“You cannot come into my house like this!” he continued, angry and forceful.
Selina raced down the steps, suddenly terrified.
“We have an order from the magistrate to take you to Newgate,” the man said. His ill-fitting coat hung off him, and he shrugged it more securely onto his shoulders.
Her heart beat erratically in her chest, and anger overrode the fear that threatened to choke her. “My father has done nothing wrong!”
She stood between the Runners and her father. Behind the Bow Street Runners she saw the staff gather and heard Annabelle on the steps, but she did not look away. “What is he accused of?”
The Runner looked at her, his pale eyes awash with indifference. He shrugged in his coat again, scratching absently at his neck.
“Murder.”
Chapter Nine
Edmund stifled a yawn as the soon-to-be previous owners of the bazaar droned on and on about its prime location and popularity. They decided to enjoy Edmund’s generosity and the fine selection of drinks the club offered. With each quarter hour that passed, they became more verbose.
He didn’t look at Hamilton, who lounged in his own green brocade chair, with a tumbler of whisky in one hand and his head in another. Scottish whisky, of course, as was the orange marmalade he so enjoyed.
The marmalade was thick and bitter, with chunks of Seville oranges. If it was Scottish, Hamilton had an unreasonable love of it. Edmund wasn’t fond of it, though the gentlemen across from them had eagerly tried it.
They’d tried everything the club had to offer, so far as Edmund could tell.
He narrowed his eyes at the men across from them and stifled another yawn. He wasn’t tired, so much as uninterested in the various idiosyncrasies of the burnt-out building. Edmund was a financial partner in this endeavor, not interested in the public face of whatever Hamilton had planned for their newest partnership.
He’d much rather return to Selina’s and further explore her mouth. He blinked and sat up straighter; suddenly his black trousers felt uncomfortably tight.
Their wedding was planned for three weeks hence, and he tried, honestly he did, but it was increasingly difficult to restrain himself around Selina. When he kissed her, she opened to him, drew him in as if she, too, could not wait until their wedding night. He wanted to touch her, wanted to feel her soft skin beneath his fingertips, enjoy those luscious lips that called to him.
Selina was his addiction and the only one he wanted.
Browne (or was it Jones? Edmund had been a little preoccupied when they’d been introduced) leaned back in his chair, a third glass of Hamilton’s fine whisky in his hand.
“I’m glad to be rid of this,” Browne — or Jones — said satisfactorily. “And with such an offer, I can build any number of shopping arcades in the country. Retire to a life of leisure in Kent or Sussex.”
“I’m glad you’re satisfied,” Hamilton drawled. “Now we can swiftly see to the contracts.”
“Yes, yes,” the man’s partner added and frowned at the marmalade. “You should try a local shop,” he added and held up his scone. “It’s much sweeter than this Scots brand.”
Hamilton didn’t so much as flinch, but Edmund all too easily imagined the annoyance in his gaze. Still, he didn’t look at his friend. They all learned long ago not to bother Hamilton about his Scottish obsession.
The man became unreasonable, furious, and harsh, and lashed out when heckled about it.
Ten long minutes later, Browne and Jones finally left.
“Local brand.” Hamilton snorted. “Not bloody likely.” He sat up and grabbed another scone and generously spread his Scottish marmalade on it.
“The next step will be a builder,” Edmund said and sipped his own whisky, his first tumbler. “I believe Mr. Garwood will be in the club tonight.”
Hamilton bit into his orange marmalade-covered scone and scowled. “Garwood would salivate for this commission. We’ll find another builder first — pit them against each other like rabid dogs.”
Edmund nodded, settling in to discuss additional builders when Marcus Kent, the Earl of Hawkhurst, entered the lounge. A tall man with dark blond hair, Hawkhurst surveyed the room, his gaze quickly sweeping along each member.
Surprised Hawkhurst remembered where their club was located, Edmund wondered what brought him in today. Hawkhurst had always preferred the law to the club or to most things, actually, and spent his days sitting in on court cases.
The other man moved farther into the room, still searching. Suddenly he spotted Edmund and Hamilton and immediately strode across to where they sat.
“Hawkhurst!” Edmund called out. “What brings you out of the Old Bailey?”
“Granville, a word?” Hawkhurst’s voice was low and urgent, his blue eyes serious as he stared straight at him.
Edmund set his tumbler on the low table with a sharp clink. He’d seen Hawkhurst in many moods, but outside of the war, never so unerringly solemn. “You can speak freely,” he said with a nod to Hamilton.
Hamilton set his marmalade down and curiously watched the other earl.
“I’ve just come from the Old Bailey,” Hawkhurst said quickly, his gaze unwavering. “The magistrate has authorized the arrest of Arthur Lyndell. He’s likely already been remanded into custody.”
Cold fear knifed through Edmund, and he was on his feet and stalking for the door before Hawkhurst finished. He vaguely heard Hamilton behind him, but it didn’t matter.
“If you desire, I can find you a defense barrister,” Hawkhurst offered as the three of them hurried for the entrance.
“Taken where?” Edmund demanded, his voice low and harsh as they awaited their coats and hats.
“Likely to Newgate,” Hawkhurst said even softer.
Edmund nodded, his mind whirling. Why was Lyndell arrested? What happened to Selina? Where was she now?
“Thank you, Hawkhurst.” Edmund grabbed his arm and nodded his appreciation.
“If you need me, or my services,” Hawkhurst offered with complete sincerity, “you’ve only to ask.”
Edmund nodded again and watched the other man disappear back into the club. Hamilton stood beside him, alert and resolute, far more aware than he usually looked.
“Forget the carriage,” Edmund told the footman. “Hail a hackney.” He turned to Hamilton. “You don’t have to come with.”
“Of course I do.”
* * * *
Selina stared at the darkly imposing structure of Newgate Prison. The day’s sunlight did little to brighten the square gray stone of the building, casting it more in shadow than sun. A gust of wind whipped down Newgate Street and brought such a horrible, stifling stench with it, she thought she’d choke.
Instead she gathered her composure to her and looked up at the tall, heavyset guard who continued to argue with her.
Beside her, Annabelle stood silent and glared up at the guard. As grateful as Selina was for her friend’s support, she needn’t have journeyed to this wretched prison.
Selina had taken bare seconds to scribble a note to Edmund, with instructions to the butler to send it round to his townhouse. Her father’s arrest was a terrible mistake, Selina knew, but she wanted Edmund’s support.
“Miss,” the guard repeated, “I cannae allow you in there. Send someone else. A man preferably.” His words were garbled around cracked lips, and though she appreciated the sentiment, Selina adamantly refused.
“I’m going to see my father,” Selina repeated. She titled her chin higher and opened her reticule. Withdrawing a small purse of coins, she held it out. “Perhaps this will help unlock the gate?”
The guard’s rheumy eyes fixed on her, and he sighed. With deft fingers, he took the purse and stepped back. The large ring of keys he held clanged against the iron gate. With one last breath of freedom, Selina reached for Annabelle’s hand and squeezed once. Then she stepped forward.
“Pay no attention to what they yell at you,” the guard whispered as they passed.
Selina nodded but did not look up at him. Arm in arm with Annabelle, she followed the guard’s steady gait. The stench was far stronger here, thick and heavy. With trembling fingers, she dug in her reticule for a lemon balm-scented handkerchief and pressed it to her face.
It barely helped with the stink.
Selina didn’t care and continued on, despite the whistles and calls. The obscene invitations. She ignored them all, though Annabelle hissed in anger and disgust. Selina followed the guard, her eyes forward and attention on his wide back as they moved deeper through the labyrinth of cells.
Finally they arrived at a heavy oak door, its bars thick and close together over the small window opening. The guard looked at her again, shrugged, and opened the lock.
Her father sat on the floor by the thin light from the single window. His shackles looked heavy and tight on his wrists, his face ashen, shoulders hunched. Selina barely remembered to nod her thanks to the unexpectedly friendly — or courteous and understanding, at least — guard.
“Wait here, please,” Annabelle instructed and pulled a couple coins from her own reticule to hand to the guard.
Selina squeezed her cousin’s hand, but her gaze never left her father. He’d looked up when the cell door opened. Selina barely heard the guard’s assent before she raced across the cell to her father, hugging him fiercely.
“You shouldn’t be here, Selina.” He looked up at Annabelle, who stood several steps behind. “Neither of you should be here.”
But Arthur held out his arms to embrace Annabelle.
“Father, I don’t understand,” Selina admitted, her voice confident in the terrible, unforgiving cell. “It’s not possible.”
“It is not possible,” he agreed. “I did not kill Clayton Ashworth. He was my friend, you know this, as well as my business partner. I need to retain a solicitor and a barrister, posthaste.”
“Of course.” Selina nodded. “What do I need to do?”
“Get in touch with John Ramsby,” he continued. “He’ll know what to do.”
Selina nodded again. She dropped her hands to his shackles and suddenly remembered the rest of the money she carried with her. She had two more purses of coin — another to bribe the guard if need be and one for her father, to pay for whatever he needed while in here.
To pay to remove his chains.
“Go to the bank. Withdraw all you can from our accounts and the company accounts. Ramsby should be able to assist you with this. Do it first thing in the morning.”
“Is it truly necessary?” she asked, glancing between Arthur and Annabelle.
“Yes. We don’t know who’s moving against us with these lies.”
Selina nodded and planned to speak with Ramsby tonight so he could draw up the papers now and save time in the morning. She cleaned out the house of every pound she could find just for today. If her father remained in prison for longer than a fortnight, she’d need more money, and quickly.
“Now, my girls.” He took Annabelle’s hand as well, and his voice trembled slightly when he spoke. “I don’t want you here any longer. This is no place for ladies such as yourselves.”
“Father—”
“Uncle,” Annabelle interrupted. “We’d do anything for you. This is no hardship.”
“No.” He shook his head. “It’s not safe—”
“Selina.”
Edmund. Selina whipped around at the sound of his voice. She let out a small, startled gasp and stepped toward him. Edmund strode into the room with long, confident steps, his friend, Mr. Hamilton, beside him.
He took her free hand, and even through her gloves she felt his thumb brush over her knuckles. A little, a very little, of the tension knotting her stomach and throbbing through her head eased at his touch, his very presence.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Edmund said softly, his breath a caress along the shell of her ear.
“No,” her father agreed. “Neither of them should be here.”
Before he released her hand, Edmund’s fingers tightened on hers, and he directed his attention to Arthur. She missed his touch, as silly as that seemed in the dark, putrid cell. But then his hand settled on her arm, not as intimate as holding her hand, but a comfort nonetheless.
“How did this happen?” Edmund demanded.
“I do not know,” her father admitted. “But it’ll be cleared with a proper barrister.”
He looked at her, and Selina tried to smile, for his sake.
She needed to keep his spirits up and his hope alive, though with every minute that passed in this godforsaken dungeon, Selina wondered how that was possible.
“I assure you, my lord,” her father added with a stronger, more confident tone, “I’m innocent of these charges.”
“Steady yourself, Lyndell,” Edmund said reassuringly. “Of that I have no doubt.”
“I’ve asked Selina to seek out my solicitor, John Ramsby, and tend to several business matters.”
Mr. Hamilton stepped forward then, alert and self-assured, and at odds with how Edmund usually described him. “It will be for the best if we use our own people. We don’t know who amongst your group has betrayed you in this matter.”
Surprised, Selina looked from Mr. Hamilton to Edmund. She had not thought of that. It had not even occurred to her that one of their friends and acquaintances, someone she’d known since before her mother fell ill, could do such a thing to her father.
“These are people I trust,” Arthur insisted.
“I know.” Edmund’s hand tightened around her arm, and she felt his anger and concern in that simple touch. “But Hamilton is correct. It’s best we bring in new people to handle this. I’ll seek out a barrister and a new solicitor for this matter.”
He looked down at her, and she met his gaze steadily. “And I shall assist Selina with all she must accomplish.”
Her father nodded. “Thank you.” Then he took a deep breath — Selina didn’t understand how he managed not to choke on the stench. “They shouldn’t stay here any longer.”
“I agree,” Edmund said quietly. “Take the money back, Selina. I’ll see to the guards.”
She was about to argue, but then realized the wisdom of his suggestion. If one of their circle was to blame for her father’s imprisonment, it might prove difficult to retrieve money from their accounts.
Selina did not think Mr. Ramsby had anything to do with this, but now that the seed had been planted, she suddenly suspected everyone, except Annabelle, of course; no one, not even Edmund, could convince her that her cousin was guilty in any way.
“Father,” she said while Edmund and Mr. Hamilton spoke with the guard who showed them into the cell. “Don’t worry about me.” She nodded toward Annabelle. “About us. We’ll be fine, and Edmund will see you have the very best barrister in all the Old Bailey.”
He gave her a look she could not interpret then smiled. “Of course, my dear.”
She pulled him into a tight hug. The warmth of his embrace always comforted her. Right now, it was difficult to find comfort in it. As much as she did not want to leave her father, Selina desperately needed to attend to all that needed to be done so he could be released.
There wasn’t time to be shocked or feel the wound this night had inflicted on her father, on their family.
Someone, possibly one of their acquaintances, had done this, and she needed to discover who. Prove her father’s innocence and see him free. She didn’t want to leave him in this place; he didn’t belong here.
Anger rose inside her, replacing the shock, the fear, that consumed her earlier. Selina tried to steady herself in front of Edmund and Annabelle, particularly her father.
Edmund’s hand settled warm and firm on her shoulder, and it helped settle her. She looked up at him, but he didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. She knew he’d do all he could. But at what cost?
What cost would he have to pay?
Selina was prepared to do this with only Annabelle at her side. To do whatever it t
ook, everything it took, to free her father. To pay whatever cost necessary. Even if it meant losing Edmund.
She didn’t want to consider that, but the cold thought crept in, nonetheless.
Edmund’s presence, his willingness to help in every capacity — his absolute belief in her and Arthur — spread through Selina.
She slipped her hand into his and squeezed it in gratitude.
Turning back to her father, she hugged him tightly once more. Selina struggled for something to say — ”It will all be over soon” or “Not to worry” — but the platitudes caught in her throat and tasted of ash in her mouth. He gently pulled back and stepped away.
“I love you, Father,” she whispered.
He tried to smile at her, no doubt trying to reassure her, but nodded instead. His hand reached up, and he brushed a tear off her cheek she hadn’t realized she shed.
“You should go,” he said quietly.
Selina started to protest, but straightened and nodded. Stepping away from him, she walked for the doors. Edmund’s hand settled on her back, but he remained silent.
Just before the door clanged shut, Selina heard Arthur say, “Take care of her.”
Chapter Ten
Edmund nodded to the Lyndell’s butler when he opened the door. The older man looked as flustered as Annabelle but hid it behind a stiff bow.
Selina, however, kept her head high and her shoulders straight. Edmund wasn’t sure what the standard was for seeing one’s father in Newgate Prison, accused of murder, but the calmly collected woman by his side beat all his expectations.
It made him love her more.
The fireplace in the parlor blazed brightly in the early evening. The sun had set and a hint of rain had scented the air as they’d returned to the Lyndell townhouse. Outside the wind picked up, taking piles of rubbish along with it.
“Annabelle,” Selina said and took her friend’s hands in hers. “Please see to tea?”
With a deep breath, the other woman nodded and disappeared into the kitchens.
Alone in the parlor, Selina turned to Edmund. She returned his watchful stare, so strong, so determined. He shared in her determination to see her father cleared. He’d speak with Hawkhurst first thing and hire whatever barrister the earl recommended.
Improper Match: Scandalous Encounters Page 8
