Risking the Detective (The Bluestocking Scandals Book 6)

by Ellie St. Clair

  “Absolutely,” Bennett said, nodding his head in the corner. “Treacle. It has to be. Why, I would—”

  “Thank you, Miss Castleton, Mr. Castleton,” Drake said, straightening his serviceable black coat as he rose. Madeline’s fingers strangely itched to reach out and feel the gold buttons to see if they were as smooth as they looked to be from where she sat. As Drake stepped away from the chair, a finger of sunlight bounced in through the window and glanced off them, causing her to squint.

  “When will you go?” she asked, straightening her dress as she stood.

  “When I am able to,” he said cryptically, and she had the feeling that he was dismissing her. “Good day, Miss Castleton.”

  She knew, then, that this act of vandalism in her factory meant nothing to him, and that if he did follow up, it would not be with any true level of importance.

  “May I accompany you when you do?” she forced herself to call after him, and he stopped, turned around, and shook his head with a benevolent smile.

  “I will come, as well!” Bennett added, holding a finger in the air.

  “I am the detective here, Miss Castleton,” Drake said, turning around and looking at her from over his shoulder. “You are a stone manufacturer. I will focus on my job. You should focus on yours.”

  And with that dismissal, he was out the door, leaving her with her fists at her side, her lips tight together, and shame in her heart.

  Chapter 2

  Drake couldn’t help the muttered curse that sprang from his lips as he stepped out of the wooden building with its red thatched roof that was Castleton Stone.

  He did take a moment to admire the assembly of statues out in the yard — a Greek god of some kind reclining on his stone throne, beard flowing in front of him with water pouring out of an urn in his hand; a family crest; and a giant floral motif that seemed to be a fountain of some sort. In front of it all a head of a likely important man sat on a pedestal, high above them all.

  They were statues of the finest order and were, as the company boasted, nearly imperceptible from true, original stone.

  He wondered what would happen if Ezra Castleton did, in fact, leave his daughter in charge permanently. This was obviously a test, and one that Drake was not sure Miss Castleton was going to pass.

  Drake had known of Miss Castleton’s story before he had actually met the woman. She had married after a quick courtship to a man who had been accepted as the long-lost Earl of Donning.

  A man who had proven himself to be an imposter, since he already had a wife at home in a small village not far outside of London. His marriage to Miss Castleton was null and void, and she was now ruined in the eyes of all those who knew her name — which all of London did, now that the scandal had been spread through the tabloids. Drake wondered if the intrigue had helped the business or worsened it. He supposed the father must have some degree of faith in the woman, if he had left her in charge.

  At the very least, the short union hadn’t seemed to have left Miss Castleton in the family way, which she must have been grateful for. She had been damaged, but it could have been worse.

  Not that any of it had any bearing on his job.

  Except… he knew it was the protector within him, one of the very reasons he worked for Bow Street, but after meeting with her face-to-face, he couldn’t resist the urge to try to help her, to keep anyone from hurting her further. The woman had been through far more than she deserved, that much was true, and through no fault of her own.

  Drake couldn’t help but feel, however, that somehow she had allowed herself to be taken advantage of. He thought of Alice Luxington, and the way she had taken charge of her life and fought for her love and her livelihood. He thought of his own life, and what drove him to find justice wherever he could. He thought of all of the people who came to him for help for crimes that had been committed against them.

  If Madeline Castleton truly wished to run her father’s business and he, in turn, was leaving it to her, then she had the ability. But did she have the determination? Of that, Drake wasn’t sure. She had been quick to leave it all to marry the man she thought had been Lord Donning. What had changed that would convince her that this was the correct course for her life?

  He sighed, running a hand through his hair before replacing his cap upon it.

  It wasn’t for him to be concerned with. All that should matter to him was the case itself.

  A case that was barely a case. So someone had knocked over a few statues. It happened every day, all over London. He didn’t see why he should be concerned about it as a detective. He would ask a few questions to appease the woman, he decided. He would ensure that she was looked after, that she wouldn’t come into danger again.

  Then he would move on to other cases. To major thefts, murders, assaults. A little vandalized stone was hardly worth noting.

  And not worth exacting justice for.

  No, justice was best found for those who hurt others to such an extent that it could not be qualified. Those injustices were what drove him.

  Those injustices were worth fighting for.

  And he had promised he would never stop doing so.

  “I am a fool.”

  “You are not a fool. You are one of the most intelligent women I know, if not the most intelligent woman I know. So please stop saying that.”

  Madeline sighed and took a seat on the plush sofa in her friend Alice’s parlor, sinking back into the sumptuous pillows that were apparently made for feeling sorry for oneself. It was Alice’s favorite room of the house she shared with her husband, Mr. Benjamin Luxington, and often where they found themselves when Madeline came to call.

  “How was your meeting with Mr. Drake?”

  “Drake — no Mister,” Madeline said, lifting a brow as she recalled the way he had told her to address him.

  “Oh yes, that’s right,” Alice said, tilting her dark head to the side as she leaned forward on her writing stool toward Madeline, her chin on top of her fist. “I always forget. I wonder why. He must have a truly terrible first name.”

  “I can’t say I care whatsoever,” Madeline said, although that was something of a lie. “Do you see him often?” she asked, attempting nonchalance. She knew she should have no interest in the detective other than on a professional level, but there was something altogether… intriguing about him. It was as though the lack of emotion displayed upon the surface tempted her into seeking to discover what was lurking below it.

  “Not really,” Alice said, shaking her head. “He was at our wedding of course — well, both of our weddings, and we attempted to ask him to dinner a time or two, but he was always busy. From what I can tell, the man doesn’t do anything but work.”

  “As a detective.”

  “Right,” Alice said, nodding. “So, did he help you?”

  “Not really — not yet,” Madeline said, shaking her head. “In fact, I received the impression that he thought I was wasting his time and that I had something to do with the vandalism. It was as though he was interrogating me.”

  “Interrogating you?” Alice lifted her eyebrows, her warm brown eyes piercing into Madeline. “Why would you say that?”

  “The questions he was asking me — where I was, why the company was suddenly having troubles now that I’m in charge, that sort of thing,” Madeline said with a sigh. “And then there was the manner in which he said it. There was no hint of warmth nor any compassion present.”

  Except for the moment in which he told her that Stephen — no, Kurt Maxfeld, his true name — had been at fault for the past. Drake had shown a moment of softness then, before it had quickly vanished.

  But that was not a subject she currently felt like discussing.

  “Truly, though, who do you think would do such a thing to you? To go to the point of ruining work you had completed?” Alice asked, fixing her stare on Madeline.

  “Perhaps Jeremiah Treacle,” Madeline said with a shrug. “I’m not sure who else at this point.” She caught h
er lip between her teeth when it threatened to tremble anew. “But why, Alice? Why does all of this keep happening to me? What am I doing wrong with my life?”

  Alice stood and crossed over to Madeline, bending in front of her and placing her hands on her knees.

  “Nothing at all, Madeline,” she said, holding a finger up toward her before she could say anything else. “And as for the business, your father would never have left it in your hands if he did not have confidence in you to succeed. He has spent years building Castleton, and he would only leave his baby in the hands he trusted the most.”

  Madeline nodded, wishing she could believe Alice’s words, but despite her friend’s well-meaning intentions, they only served to further worry her. For Alice was right. Her father had spent his life building the stone business. What if Madeline destroyed it in just a few weeks?

  “You’ll figure this out,” Alice said confidently. “And did you not tell me that you had a new idea you wanted to try?”

  “Well…” Madeline hedged, “I do. It’s a new product. The current Castleton Stone is not very malleable and we must press it into molds to be fired in the kilns. I think with a few changes, we could create material that could actually be sculpted by hand before firing, to allow for greater originality. Not for all pieces, but for some it would be like owning a piece of art instead of a piece of architecture. But perhaps now is not the time. Not with my father away and with the vandalism that occurred—”

  “What better time would there be?” Alice asked, and Madeline had to smile at her friend, who only saw opportunities in risks, and not the potential downfalls. She wished she could be as spontaneous and carefree, but she just didn’t have it within her. “Take your idea to your factory and see what you can do. This new stone — tell me, are you thinking of doing more sculpting yourself?”

  “I think I would,” Madeline said slowly, trying not to display the excitement that was already beginning to simmer in her belly. Sometimes — when she needed a respite from the numbers and precision that formed most of her day — she took the time to visit the workshop of the business, to sit among the artists and sculpt her own creations. It wasn’t out of Castleton stone, but rather the clay that they used to create molds. She didn’t know what they did with all of her work. Some her father had lined on the bookshelves around his office; others she took home, and the remaining were likely sold to those who couldn’t afford anything worthwhile.

  She didn’t really care one way or another. She sculpted because it gave her a sense of peace to do the work, peace that she never found anywhere else. “It will all be a test. We have tried some formulas with it before, but I think with this one addition…”

  She began to ponder it anew, her heart quickening with the thought that she could create something that would impress her father, and make him realize with all certainty that she had the wherewithal to manage Castleton Stone. Could she go ahead with this? What would he think?

  More importantly, what would everyone else think? Unfortunately, she was well aware of what her name was currently associated with. Ridicule. Scorn. Naivety.

  She had been so caught up with a man who had given her just a little bit of attention that she hadn’t seen beyond what he had showcased to her, and in the process, she had nearly lost her life.

  If Alice and Benjamin had not found her when they did…

  “Madeline?”

  Madeline blinked as she re-focused on her friend.

  “Where did you go?” Alice asked with a slight laugh, her dimples indenting as she eyed her knowingly — except, she didn’t know. No one could realize the dark places to which Madeline’s mind wandered sometimes.

  And it was not something she had any care to share. The thoughts were crippling enough without being released in the open.

  “Nowhere,” Madeline said, forcing a smile. “I’m right here.”

  “Did your thoughts have anything to do with a handsome detective?” Alice asked, winging up an eyebrow.

  “A handsome detective? You mean Drake?”

  “Of course I mean Drake!” Alice said, her eyes twinkling mischievously as she twirled around on her writing stool. “He has all of the qualities for a perfect hero — he is dark, mysterious, oh-so-serious… were you not intrigued?”

  “Well of course I was intrigued,” Madeline admitted. “Who wouldn’t be by a man who shows no emotion, who doesn’t seem bothered by anything or anyone? And what type of man becomes a Bow Street Runner? How does one even get into such a profession? And why? Furthermore—”

  She stopped when Alice threw back her head in a loud, jolly laugh.

  “What?”

  “When I asked if you were intrigued, I didn’t realize you were already smitten with the man!”

  “Smitten!” Madeline exclaimed, outrage in her tone. “I am far from smitten. In fact, I was actually rather annoyed that he barely took me seriously. If I did not actually need the help, I would be of a mind to tell him to leave it be if it was so far beneath him.”

  “Oh, Madeline,” Alice said, her smile falling. “I never meant—”

  “It’s fine,” Madeline said, shaking her head, reining in her emotion when she realized just how juvenile her outburst must have sounded. “I am just irritated, is all. I’m sure this vandalism is nothing, just some mischief-makers who managed to make their way into our factory and behead some statues. I have a man on guard at night now, watching over things.”

  “Well, that should be helpful,” Alice said. “If there is anything I can do—”

  “I know,” Madeline said with a warm smile, feeling guilty that she had become cross at her friend, who was just trying to help. “Thank you.”

  “Good afternoon, ladies.”

  Both women looked up to find Alice’s husband, Benjamin, standing in the doorway. He greeted Madeline briefly, but he only had eyes for one woman — Alice. He crossed over to her, leaning down to kiss her quickly on the lips, and Madeline inwardly sighed. Oh, to have a man look at her as Benjamin did Alice. This, she realized now, was true love.

  If only she had known such a thing a year ago, when Lord Donning had begun courting her. She had been swept off her feet by his quick, intense courtship. Madeline knew she had often been described as a delicate beauty, but she was aware that the reserve that kept her from sharing too much with others often scared off potential suitors. There was also the fact that while her father possessed a great fortune and had always paid for the very best education — where she had met Alice — he was still a merchant, albeit a merchant who felt that his daughter was worth far more than anyone within their own social class.

  So when an earl — an earl! — had been interested in his daughter, he had been just as quick as Madeline to entertain the idea of their marriage.

  Until all fell to disaster.

  But never again, she vowed.

  For she was clearly not one who could be trusted with her emotions. She had thought she had found true love, when it had been anything but.

  Her intelligence, her intuition, her inference — had all failed her.

  Now, she had to just do all she could to pick up the pieces and put together a life that would be worth living — even without the love she had always longed for.

  Thank goodness she had the business.

  Now she just had to hold onto it before it was as ruined as the rest of her life.

  Chapter 3

  Drake tested the railing as he climbed the stairs on the rickety front porch.

  A board creaked beneath his weight, and he made a note on his ever-lengthening list of things to fix when he had some time.

  He hadn’t been here nearly as much as he should be, for which he chastised himself. He was working tirelessly to try to right all of London’s wrongs — the very least he could do was to take proper care of the people who depended upon him, the people who had been there for him when he could have been left alone in the world.

  Before he had a chance to ruminate any further however,
the door swung open.

  “Drake, luv, how are you?” His aunt surprised him as she enveloped him in an embrace as he stepped through the door. She was the only one he would ever allow so close. He had developed love for his aunt and uncle before he had learned how to turn it off, and therefore, these were the two people who were allowed within the thick, high, sturdy walls he had built around himself.

  “I am fine, as always, Aunt Mabel,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “Uncle Andrew.” He nodded at the man, who returned the gesture.

  “Come in, come in,” his aunt said, leading him into the room, and he took a seat on the threadbare sofa as he gazed up at the two images that stared back at him from over the fireplace.

  One was of himself. It had been sketched at a carnival or something of the sort, not created for anything worth keeping, but it had been all they had ever been able to commission.

  And so it stayed, it its place of honor, surrounded by a frame his uncle had fashioned himself.

  Next to it was a painting of his parents. It was crude, not displaying them in their full likeness, but was enough to remind Drake of them… and of his purpose. A purpose from which he could not stray.

  To right the wrongs.

  To fight for justice.

  To protect the innocent.

  “Tell us, what has kept you busy, lately?” his aunt said as she bustled into the room carrying a tea tray. As she bent, Drake caught sight of her hands, the veins within the wrinkles appearing to him suddenly, as though somehow he had missed the fact that his aunt and uncle were aging, that they should be better cared for – by him.