Chapter Nine

Edmund tossed down the suspension spring and lead he’d been fiddling with for too long and dug his fingers into his scalp instead. The problem lay not with the mechanical parts, but with his lack of concentration.

The agency had sent a new candidate for governess this morning. She’d met with him and with Aurelia. Having heard something of their situation, she’d brought along a book on the flora and fauna of Cornwall, where she’d grown up. He’d thought it well done of her. The gesture had won Aurelia’s hesitant approval.

Lisbeth was leaving today. He’d heard the servants discussing it. She’d spent the morning packing and meant to spend the night at a coaching in, so as not to miss the pre-dawn boarding tomorrow.

She and Aurelia had only just left for the party in Richmond. Lisbeth had not bid him goodbye or seen him at all since last night. She’d be back long enough to gather her things this afternoon, and then she’d be gone.

He could comfort himself knowing she’d find her rightful sphere. A home and family of her own to look after, guard zealously, run efficiently. An unknown husband to spoil and comfort, to kiss with abandon, to fall apart beautifully beneath.

He didn’t feel a damned bit comforted.

A timid knock sounded on the door.

He sat up, only to find he’d kept a hold of the spring earlier and now it was tangled in his hair. He wrestled it free and called, “Enter.”

A footman came in, carrying a message. “This was just left by a messenger boy, my lord. I wouldn’t disturb you, sir, but he said it was urgent.”

Edmund unfolded it.

Meeting today. Two o’clock.

Your presence is required.

Regarding: the future of Miss Elisabeth Mills Moreton.

It was signed by someone named Thorpe and gave a Dorrington Street address.

Edmund looked up. “Bring the boy to me.”

“He didn’t wait, my lord. Left even before collecting a vail.”

“Very well.” There was no decision to be made, really. He stood. “Have the carriage brought `round.”

Less than an hour later he was admitted to a respectable looking home. Obviously expected, he was taken straight toward the back of the house. Puzzled, he looked about. There was no hint of whose house it might be. No portraits, no sound, no warmth, either. The place felt bleak and empty.

Until a set of doors swung open and Edmund’s temper flared. “Vickers! What in hell are you about?”

The other man turned, brow arching. “Answering a summons, the same as you, I suspect.” He turned and gestured toward a small statured man standing behind a cluttered desk in the one bright spot in the room. “Thorpe, I presume?”

“Aye. Come in, the pair of you.” The balding man stepped from behind the desk and gestured toward a grouping of chairs before a cold hearth. “Let me say my piece and get this over with.”

If Lisbeth’s name had not been involved, Edmund would have walked out.

“I’ll get right to the point. I’ve been persuaded, against my better judgment, to interfere with Elisabeth Moreton’s stepfather on her behalf. She won’t be entering into service or marrying a cattle-mad squire twice her age. She will be given a come-out or a trip abroad or whatever she has her heart set on now. But in order for this to work, we must change the story a bit. She’s been staying on with me these weeks in London. Is that understood? Only the two of you can truly contest it. I urge you not to.” He pointed to them both. “That means you keep quiet and your servants, too. Will this be a problem?”

“Who the hell are you to Miss Elisabeth Moreton?” Edmund demanded.

Thorpe huffed. “I am her legally appointed trustee. You will agree to stay silent if you want what’s best for the girl. I want this wrapped up quickly or I shall wash my hands of it. This was not the agreement I entered into with her father—”

The man launched into a grievous list of complaints and Edmund looked about. This then had been the business she’d pursued. And met with . . . what? What had happened to the strange man to bring him to such a manner of existence? He stared at a nearby map of Asia and an attached list of exports. Surely there had been an inciting incident. Perhaps just a slow slide brought on by grief, loss, or disappointment?

Edmund had known all three. He hadn’t been smart to wall himself off from the world in response, to replace human interaction with mechanics and equations and long hours in his lab, but he’d been so weary. Heartsore. And yes, a little afraid.

Afraid. But he’d never been a coward. He straightened. Until last night.

He stared about with dawning horror. This. This is what the path of cowardice could so easily lead to. It wasn’t even a stretch to imagine himself in a similar dungeon of his own making, surrounded by metal bits and gears instead of maps and charts. Instead of life and love.

He stood. Strode out of the door without a word.

“Cotwell?”

He ignored the call. Only stopped on the outside stoop when Vickers grabbed his shoulder.

“Cotwell. Will you give Lisbeth a message for me?”

Edmund ran an eye over his former friend. He looked more rested. His eyes had lost their dark circles and he appeared less . . . haunted.

“What is it?”

“Tell her I’m sorry. That I’m glad things worked out for her. That I’d like to see her.”

“To what purpose?” Edmund barked.

“To make amends.” Vickers paused. “And then, well, we shall see.”

Edmund bristled. “Stay the hell away from her.”

Vickers stared. “You’ve no right to dictate who she sees.”

“Not yet.” He spun about and climbed into his carriage. “We’re going to Richmond,” he told the coachman.

James watched him go. When Cotwell’s vehicle turned a corner, he walked the few steps to his own waiting carriage.

“There.” Hestia Wright smiled at him from inside. “You’ve done what you can. Either he will act or he won’t.”

“He already has.”

She sighed in relief. “Good. Be happy for them. And move forward.”

James nodded. And hoped that it was possible.