Chapter 24

 

 

 

At five in the morning, Christian had escorted Eleanora home by way of a hansom cab. As for sleep? She had tried to nap but couldn’t. The night played over and over in her head on a never-ending loop: the intimate acts and Christian’s emotional words. There were things about herself she would never confess to anyone, but she had admitted her vulnerabilities to Christian, and he had accepted them.

The give and take, in bed and out of it, astounded her.

Sweet Mother, we could have it all.

No matter how wonderful their wild yet tender lovemaking, it was his declaration of love that won her. The fact he innately understood her need for independence, yet also accepted her susceptibilities. And to admit that he also had them?

Christian Bamford was the man she had yearned for. His need for affection and attention? Oh, she would give it gladly, anything he wanted.

She had already given him her heart.

Althea entered the parlor, rubbing her eyes. “When did you get in?”

Eleanora whirled around and faced her sister. “How did you know I went out?”

“Deduction, my dear. You made apple scones, which, I remember, is a certain duke’s favorite. So, I watched from my bedroom window and saw you hailing a hansom at a quarter to eleven. You stayed with him all night, didn’t you?”

Althea was not admonishing her, or judging, just laying the facts before her.

Eleanora sighed. “Yes, I haven’t had a wink of sleep, except short naps in between—er, well, you can imagine.”

Althea smiled and sat on the sofa. “That’s all I can do—is imagine. Was it wonderful?”

Eleanora sat next to her sister. “Beyond wonderful. I’m in love with him; so much it hurts. I’m frightened and exhilarated all at once. My emotions are in a whirl; he has captivated me completely.”

Althea took her hands and squeezed them affectionately. “I am so very happy for you.”

“He loves me, he told me so, but I couldn’t say it in return. What does that say about me?”

“That you need time to process it, as you do every aspect of your life,” Althea replied as she released Eleanora’s hands.

“Christian said the same, that he understands. That he will wait. What have I done to deserve him?”

“You deserve every happiness. Do you know who would have approved? Da. He would have liked Christian as I do. He is a fine man, in all ways. Tell him so as soon as possible.”

The bell at the front door sounded.

“Who can that be? It’s barely seven, and I’m still in my dressing gown,” Althea stated.

“Well, I’m dressed. I’ll answer the door and get rid of this early riser. You stay put.” Eleanora rushed into the hall and opened the door.

“Uncle Reece!” She stood aside to allow him to enter. “This is a surprise.”

He leaned in to kiss her cheek. “I wish it were under better circumstances.”

“Come into the parlor; Althea is up. Althea!” Eleanora called out. “It’s Uncle Reece.”

Althea ran to their uncle and gave him a warm embrace. “Excuse my mode of dress, dear uncle.”

“I’ve called far too early, but when the police report of the previous night’s doings crossed my desk, I had to come to you at once. It’s concerning Sir Howard Whitney.” He sat in the wing chair opposite the sofa. “He’s been murdered. Found late last night by his butler.”

Althea covered her mouth in shock. “How?”

“Beaten to death. I remembered the name when you made inquiries about the drowning inquest. It took ages, But I’ve located the summary.” Uncle Reece pulled out a folded paper and handed it to Eleanora. “There’s not much there.”

She took the paper but didn’t look at it. “First, I want to hear of the baronet.”

“It was a brutal thrashing,” Uncle Reece continued gravely. “Beaten to a pulp, a frenzied attack. There was a terrible gash down the side of Sir Howard’s face. The weapon was a large, brass candlestick.”

“It was the son, Ford Whitney. I’m sure of it,” Eleanora declared. “That was the exact way Sir Howard had beaten his son after the drowning incident. Ford is my main suspect in the body parts case.” Eleanora told her uncle of her meeting with the baronet and the revealing facts involved. “We cautioned him that his son may be in town and that Ford was dangerous. He dismissed our warnings.”

Uncle Reece stood. “This is not my jurisdiction, but I will go at once to Rory Kerrigan at the Lambeth Division. He and his partner, Cian O’Connor, are fine detectives.”

Eleanora had met Detective Sergeant Kerrigan a few months past. The detective was a fine figure of a man and as tall as her uncle. For a brief moment, Eleanora entertained the idea that a detective with the Metropolitan Police would make a fine partner—in life and business. But no sooner than introductions were made when Uncle Reece mentioned that Rory had recently married. It was no matter, as Eleanora congratulated the handsome copper and carried on with her life without further thought.

And yet, a duke had filled that empty part of her heart.

It was still unbelievable to contemplate.

Eleanora unfolded the paper and scanned the details. “You’re right, Uncle, not much here. It was ruled accidental due to Addington’s supposed drunkenness. The baronet told a different story.”

“Unfortunately, the baronet is dead, but we have your and the duke’s account of the conversation. More on that later. I must make haste. Goodbye, my dears.”

After Uncle Reece departed, Althea wasted no time dressing and rejoining Eleanora in the parlor. Before they could even speak, the bell sounded again.

“Good Lord, what now? I’ll get it this time.” Althea hurried along the hall. Eleanora tried to make out who it was, but before she could investigate, Althea reemerged with Archie in tow.

“I’m right sorry, miss,” Archie said to Eleanora in a low voice. “The one who took me place in watchin’ the baronet’s place, lost Whitney in the dark. Don’t know where he be now.”

“You’d best take and seat and tell us everything,” Eleanora said.

“I watched the baron’s place for hours, because you said that Ford bloke may show up at his father’s. My relief arrived at midnight. It was after I left that Whitney showed up. My relief waited, and when Whitney came out, my relief followed him, but lost him in the fog. I failed you, should’ve done it meself.” Archie banged his fist in frustration on the table.

“You had to take a break, Archie, it’s no one’s fault. He would’ve slipped away regardless of who watched the place.”

“Well, we have proof that Ford Whitney was at his father’s residence about the time of the murder,” Althea interjected.

Archie’s eyes went as round as saucers. “Cor! Murder?”

“We had best get word to The Rakes that they could very well be in immediate danger. Ford is unpredictable.” Eleanora’s inner alarm started to clang.

“His nibs wanted me to come and tell him anything first, but I came to you instead,” Archie said. “I did right, yeah?”

“His nibs? You mean, Allenby?” Anger boiled Eleanora’s blood. How dare he interfere in her investigation? After she had warned him, and more than once.

Archie must have seen the fury rising, for he said, “His nibs said it were only because he were easier to find. That if you didn’t like it, he’d do it whatever way you want.”

“Don’t stick up for him, Archie. How dare he?” Eleanora seethed.

“Ellie, Allenby may have been trying to help—”

“Oh, aye, help. ’Tis all it is,” Archie interjected.

Eleanora jumped to her feet. “Archie, you know my Uncle by sight?”

“Aye, the big copper?”

“Yes. He left here not five minutes ago in the police carriage, heading to Kennington Lane, the Lambeth Police Division. Find him and tell him about Whitney being at his father’s.”

Archie touched his forelock. “Aye. I’ll find him, and no mistake.”

“Ellie, where are you going?” Althea asked.

“She be going to his nibs to tear a strip off him. I be right, yeah?” Archie said, smiling.

“Yes, you are correct. After I tear him into little strips, I’ll warn him about Whitney,” Eleanora muttered crossly.

“Do you want me to bring your uncle along to the toff’s place after he be done with the other coppers?” Archie asked.

“Yes, thank you, Archie. Nip along now.”

Archie was gone in a flash, and Eleanora stormed into the hall to grab her coat.

“Perhaps I should come along as this is shaping up into one of your impetuous actions. You may say or do something you will regret. This is the man who captured your heart, remember? The man you love? I don’t believe he interfered on purpose. Archie said it was only because he believed he could be found quicker.”

Already a good deal of her swift bout of anger had dissipated. Althea, as always, no doubt had the right of it. Still, Eleanora must see him as Christian must be told about the baronet’s murder. Maybe she will bring up his highhandedness. Tear one or two of those strips.

“No, I’ll go. You stay and rouse Sybil out of bed as the other men need to be informed of the developments. I’ll rely on you both to handle that.”

“Allow Allenby to explain before you excoriate and eviscerate him, my dear,” Althea teased.

She kissed her sister on the cheek. “Sound advice.”

As Eleanora stepped onto the sidewalk to hail a hansom cab, doubt started to seep into her thoughts once again.

Why couldn’t she be firm in her convictions with regards to Christian? She loved him deeply, yet she had no inkling of what a true partnership with a man should entail. Would she even be capable of the give and take needed for such a relationship? And how to even verbalize her deep feelings?

Shaking her doubts from her mind, she waved down a hansom and turned her thoughts to Ford Whitney.

He had murdered his father. A horrible act no matter the circumstances.

What would his next move be?

Eleanora shuddered to think.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Thirty minutes earlier…

 

Ford stood watching Christian Bamford’s townhouse. After wandering the streets until the sun came up, he reasoned that it was time to confront those who had wronged him. And Christian was the leader; he always had been.

They had all looked up to him since they were children. Was it the fact he became a duke at age nine? Perhaps. Ford had always liked Christian—when they were children. It was Christian who had held out his hand in friendship, Christian who had stepped in and stopped a particularly fraught situation that could have turned into a sexual violation by older boys at school.

It had all been for naught.

Sexual and physiological abuse had been the total of his life for years at that military-type school in Switzerland and later at the asylum.

Christian had rescued him for nothing.

And then for Christian to invite him into his group of friends? Ford had thought he had died and gone to heaven. To interact and be accepted by people who cared for him, shared things, and protected him. Yes, the other boys eventually accepted him into their tight clique, even Brookton.

But that all ended on that damned beach in Kent.

The argument had been silly over who would drink the last of the whiskey they had stolen from Brookton’s father’s study. Then Addington had made fun of Ford’s weight and made other cutting remarks, calling him a mollycoddle. The exact name those older boys at school had called him when they had accused him of liking boys.

Ford had gone white-hot with rage at hearing that slang word. He barely remembered holding Addington underwater. When he came to his senses, it was too late. What to do? He had been scared stiff. How could he wake the others and tell them? They would never forgive him. They would cast him out. Then he would have no one.

Ford located rocks large enough to fit in Addington’s pockets. The current did the rest. Hayes was soon swept away from the beach.

There was only one person Ford could turn to—his loathsome, abusive father.

It turned out to be a gross miscalculation.

Well, the tides had turned now, no pun intended.

Ford looked down at his hands. He had scrubbed off his father’s blood, changed his clothes, and burned the ones soaked with the evidence of the beating. But to him, the blood was still there, engrained into his skin.

His wretched father had been the predominant cause of all Ford’s troubles, and he thought that removing his father from the equation would give him a modicum of peace and set his mind to rights.

But it hadn’t. Not at all.

His father’s death left him even more detached and removed from reality.

There had been one kindly doctor at the asylum who spoke of motivations crafted in past experiences. He stated that one’s future self could be molded by mental events.

In other words, none of this was Ford’s fault.

Everyone else was to blame.

Before his father had succumbed to his injuries, he spewed poison, and it had taken root. His father said that the duke and his group of sycophant friends had laughed at Ford behind his back. Burned his letters, mocking him, spreading the lie that he had killed Hayes Addington, and because of it, wanted by the Metropolitan Police for questioning.

He had to hear it from Christian.

And if it turned out to be true?

Then he would take his revenge on Christian. And then see to it the others in the group paid as well. There was no putting it off. If not a wanted man before, he would be now. It wouldn’t take long for the coppers to become suspicious, especially when they contacted the asylum and found that Ford had escaped and had stolen their cash reserves.

Ford looked at his hands again, then rubbed them as if to clean off the imaginary blood. He hadn’t meant to kill his father; he merely wanted him to suffer as Ford had suffered that night long ago when he had beaten Ford and sent him away.

But a mind-numbing fury had taken over, and he had lost all control.

Like he did that night on the beach.

Enough.

He had to know the truth.

And Christian had better answer honestly, or the duke would be heartily sorry.

Crossing the street, Ford headed for the rear entrance. He had learned to pick locks while at the miserable school, since he was often sealed away in the damp cellar, so entry into the townhouse would be easy enough to achieve.

A cruel smile curved about his mouth.

Time for a reckoning.