In the Barrister's Chambers

by Tina Gabrielle

  Evelyn spoke up. “Mr. Harding is not to blame.”

  Lyndale’s glare turned on his daughter. “You’re probably correct. I’ve indulged you, Evelyn. I admit I was negligent during your childhood. I was immersed in my work, first at Lincoln’s Inn and then later at the university. I allowed you unusual freedoms for a female and encouraged your intellectual pursuits. Looking back, I should have remarried and given you a mother figure and a proper Season.”

  “That was never important to me, Father.”

  “You went to see Randolph Sheldon, didn’t you?”

  The abrupt change in topic startled her.

  “Barnes and Bathwell informed me that a Bow Street magistrate issued a warrant for Randolph’s arrest for the murder of Bess Whitfield after he failed to appear for questioning. Christ, witnesses heard the victim’s screams and then saw Randolph jump from her window! When were you going to tell me? Here I was thinking Randolph took a sabbatical to mourn the loss of his cousin, when he is wanted for her murder instead. Thank goodness the judges have no idea of your marital notions toward the man. They informed me solely because Randolph is my Fellow.”

  “Father, I planned on informing you. I’m sorry—”

  Lyndale cut her off with a curt wave of his hand. He looked to Jack. “I wanted you on Randolph’s side, in case he was questioned, but it has gone too far. Are you aware he is in hiding?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “What else?”

  “There was a scuffle with a Bow Street Runner and Randolph was injured.”

  “Injured?”

  “Some broken ribs and a good hit on the head.”

  “Does he need a doctor?”

  “I’m arranging for one to see him.”

  Lyndale sighed wearily. “We must be prepared for the possibility that Randolph is guilty.”

  Evelyn was startled. Jack had said the same thing. Yet her instincts still balked against the notion that Randolph was a murderer.

  “I asked Jack to take me to Randolph. I needed to see his injuries firsthand,” Evelyn said.

  “How did you learn of the confrontation with Bow Street and that Randolph was hurt?” Lyndale asked.

  Evelyn’s eyes darted nervously back and forth between her father and Jack. How much to confess? “Simon Guthrie delivered the news. He accompanied us tonight.”

  Lyndale blinked in surprise. “Guthrie is involved in this as well? He is not my Fellow, but I wonder what his professor would think of this mess.”

  Her mind fluttered away in anxiety. “I would hope you would not speak of it and jeopardize Simon’s Fellowship.”

  Lyndale straightened; the line of his mouth tightened a fraction more. “After learning everything that I have tonight, combined with your unforgivable behavior, I insist this madness cease and Randolph surrender when he is well enough to do so. I never wanted him for you.”

  She looked away, unable to meet her father’s eyes. “I understand. But I still believe Jack should represent Randolph.”

  “Nothing will change in that regard. Go upstairs now, Evelyn. I need to have a word alone with Mr. Harding.”

  Grateful and relieved that her father’s lecture ceased and that he agreed Jack could continue to aid Randolph, she fled the kitchen.

  Jack watched Evelyn depart before approaching Lord Lyndale.

  “I apologize for taking your daughter to see Mr. Sheldon tonight, my lord,” Jack said.

  Lyndale turned with a start and strode to a corner cabinet. “Would you like some whiskey, Jack?” he asked over his shoulder.

  Jack eyed his mentor warily. He had just been caught alone with his daughter well past midnight without a chaperone in sight and the man was asking him if he wanted a whiskey?

  “Whiskey sounds fine,” Jack said.

  Lyndale opened the cabinet doors and withdrew a bottle. “Good old Hodges always keeps a bottle in the kitchen.” Reaching farther inside the cabinet, Lyndale pulled out two mismatched glasses, poured a good amount of amber-colored liquor in each, and handed a glass to Jack.

  Jack took the whiskey and swallowed a goodly amount. Both men placed their glasses down on the worktable and leaned against it.

  “You have feelings for Evelyn,” Lyndale said. It was a statement, not a question.

  Jack hesitated, careful with his words. “I would never hurt her.”

  “I didn’t believe you would. Otherwise, I would insist you leave my house at once and never contact her again. Randolph Sheldon’s defense be damned,” Lyndale said, his tone chilly.

  Ah, this is the scalding lecture I expected from an outraged father, Jack thought. “I understand, my lord.”

  Lyndale sighed. “I never wanted Randolph Sheldon for Evelyn. Intellectual and bookish, he makes the perfect Fellow for a professor who is too busy with research to give the proper amount of attention to the tedious task of grading student papers. But Randolph is weak at his core. He needs a mother figure, someone to tell him what to do and make all his decisions for him. He is a follower, never a leader.”

  Lyndale withdrew his spectacles and rubbed his eyes before continuing. “Evelyn’s mother died when she was just a babe, and she learned how to run the household at an early age. I realize I am to blame. She is an invaluable help to me and organizes my library and my life so that I do not have to think of such trifle matters. But I want more for her than to marry and become another man’s ‘mother figure.’ Evelyn is strength and responsibility and beauty and brains. I will not live forever. I long to see her find her match and be truly happy, impulsive, and free.”

  Jack swallowed. Evelyn had been just that, impulsive and free with her passion moments ago in his carriage. His pulse throbbed just thinking about it.

  But he could never tell her father.

  “I do believe she is reconsidering her feelings for Randolph,” Jack said.

  “Good. Randolph won’t make her happy. He will only burden her with more responsibility and trouble.”

  Jack nodded. He had felt the same when he had initially taken on Randolph’s case.

  Lyndale reached for his whiskey. “I may be an old man, but I remember when I first met Evelyn’s mother. Logic and reason, be damned.” He took a sip and set the glass down. “It reminds me of the way you look at Evelyn.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Evelyn was besotted by you when she was a girl. Oh, I had many pupils pass through my chambers at Lincoln’s Inn. But she never went out of her way to memorize all those Latin and Greek verbs until you became my pupil. What I’m trying to say is I would encourage a match between you and my daughter.”

  Jack was stunned. Did the man suspect what had occurred in the carriage? Or was he like any other father who would insist Jack act honorably? After all, Evelyn had been alone with Jack in the middle of the night and there was no doubt her reputation had been compromised—whether her father knew to what extent or not. It didn’t matter that no one saw them. In the eyes of society, Lyndale could legitimately claim that his daughter’s reputation was tarnished and insist Jack do the right thing. But Lyndale was unusual with the rearing of his daughter.

  “I know not to force anything on Evelyn. She can be quite stubborn. She also cares naught for society, rank, or the incessant gossips of the ton. But you can convince her.”

  “I don’t know what to say, my lord.”

  “I’m guessing marriage was not in your immediate plans. You’re ambitious and believe your legal career is your calling card, your purpose in life.”

  “Is that wrong?”

  “The law is important to a barrister, but it will not comfort you when you are ill, support you when you lose a trial, or celebrate with you when a jury returns a verdict in your favor, and most important of all, it will not love you until you grow old. And if you are to be truly blessed, the law will not give you children to carry on your legacy.”

  Jack had never wanted those things. He could handle bad verdicts and victories. He couldn’t handle emotional entanglements
or the demands of a wife if he needed to work a long day.

  “Think about what I said. If she has decided on her own that Randolph Sheldon is not the man she wants to marry, then I am pleased. I see the way you look at each other. I have every right to insist you marry my daughter after tonight. But like any barrister worth his salt, why force the issue when it can be amicably resolved? Besides, could you bear the thought of her marrying another?”

  The killer walked the streets, careful to avoid the light of the gas lamps. He needed to release his roiling emotions before the pain took over.

  Too late, he felt the tension build in his skull, like a pair of hammers pounding against each of his temples. He needed privacy, before his body revolted and he spewed his guts on the closest street corner.

  Sweat poured down his forehead; his breathing came in ragged gasps. Spotting the first empty alley, he stumbled inside.

  Two brick tenements lined each side of the alley. Windows covered thick with grease concealed the view inside. He hated this neighborhood with its dark, dank underworld of crime, prostitution, and poverty. If he had a choice, he would never step foot here.

  At a slight sound at the end of the alley, his head snapped around. A pair of brilliant green eyes shone in the dimness. He picked up a stone and threw it at a black, stray cat. The feline hissed, then darted behind a discarded barrel.

  He picked up another stone, heavier this time, and repeatedly tossed it in the air and caught it in his fist as he stalked forward.

  “Pssss. Little pussy.”

  He spotted the tail from behind the barrel, then kicked the barrel aside and hurled the stone at the cat’s head. Not even a whimper, and the feline dropped to the ground.

  Ah, death was medicinal, and for several quick heartbeats his headache subsided.

  Then the pounding returned.

  Hell.The killing of an animal no longer comforted him.

  Blinded by the pain’s return, he sat on the overturned barrel and rested his throbbing head in his hands.

  For the hundredth time that day, he thought of the diary. He needed it now more than ever before as his debts were mounting. Within those handwritten pages was power he could use to blackmail and control Bess Whitfield’s influential lovers like dangling puppets on a string. A different thought crossed his mind.

  His prize. The beautiful blonde.

  He had believed her pure, loyal, virginal. But she, like every other woman he had known, had disappointed him.

  She was no better than the actress.

  Coy, seductive, teasing, selfish . . .

  Bess Whitfield’s punishment had not been planned, but had served to temporarily ease his torment.

  Perhaps another killing would ease that torment again.

  Chapter 34

  “Lord Lyndale wants me to marry his daughter.”

  Three pairs of eyes turned to Jack. Anthony Stevens, James Devlin, and Brent Stone had met Jack at the local tavern for a Saturday afternoon gathering. After his second tankard of ale, Jack had found the courage to broach the subject that had been on his mind since leaving Lord Lyndale’s home last evening.

  Anthony spoke first. “What the devil do you mean Lyndale ‘wants’ you to marry?”

  “He caught us returning home together alone late last evening,” Jack said.

  James Devlin slammed down his tankard. “Ha! I told you that you wouldn’t be able to resist temptation. You should have crawled back to your former mistress like I advised.”

  Christ, I tried! Jack thought. But the fact that he could not maintain an erection with Molly Adler was not something he would ever admit to any of his colleagues.

  “It’s not what you think,” Jack said. “We learned that Randolph Sheldon was injured in a bar brawl by a Bow Street Runner. Evelyn insisted she see him. I didn’t want her traveling to Shoreditch alone in the middle of the night so I took her in my carriage. It was still dark by the time we returned to her home, and Lyndale was waiting for her.”

  Anthony smirked. “How could you be so foolish as to get caught, Jack?”

  “You’ve compromised her reputation for certain. My only question is: Why hasn’t Lyndale demanded you marry?” Devlin asked.

  “Two reasons. He’s aware of his daughter’s stubborn nature, and Lyndale is not conventional by any standard. That’s what makes him an exceptional teacher and mentor.”

  Devlin loosened his cravat with a forefinger. “I’m glad it’s not me. I’ve dodged the marriage trap one too many times.”

  “Tell Lyndale to sod off,” Anthony said. “I’d never allow anyone to force me to do anything, let alone shackle myself to an unwanted wife.”

  “Do you love her, Jack?” Brent spoke for the first time.

  The question and the serious tone of Brent’s voice caught Jack off guard. Anthony and Devlin’s skepticism and sarcasm on the topic of marriage had been expected. But Jack could never predict what Brent Stone would say regarding the fair sex.

  It was a fair question. Did he love Evelyn? He knew he cared deeply for her. He was fascinated by her quick wit and keen intelligence. He desired her. But love?

  Was there even such an emotion or was it all fancy, concocted by women and weak men?

  He’d never known Anthony, Devlin, or even Brent to fall victim to love. Jack was not a young fool. He was a seasoned barrister who had witnessed firsthand every human emotion—whether in the courtroom or in his chambers. No plaintiff or defendant he had ever encountered had acted out of pure, unselfish love.

  No, he was too jaded, too pragmatic, to believe in such nonsense.

  But Lyndale’s words haunted him. Could you bear the thought of her marrying another?

  No. He couldn’t. But that was jealousy and possessiveness, not love. He wanted far more from Evelyn than a barrister-client relationship. But why couldn’t he have what he desired—Evelyn in his bed—and still maintain an emotional distance?

  “I care for her. I respect and owe her father a great debt,” Jack answered Brent.

  “What of the man she was to marry?” Brent asked.

  “She’s had a change of heart regarding Randolph Sheldon,” Jack said.

  Devlin slapped Jack on the shoulder. “I was right. You bedded her. Anthony owes me ten pounds.”

  Anthony shrugged a massive shoulder. “I guess I do.”

  Jack glared at Devlin and Anthony. “You made a wager whether I would bed Evelyn Darlington?”

  “I won,” Devlin said with a mocking grin.

  Jack should have expected Devlin and Anthony’s antics, but it was Brent Stone’s close regard and knowing eyes that were most disturbing.

  “Does her father know you’ve been intimate with her?” Brent asked.

  Jack shook his head. “I don’t suspect he does. He believes only that we are working together. Even Lyndale would demand we marry if he knew.”

  “Will you propose to Lady Evelyn, then?” Brent asked.

  “That’s just it. Evelyn is not a typical woman. Her father knows she won’t jump at any proposal. He asked me to convince her.”

  The corner of Brent’s mouth lifted. “You’ll have to woo her.”

  Jack sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I will do Lyndale’s bidding, but the ultimate decision will be up to the lady to decide.”

  The troublesome truth was the thought of wooing Evelyn excited Jack. Thankfully, she had come to her own conclusion that Randolph Sheldon did not suit her, and now with her father’s blessing, Jack was free to pursue her.

  “What about your career? A demanding wife?” Brent asked.

  “I’ve decided marriage need not interfere if I keep my head. As for matters of the heart, that’s utter nonsense.”

  Brent laughed. “It may not be as easy as you think, Jack.”

  Evelyn had immersed herself in the mundane household task of cataloging and organizing the linen closets alongside Mrs. Smith in a vain attempt to keep her thoughts from the previous evening. It wasn’t until the afternoon, whe
n they opened the last closet, that Evelyn succumbed to a fierce sense of urgency. She had to tell Randolph the truth without delay. She had tried last night, but he lay injured, drugged, and when he had clutched her hand and pled, she had lost her nerve.

  She could no longer afford such weakness.

  She hurried to her room and changed from a plain, serviceable dress to a walking dress of white muslin with a pink pelisse and rushed down to the dining room. Her father was already seated with a plate of stew before him, reading The Times.

  Her heart lurched at the sight of him, thankful that he didn’t berate her last night when she and Jack were caught sneaking into the kitchen. Any other parent would have thrust a pistol into Jack Harding’s back and escorted him to the altar.

  But then he was ignorant of her relationship with Jack. No doubt her father would behave differently if he knew.

  “I’m going to see Randolph this afternoon,” she announced.

  Lyndale lowered the paper. She was struck by the deep circles under his eyes and his sallow complexion. He appeared to have aged ten years overnight. Guilt seared her breast that his already-fragile health may have suffered due to her careless behavior.

  “Why?” His steady gaze bore into her.

  “I attempted to tell Randolph that I no longer wish to marry him, but he had been dosed with laudanum, and I fear he misunderstood.”

  “Does your change of heart regarding Randolph have anything to do with Mr. Harding?”

  Evelyn worked hard to maintain a blank expression. Despite his health and busy schedule at the university, Lyndale still had moments of great perceptiveness. She reminded herself that years ago he had been a distinguished trial barrister who was skilled at obtaining confessions from adverse witnesses on cross-examination.

  She dare not confess her illicit affair with Jack.

  “I, ah. I’d rather not say, Father.”

  “Come close, Evelyn.”

  She obliged and took the seat next to his.

  He reached out to clasp her hand. “Evelyn, I’m getting old, and I want nothing more than to see you happy. I have regrets in my life, but marrying your mother was never one of them. You look so much like her. You have her golden beauty and rare intelligence. I’m thankful that you have come to your own conclusion regarding Randolph, but I also know you have been fond of Jack Harding since you were a child.”