“Ugh! Loathsome man indeed,” Charlotte exclaimed in disgust. “Can he be stopped?”
“I don’t know.” I bit my lip in contemplation. “I shall have to speak to Gage.”
My stomach dipped. Yet another way my past could harm him. I pressed a hand to my belly. Could harm our child.
Then another thought struck me. “How widespread are these reports?”
“Not far.” Her brow puckered. “At least, not yet.”
Which meant it would only be a matter of time before Lord Gage, and the rest of the ton, learned of their existence. If he hadn’t already.
“Thank you for telling me,” I said. It would have been horrid to learn of it in a different way. Now, at least, I could be the one to tell Gage, not some smirking gossip.
“Of course. Is there anything I can do?”
“Just keep me apprised of any developments you hear.”
“I will.” She squeezed my hands, making me look up into her soft gray eyes. “You are not alone in this, Kiera. Even if the worst should happen, you have friends who will stand by you.”
I felt tears bite at the back of my eyes. “Thank you.”
It was a relief to know that unlike the last time I’d faced scandal, I would not be cut by all except my closest family. But how many would stand with us? How many would still come to Gage with the delicate matters they needed investigated? And if anyone did come to him, would the rest of society cooperate with our inquiry?
How many more challenges were to be thrown at us? How many more threats made to our status and well-being?
I had feared that Gage would come to regret his marriage to me, that my past would forever haunt us. But Gage had sworn he did not care about my reputation, about the troubles I brought with me. I very much feared that assertion was about to be sorely tested.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I had several hours to contemplate the existence of the journals, so that by the time Gage had returned home at least my own shock had subsided and I was able to safely tuck away my more intense emotions. I’d decided to lay the facts out before him bare, with no histrionics. To this, he listened calmly without interruption. But at the end of my short recitation, he leaped to his feet to pace before the hearth in short, quick strides.
I watched him, awaiting his response as the sour taste of dread collected at the back of my mouth.
“He cannot be allowed to do this.” His voice snapped like a whip. “It’s unconscionable.” When I didn’t speak, his gaze darted to mine almost in accusation. “How can you be so sanguine about this?”
I reared back. “I . . . I’m not. But recall, I’ve had several hours to consider all this.”
“And you’ve simply accepted it?” he asked incredulously.
“No!” I clenched my hands in my lap, stifling my frustration. “I have no more desire to see him publish whatever detestable things Sir Anthony wrote than you do. There must be a way we can stop him.”
“Oh, I’ll stop him.” His eyes flashed with savage anger. “Even if I have to choke the life from his body.”
I’d rarely seen Gage so furious, and it gave me pause. “That won’t help. Not if you are hanged.”
“You underestimate my intelligence. I would never be caught.”
“Gage, be reasonable. You are not going to murder the man. At least . . . that should be a last resort.”
This finally seemed to penetrate through the haze of his righteous anger. His frantic steps were arrested as he turned to stare at me in disbelief.
“I jest,” I replied testily. “If you’re allowed to speak of choking a man to death, I can make a quip about it being our final option.”
He exhaled a long breath. “I suppose I am being a bit irrational.”
I arched my eyebrows. “A bit?”
His expression softened as he offered me a tight smile. He sank down on the sofa beside me, staring into the fire. “What is to be done, then?” He scowled. “What do you suspect is written in those journals?”
“Well, knowing Sir Anthony, there is a great deal of unkind commentary accompanied by his pompous opinions.”
His eyes narrowed. “About his medical patients?”
“I should say undoubtedly.”
He sat taller. “Then there may be sensitive information about our royalty in there. After all, he was sergeant surgeon to George IV, was he not? I doubt the current monarch would be so pleased to discover such things about his brother were about to be put into print.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” I replied, relief flooding through me. “Could it be so simple?”
“I don’t know. The publisher might just as easily refuse to bow to royal pressure, or insist he’ll exclude such information. Though there is also the matter of the journals including confidential information about other members of society who sought his medical expertise. I wonder if it’s quite legal for him to reveal such things, even if the names are obscured. ‘Lord F__ approached me to treat his syphilis.’”
Since I hadn’t the foggiest, I did not comment.
This time, he didn’t seem to require a reply. “I shall speak with a barrister friend of mine and then discover what publisher Dr. Mayer has approached. Perhaps they can be dissuaded or reasoned with.” He swiveled to look at me. “Do not worry. I’ll handle this.”
I nodded, relieved he’d accepted the matter so equably after his initial burst of temper. That I wouldn’t be required to face Dr. Mayer myself was also a relief. But the hollow in the pit of my stomach warned me this difficulty would not be cleared up so easily.
His hand reached for mine. “I told you I would protect you, and I shall.”
“Sebastian . . .” I began to protest, fearful he placed too much of an emphasis on his ability to do just that. But a light rap on the door brought my words to a stop.
“Come in,” he called.
Our butler stepped through the door, his shoulders back and his head held even higher than usual. “Sir, if I’m not interrupting, might I have a moment of your time?”
“Of course, what is it, Jeffers?”
He closed the door and crossed the room to stand before us. “I have just had a visit from a servant in one of the houses on Upper Brook Street.”
A pulse of excitement went through me, for I knew our butler would not bring anything to us that was not of probable importance, and judging from his proud posture, this must be something important indeed.
“He did not see or hear the attack on Lord Feckenham. But shortly after eleven, he did see him speaking with his brother, Mr. Penrose. He said the discussion did not appear to be an amicable one. At least, not on Mr. Penrose’s part.”
Gage and I exchanged a speaking glance. I could scarcely credit that such a piece of evidence had been dropped in our laps.
“Thank you, Jeffers. I trust you asked for the servant’s name and direction should we need to speak with him again.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Well done. You are a topping fellow.”
“Thank you, sir.” He bowed very properly before exiting the room with, dare I say, a spring in his step.
It was almost enough to make me smile, but for the dreadful implications of the information he’d presented to us.
“Has Mr. Penrose returned from the country?” I asked Gage.
He shook his head. “And I employed a pair of lads to watch Redditch House so that the moment he does return, I’ll be notified.”
“You don’t trust Mr. Poole to do so?” I remembered how the earl’s secretary had promised to impel Mr. Penrose to write to us, or that he would do so himself.
“On the contrary, I believe the fellow will follow through. But what if Mr. Penrose should arrive when he is not there? Not to mention the fact that letters take time to write and send. No, it is much better this way.” His brow darken
ed. “But if he does not return by the morning, I think another visit to Lord Redditch is in order.”
“Lord Damien mentioned he had plans to move to the continent. Do you think the earl might have lied? Could Mr. Penrose already be beyond our reach?”
His fingers tapped an agitated tattoo against his knee. “We shall address that if we must.”
This talk of Mr. Penrose reminded me of another matter I wished to discuss with him. “What do you know of the Duke of Bowmont’s third son?”
He appeared confused by this shift in topic. “Not much. I’m familiar with Lord Edward, of course. He was a year ahead of me at Cambridge. But we’ve never exchanged more than polite remarks. Why do you ask?”
I shifted to face him more fully. “The duchess spoke of him during her portrait session this morning. She said something about how she’d heard things about Mr. Penrose from Lord Edward. I could tell that was supposed to insinuate something, but when I expressed ignorance as to what it was, she suggested the topic might be too delicate for a young lady’s ears.”
That this was true was evident in the change that came over Gage’s demeanor. His shoulders stiffened, and his face drained of all expression.
“Curious,” he remarked.
When he said no more, I scowled. “Do you think me bird-witted? I can tell you know something.” I searched his eyes, looking for some sign of yielding. “Is it truly too shocking?”
“No, not really. But it isn’t something a gentleman discusses with his wife.”
“Which could be any number of things, given the crotchets you take into your head when it comes to sheltering my unworldly person.”
He arched an eyebrow at my withering sarcasm. “All I will say is that Lord Edward has . . . interesting proclivities.”
“That doesn’t tell me anything!”
He glared back at me. “It wasn’t meant to.”
I huffed and turned away, struggling to retain control of my temper. “Then I suppose we should assume that Mr. Penrose possesses the same ‘interesting proclivities.’ Proclivities he may remark upon when we interview him. Do you wish for me to learn of them for the first time from him?”
His lips clamped into a thin line, and I knew I had him. He spoke carefully. “Because of their inclinations, Lord Edward and Mr. Penrose are unlikely to be interested in you.” His gaze lifted to meet mine to see if I understood. “But they might be interested in each other.”
I opened my mouth to speak and then stopped, suddenly grasping what he meant. “Oh,” was all I could say as a blush burned its way into my cheeks.
Gage nodded once.
“I suppose that explains why the duchess said he wouldn’t wish to inherit the earldom. He’ll need an heir. And that means taking a wife. A . . . woman,” I stammered.
“Well, he wouldn’t be the first nobleman in such a predicament.”
I glanced at him in surprise.
“But we are getting ahead of ourselves. We do not have proof that any of this is true. And there are some men who are not so particular.”
I stared at the edge of the rug, feeling like I was receiving an education I hadn’t been prepared for. I was vaguely aware that there were men who preferred the company of other men, but that had seemed an altogether foreign concept, not something I expected to encounter among society. Why society was so determined to keep what they deemed improper from young ladies’ ears made little sense to me. Wouldn’t it be better for us to be prepared for such a discovery than to feel like utter dolts?
“We shall see what he has to say when we speak to him,” Gage hastened to say before pushing to his feet, clearly eager to abandon the topic. “Now, I must change my clothes.” He wrinkled his nose. “I can still smell the stink of Smithfield clinging to them.”
I hadn’t noticed anything, and my sense of smell was stronger than ever, but Smithfield was notorious for its filth and disorder, mainly because of its live-meat market held in the heart of the city. I’d had little occasion to venture near there and no desire to do so.
“The Italian Boy inquest?”
“Yes. Trying to help Anderley run to ground a witness who might be able to identify the boy.” He exhaled a weary sigh. “The first hearing before the Bow Street Magistrates begins in two days, and they’ve yet to put a name to the lad.”
“Will that hurt the inquiry?”
“It certainly won’t help it. And it might introduce doubts in the minds of the magistrates or an eventual jury. Best to have a name.”
“Yes, but will it be the right one?” I questioned as he moved toward the door.
He turned back with a troubled smile. “Aye, there’s the rub.”
* * *
• • •
Shortly after dinner a letter arrived for Gage. We were seated in the drawing room, when Jeffers entered holding the silver salver. I felt a moment’s qualm that the blackmailers were contacting me again. But the missive proved to be addressed to my husband, and the handwriting was too neat and precise to be that of my extortionists.
“It’s from Mr. Poole,” Gage explained as he read. “He says Mr. Penrose returned to London this evening. That he did as requested and asked him to write to us, and Mr. Penrose entreated him to write to us on his behalf. He shall be pleased to receive us in the morning to answer our questions.”
“Well, it appears your lads fell asleep on the job,” I murmured, as he’d heard nothing from the boys he’d set to watch Redditch House. “But this is a good sign, is it not? At least, it seems Penrose wishes to cooperate.”
His brow furrowed. “Yes, but does he have any other choice? If he refuses to speak with us or dodges our visits, that only makes him look guilty. Best to attempt to brazen his way through.”
“True. But maybe now we can get some answers.”
“Yes,” he agreed, though his tone was distracted. His gaze shifted to study me. “I think it would be best if you take the lead when we question him.”
My eyes widened. “Me?”
“Penrose is expecting me to charm him into giving up the truth. He won’t be prepared for you or your forthrightness.” His eyes softened. “Gentle though it may be. I have an inkling of the two of us, he’ll find you the easiest to confide in.”
“Because of my past,” I stated baldly, unwilling to beat around the bush.
“Yes. Much of society knows me as a charming gallant and a reformed rake, who’s never suffered a day of strife in his life.” His pale eyes glinted with weary cynicism, and I reached out to take his hand. He had no one to blame but himself, for he’d cultivated such an image purposely, but since it was far from the truth, I knew that some days it was difficult to sustain. “He might see similarities in your experiences, and that might make him less guarded than he usually would be.”
I nodded in comprehension. If even a quarter of the things said about Feckenham were true, then living with him could not have been easy. His rumored treatment of his brother in many ways echoed Sir Anthony’s treatment of me, though the power of a brother over a brother could never surpass that of a husband over a wife. Not when all that she possessed, including her loyalty and her very self, in effect belonged to her husband.
Still, I could empathize in ways others could not, and Penrose was likely to sense this.
“I’ll do my best,” I told Gage.
He squeezed my hand. “You’ll do well. You always do.”
* * *
• • •
George Penrose was waiting for us the following day in the same morning room we had utilized during our previous visit. He stood at the window, his hands clasped behind his back, looking out over the garden. Much of the snow from the previous day had already melted in the bright sun. When he turned, I could see that his posture was stiff, his jaw tight, but he made an effort to appear pleased to see us when Hotchkins introduced us.
; He bowed over my hand before turning to nod to Gage.
“Thank you for agreeing to see us so promptly upon your return, Lord Feckenham,” Gage said.
Penrose blanched. “Please don’t call me that.”
Gage appeared contrite, but I strongly suspected he’d addressed him by his murdered brother’s courtesy title on purpose. “Too soon?”
He nodded.
“My apologies. Mr. Penrose, then.”
“Please.”
He gestured toward the chairs, and we all sat while tea was offered and declined. When the door shut behind the butler, Penrose shifted forward abruptly in his seat, as if he could contain himself no longer.
“I told Mother that sending me to Silvercrest before speaking with you would only make me look guilty, but she would not be reasoned with. Said she would travel to Worcestershire herself to fetch my sisters if I wouldn’t, and I couldn’t let her do that. Not when she was evidently so overcome.”
“Your sisters returned with you?” I asked.
“Yes.” His eyes flicked back and forth between me and Gage, sensing our interest in this bit of news. “Father has decided to have my brother buried here in London rather than at Silvercrest, and Mother wanted her daughters close.”
“Forgive me,” I replied. “But then why didn’t your sisters live here with you in London? I would have thought your eldest sister would already be out.”
“My sisters have not always been in the best health, and the London air affects their lungs. They do much better in the country.” This answer sounded as if it had been recited by rote, and I had every reason to believe it had been. It was the type of response a family agreed upon ahead of time to answer any questions about the sisters’ continued absence.
“They must be bereft over the loss of their brother.”
He coughed, as if choking on his answer. “Yes, of course.”
I tilted my head, studying his gray eyes. “Are you?”
He was handsome, though not strikingly so, being possessed of an average build and soft brown hair. But he did claim a remarkably fine pair of eyes the shade of pewter, fringed with long dark lashes. These were clouded with a mixture of anxiety, defiance, and a weariness that seemed to pull down all the muscles of his face. I wondered which of these emotions would win out.
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