Chapter 26
Two days after their encounter with Viscount Hamilton, Hodges delivered a letter to Evelyn. She reached eagerly for the envelope on the silver salver, thinking it was from Jack.
Letting the cream vellum stationery flutter to her desk, she read the letter, her distress mounting with each word.
Dearest Evelyn,
It was wonderful seeing you again both at my home and at my mother’s costume ball. I cherish our renewed friendship and do not want to wait as long as in the past to spend time together. I am having friends at my home Thursday afternoon for tea and some insightful feminine conversation. I would be thrilled if you would attend. My mother will be away attending Lady Borrington’s soirée.
Your friend,
Georgina
Evelyn knew how she was going to respond, but she wasn’t comfortable with her decision, having never acted the coward in the past.
Evelyn closed her eyes as a sickening sense of despair knotted in the center of her chest. She liked Georgina. She admired her kindness, her sense of humor, and most of all her insistence on being her own person and not succumbing to her mother’s marriage demands. Georgina’s invitation—although vaguely worded—was clear to Evelyn. While Viscountess Hamilton would be away Thursday afternoon, Georgina would have her feminist friends over for some rollicking conversation.
Under different circumstances, Evelyn would have loved to attend. She was sympathetic to their cause and agreed with many of Mary Wollstonecraft’s opinions.
God only knew how many times she envied the male pupils that had passed through her father’s Lincoln’s Inn chambers. They had the opportunity to study and become barristers when she could do no more than sit by and voraciously read her father’s books. They had thought her a funny little girl whose nose was always buried in a book. They were completely oblivious to the notion that a female should crave more education than how to play a few chosen tunes on the pianoforte, properly pour tea, and thread a needle.
Despite her fondness for Georgina and her desire to attend her Thursday gathering, Evelyn would be forced to decline. She felt like a traitor, for never could she forget the sight of a fervid Maxwell Stanford, Viscount Hamilton, on his hands and knees as he pried up a floorboard in Bess Whitfield’s bedroom.
Georgina’s father was most likely a killer.
How could she ever face her friend again?
She couldn’t tell Georgina what she knew. It would devastate her friend to learn that not only had her father had an affair with an actress who went through lovers the way a dandy tossed aside used cravats, but that Hamilton may have murdered Bess Whitfield.
Evelyn knew enough of the law to understand that the evidence against Hamilton was circumstantial at best. Jack himself had said all they had discovered was that Hamilton and Bess were lovers. It seemed as if half of London had been in Hamilton’s position.
But now, combined with Hamilton’s presence in Bess’s home, it was even more unnerving for Evelyn. They couldn’t very well go to Bow Street with what they had witnessed since they had illegally broached Bess’s home themselves. Even if a constable did believe their story, it still did not prove Hamilton was the killer, only that he wanted to unearth the diary before it was found by another and released to the newspapers.
Her thoughts, as always of late, turned to Jack. It had been two days since she had strained to watch him from the window of a hackney cab as he had returned to Bess’s home to search for the blasted diary.
Had he found it? Or heaven forbid, had Hamilton returned when Jack was inside?
Her face burned as the memory of Jack’s kiss came back to her, of his chest pressed so firmly against hers. Even though they both had been fully clothed, she had felt the heat of his body as though nothing had separated them. She had been acutely aware of more than the pleasure of his kiss, but of his familiar, alluring fragrance, his tall, muscular frame so different from Randolph’s.
Despite the imminent danger—of both Viscount Hamilton and public discovery—she had been fascinated. It had been Jack who had withdrawn, reminding her of their surroundings. She dared not think of how far she would have allowed him to go if not for his restraint. It dawned on her that the more time she spent with Jack, the more perilous to her heart he was becoming.
Evelyn laid her head in her hands, feeling a wretchedness of mind she’d never known before. She bit her lip until it throbbed like her pulse. She needed to prove Randolph Sheldon’s innocence, but at what cost?
Three days later, Evelyn refused to wait any longer for Jack to contact her. She had never been a patient person and the waiting had her stomach churning with anxiety and frustration. She had to know the outcome of Jack’s search of Bess’s home. Perhaps he had found the mysterious diary. Her mind whirled with images of Jack squirreled away in his chambers, avidly reading its illicit content at his leisure.
It was late afternoon by the time she arrived at Lincoln’s Inn.
Stepping through the oak doors, she walked through the Tudor-style Gatehouse Court, only this time she did not spare a glance for the impressive architecture of the tall turrets or fragrant flowerpots. She headed for the Old Buildings, which housed the professional accommodations of the barristers. She strode down the halls, scanning the brass nameplates on the doors until she came to the one she sought.
Reaching for the handle, she swept inside and ran straight into a solid body.
“Oh!” she cried out.
A firm hand steadied her. “My apologies, miss. Are you all right?”
Evelyn looked up into the sinfully dark face of a tall man. Carrying a hat in one hand and a litigation bag in another, he was clearly on his way out when she had rushed inside.
She cleared her throat. “I’m fine. Just a little stunned.”
He smiled, and she couldn’t help but notice he was quite attractive with blue eyes, dark, curling hair and lean, strong features. “I apologize again. I was in a hurry and had no idea such a beautiful lady was on her way inside. May I help you?”
“I’m here to see a barrister.”
“Then it is your lucky day since I am quite a competent barrister.” He bowed low and said, “James Devlin at your service. Your wish is my command.”
She smiled at his charming demeanor. “You misunderstand, Mr. Devlin. I’m here to see a certain barrister.”
“Who is the lucky one, may I ask?”
“Mr. Harding.”
Amusement flickered in his cobalt eyes. “You must be Lady Evelyn Darlington.”
“Yes, how did you know?” Her voice rose in surprise.
His grin turned to a chuckle. “Jack and I share chambers.”
“I’ve met your other two colleagues, Mr. Anthony Stevens and Mr. Brent Stone,” Evelyn said.
James Devlin leaned close and whispered in her ear, “Let me tell you a secret, Lady Evelyn. I’m better than all of them.”
She pulled back and met his sharp gaze. Despite his outrageously inappropriate and flirtatious behavior, she couldn’t help but find him amusing. “No doubt the ladies find you hard to resist, Mr. Devlin, but I require Mr. Harding’s services.”
James shrugged matter-of-factly. “Should you tire of Jack, I’m always available. My docket’s not as full as his, you see.” He winked, put on his hat, and walked out the door.
Evelyn shook her head. Were all of Jack’s fellow barristers such characters?
Putting James Devlin out of her mind, she turned the corner and came to the common room of the chambers. Just like her last visit, the clerk, McHugh, was bent over his desk, writing on a lengthy legal document. Stacks of paper were piled on all four corners of his desk, and Evelyn surmised one of his tasks was to file legal correspondence in the dozens of file cabinets that lined the walls.
McHugh glanced up as she came close. His bushy brows knit, and with ink-stained fingers he pushed his spectacles farther up the bridge of his pinched nose.
“Lady Evelyn,” he said. “I assume you are here to see Mr. Harding?” He made to reach for the appointment register.
“I’m afraid I do not have an appointment.” Evelyn held her breath, expecting him to protest, but unlike the last time she had shown up unexpectedly, McHugh rose and motioned for her to follow.
“Right this way, my lady.”
They passed three closed doors, and Evelyn read the brass nameplates that identified Brent Stone’s, Anthony Stevens’s, and James Devlin’s offices.
McHugh noticed her interest. “The other barristers are at the Old Bailey. You are fortunate that Mr. Harding did not have any courtroom appearances this afternoon and is in chambers,” he said, a note of censure in his voice.
Evelyn bit her cheek to keep from smiling. Despite his seemingly polite behavior, the clerk made no effort to hide his disdain for unannounced client visits.
They reached Jack’s door, and McHugh knocked.
“Enter.”
The clerk cracked open the door. “Lady Evelyn is here, Mr. Harding. If you do not need anything else from me, sir, the chambers are empty, and I’d like to leave for the day.”
“Of course, McHugh.” She heard Jack’s voice from behind the door.
Seconds later the door opened, and she stepped inside Jack’s office.