I would be pleased if you’d come and join us for dinner. I’ll send an invitation soon. I’ll ask Will and McCalpin to join us.”
He didn’t even acknowledge her.
Emma fought her tears until she was safely ensconced in her carriage bound for her bank. What she’d found at Jonathan’s made her heartsick. She had no earthly idea how to help him. Married to a bottle, he’d be dead in a year, if not sooner.
The war had destroyed Lena’s champion, the man her friend had looked up to without reservation. Without Jonathan’s involvement, Aulton would go free. Lena’s final chance for justice would be extinguished.
He hadn’t even spared a glance at the packet of papers. His interest was completely consumed by the brandy.
She leaned her head back against the squab and stared at the ceiling of the coach. Everyone ignored her conviction that Lena’s murderer had to meet justice. If she shouted it from the rooftop, it seemed no one would listen.
The indifference around her meant her own chance of redemption was greatly diminished. Still, she could do little else but follow her own path. What other options did she have?
* * *
The gems in the earrings were the size of Emma’s thumb. When the light hit the sapphires, they seemed to dance. “Miss Lawson, I have a safe where they’ll be locked up tight. The man who owns the building has it guarded twenty-four hours a day. His business and residence are located just above our floor.”
“Thank you, Lady Somerton. The earrings were a present from my father to my mother. They were left to me when she passed.” Miss Lawson’s cheeks grew redder as she placed the earrings in a pouch. Without a word, she put it in front of Emma and clasped her hands. “Soon, I’ll have access to my trust fund. I hope to repay you sooner, but if wool prices decline, I’ll have to wait until I receive my money to repay the loan.”
“That’s perfectly acceptable, Miss Lawson.” The woman’s discomfort was apparent. Something deep within Emma buckled to see another woman, one so similar to herself, be in such need she had to use family heirlooms as collateral. She placed her hand over Miss Lawson’s and squeezed. “Please call me Emma.”
“Only if you call me March.” She took a deep breath. “If you hadn’t sent a note about your bank, I’m not certain what I’d have done. Mr. Garrard would only offer five pounds, and that was to buy them outright.”
Mr. Garrard may be the favorite jeweler of the Prince Regent, but Emma would ensure her entire family knew how the man conducted business, taking advantage of women like March.
“I approached the roofer about making payments for my overdue bill, but I understand it was already paid by you. I’ll reimburse you—”
“No, I did it because I wanted to,” Emma interrupted. To have the responsibility for raising her two sisters and brother while managing an estate boggled the mind. She admired March and wanted to lighten the young woman’s burdens in whatever way she could.
March tapped her index finger on the counter and pursed her lips. “May I ask a question?” She released a breath.
Emma nodded.
“The family trustee has failed to acknowledge or answer any of my requests for funds. I’d be grateful if you could recommend a solicitor I could engage.” She tilted her head and regarded Emma with a look of pure determination.
“My husband employs Mr. Odell. I’ll have him contact you as soon as possible,” Emma offered.
“Thank you for everything.” March held her gaze and nodded. She gathered the thirty-five pounds from the counter and slipped them inside her reticule. “I must go. My brother needs his Latin lesson before the afternoon escapes.”
“If you need more, come see me.” Emma escorted March to the door.
After they exchanged good-byes, she watched the young woman get into a cart with an older man about her father’s age. Even with the money, the woman’s stress was high if her pinched mouth and wary eyes were any indication. What made the exchange more poignant was that she and March shared the same age.
“Lady Em—Lady Somerton, I think you made a new admirer today.” John Small, the footman, stood sentry over the door. His name was a misnomer, as he was one of the tallest footmen in her father’s employment.
“She found a new admirer, too. Miss Lawson’s strength will insure she succeeds in helping her family.” Emma put the earrings in the safe, and a sense of satisfaction rooted her earlier sadness out the way. This was always what she’d envisioned her bank would provide—a sense of security for woman.
The bell over the door rang, announcing another customer. “Good morning, Lady Somerton.”
A well-dressed man entered, followed by an equally well-dressed woman.
The man performed a hurried bow. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Lord St. John Howell. I wonder if my sister and I might have a moment of your time as we find we’re in desperate need of your assistance.”