“Yes.” And she should have made her declaration four years ago. “Unlike previous encounters, when he departed before the servants were up and about their chores, we overslept. In order to conceal Barrington’s presence, I distracted my father by tipping over his tea, at the breakfast table. While the staff cleared the table, and Papa changed his clothes, I smuggled Lord Ravenwood down the back steps and out the terrace doors.”
“And there is no chance he left your residence and returned, during that time?” The chief prosecutor sifted through a stack of papers. “He could not have evaded your notice, for even a few hours?”
“I beg your pardon, Chief Prosecutor, but I know of no other way to press upon you the point.” She swallowed hard. “But we were not asleep the entire night. We woke and made love at random moments, more than once.” In that instant, Barry pulled her close and cradled her head. “So I am certain he remained in my bed from half past ten to just after nine, the following morning.”
“Which means Lord Ravenwood could not have committed the crime, because according to the investigator’s record, and the coroner’s report, the deceased was killed within two hours of discovery, based on the amount of visible discoloration of the body and the presence of wet blood.” Sir Ross scribbled several notations. “Would you be willing to swear to these facts as you have presented, in a formal affidavit?”
“I would.” She nodded. “And my only regret is that I did not do so, much sooner, that I might have spared Lord Ravenwood added difficulty. In my defense, I was but seven and ten, I was confused, and I was frightened, when I received Barrington’s letter, declaring he was wanted for murder and leaving London, posthaste.”
“And I must shoulder part of the blame.” Papa slumped forward and sighed. “When my daughter revealed the details of her situation, as well as the resulting pregnancy, I forbade her from speaking with authorities, as I feared the scandal would forever ruin her.”
“Then we were of like-minded purpose, sir.” Barrington kissed her temple, as he addressed her father. “Because I sought the same when I fled London. I know, now, mine was a fool’s errand, but I was blinded by love for a person whose life is dearer to me than my own.”
“My son, while I do not pretend to condone or approve of your conduct with Florence, I understand your motives, too well.” Papa hesitated and then frowned. “What concerns me, at this point, is the true perpetrator, their purpose, their obvious desire to place the blame on you for a crime you did not commit, and to what lengths they are willing to go to achieve their unknown objective. Given all that, what is our next move?”
“We release an official statement, announcing the obtainment of unimpeachable information that clears Lord Ravenwood as a suspect.” At Berwick’s pronouncement, Florence shuddered and met his gaze. “But owing to the ongoing investigation, and to avoid compromising our criminal case, we will seal the evidence.”
“And I shall procure a special license, that I might wed Florence without further delay.” Barrington tipped her chin. “You will be my marchioness, as soon as I can arrange the ceremony.”
“Actually, I would prefer you post the banns and adhere to the social strictures governing marriage, including a courtship.” Sir Ross tapped his cheek and narrowed his stare. “Since the Little Season commences in a sennight, you could do the pretty for the ton, as well as our elusive villain.”
“No.” Barrington gave her a gentle nudge. “I will not wait one more day than necessary to make Florence my wife, because we have deferred our nuptials too long.”
“But it would aid the investigation and give us the opportunity to identify the real murderer.” Sir Ross inched to the edge of his chair. “What if you announce your return, your continued betrothal, and woo her, in full view of society, while I engage the resources to conduct surveillance and catch the scoundrel?”
“Would Florence be in any danger?” Papa inquired.
“Not if I employ my family, as an elegant and reputable means of protection within London’s ballrooms.” Lance shrugged. “Although Sir Jason and Lady Alex remain at Stratfield Manor, and Sir Dalton and Daphne reside in Portsea, the Earl and Countess of Lockwood, the Viscount and Viscountess Wainsbrough, the Earl and Countess of Woverton, the Duke and Duchess of Rylan, and the Duke and Duchess of Weston are in town.”
“Would that not overtask them?” Barrington ran his palm along her arm. “After all, they are but aristocrats. Would it not be prudent to hire some Runners?”
“I think they can handle this, and it is doubtful anyone would suspect them.” Lance glanced at Sir Ross. “We should gather at dinner and explain the situation.”
“I concur.” The head of the Counterintelligence Corps nodded once. “So we are in agreement?”
“No, we are not.” To her surprise, Barrington asserted an overt, proprietary posture, as he held her. “Lady Florence and I are to wed, with or without your support, as I would provide her the utmost protection, including rank and a substantial income, should something happen to me.”
“Are you sure?” Given the years spent apart, she hated herself for harboring second thoughts, but she had to be sure he wanted her. “If you changed your mind. If you have any reservations, I would not hold you to the contract.”
“I will have no other.” Barrington’s swift response bolstered her confidence. “If you will have me.”
“Yes.” Before she could say more, he kissed her. And kept kissing her—until Papa cleared his throat.
“Since you two are adamant to wed, and I support your decision, given your unorthodox sleeping arrangements, which I hope you will not resume until after the vows are spoken, what say we hold a private ceremony, in the little chapel on my estate, in Derbyshire?” Papa folded his arms. “Once the criminal is caught, we can announce the union, and I shall host a celebration to end all celebrations.”
“Then I will employ my solicitor to petition for the license, and we can leave shortly thereafter.” It seemed too good to be true, as Barrington stood and carried her with him. After so much suffering, they would, at last, be together. “And then I shall forever know Lady Florence as my wife.”
THE IRON CORSAIR
CHAPTER FOUR
It was an unusually cold and grey morning, adequate to the occasion, three days hence, when Barrington skipped up the entrance stairs to his home on Park Lane. Before he could knock on his own door, his younger brother flung open the oak panel. For a few minutes, they simply stared at each other, and Barry knew not what to say, so he extended a hand, in familial amity.
“Brother.” Instead of returning the pedestrian gesture, Ernest enfolded Barrington in a warm embrace. “Have you any idea how many times I prayed for this moment?”
“Yes, I believe I do.” Barry held his sibling at arm’s length and noted the tears welling in Ernest’s gaze. “And there is much to discuss.”
“Come inside, and tell me why you sent a note, requesting an appointment, as if this is not your home, and I am but a stranger?” From the table in the foyer, Ernest retrieved a copy of the newspaper. “I read the article in The Times, detailing new evidence that exonerates you, in the murder of our maid. I gather there are additional developments, because I know naught about the official inquiry?”
“Indeed, there are, but I am not privy to them.” Although Barrington did not suspect his brother in the heinous offense, he promised Sir Ross and Chief Prosecutor Berwick not to reveal the details of the ongoing investigation. “I only know that I have been cleared of any wrongdoing, as pertains to the crime.”
“Shall we confer in your study?” Ernest stepped aside. “You will be surprised to see that it remains exactly as you left it.”
“Oh?” As Barrington strolled down the hall, he noticed nothing had changed in his four-year absence. When he entered his domain, he halted. “I thought you might have made some alterations, given you petitioned the court to have me declared dead, so you could claim the marquessate.”
“I suppose I
deserve that.” As was his habit of old, which harkened to fonder times, Ernest sat in one of the matching high-back chairs. “Should I ring for tea, or would you prefer a brandy, despite the early hour?”
“Actually, I ate breakfast with Lord Braithwaite and my fiancé, Lady Florence.” As Barrington assessed his desk, the new blotter, the journal he did not recognize, and the unique, Limoges dual inkwell gifted by his father, he reflected on his tumultuous life as a pirate, which contrasted sharply with his elegant surroundings. “Does that shock you, given you attempted to renegotiate the marriage contract and claim her for yourself?”
Quiet fell on the room, as he leaned back in his chair and inclined his head. In his brother’s expression, he spied hesitation, anger, and then fear. Was Sir Ross correct in his assertion? Was it possible Ernest attempted to ruin Barrington?
“For heaven’s sake, Barrington, you were gone for four years.” Ernest averted his stare, raked his fingers through his hair, and shifted his weight. “You left no notice of if or when you might return, there were authorities crawling through the house, our good name was dragged through the muck in the scandal sheets, and the marquessate was in chaos. And you never cared much for the day-to-day minutiae, thus the estate and its holdings had deteriorated and reached a critical juncture, during which we could have lost everything, when I assumed control. However, since you never named a steward to supervise and safeguard the finances, in your absence, I met resistance at every turn, and my efforts were hampered. It is no small feat that I managed to rally the resources and grow our wealth, and I do not apologize for that.”
“I will allow you that, but what of Lady Florence?” That niggling fly in the ointment proved difficult to ignore, as Barrington considered it a total betrayal by his brother. “Was she another asset in need of handling?”
“You know, very well, she is a cherished friend and naught more.” Ernest snorted. “While I do not pretend to harbor anything more than brotherly affection for her, I would do anything to protect her, and she bore the brunt of your actions, as society ran rampant with cruel gossip, much of which was directed at her. Indeed, she has been ill since you departed, such that Lord Braithwaite fears she may never recover.”
“So you sought to guard her?” All right, his sibling could live. “Yours was not another attempt to assume my title and position?”
“Careful, brother.” In that instant, Ernest displayed more emotion than he had in his entire life. “My motives were simple—to save our family legacy, by any means necessary, after you all but destroyed it and made your escape. You never took your position seriously, because you were the heir, and everyone stood at the ready to perform even your most trivial bidding. What did you expect me to do, sit idly by and watch everything for which our ancestors fought go to rot, out of some misplaced sense of loyalty? If you are disappointed, then I am happy to dissatisfy you.”
“On the contrary, I am not disappointed, and it might interest you to know that Lady Florence has made a seemingly miraculous recovery.” Was Barrington past due for a healthy portion of crow, because despite Logan and Berwick’s concerns, he refused to believe his brother was involved in the nefarious plot against him? “And I know well my shortcomings, but I am home, and I intend to assume my responsibilities.”
“Ah, of course. I should have known better, as Lady Florence is possessed of uncommon intelligence.” Earnest frowned. “It would appear that four years spent on the run from the authorities improved your dedication to duty better than the best and most expensive education money could buy.” Ernest arched a brow. “Do you really expect me to believe that a leopard can change his spots?”
“No, I do not.” Barrington bit his tongue against a rapier retort. “But I am no leopard, and I submit I am not the same person who fled these shores, four years ago.”
“While I acknowledge you are under no obligation to do so, will you permit me to help you, given the efforts I contributed while you were gone, doing who only knows what?” His brother opened his mouth and closed it. “My intentions are honorable, as I only wish you to succeed.”
“Indeed, I welcome your assistance, as I rely on your expertise in this area.” Although the petition sounded sincere, Barrington recalled Sir Ross’s warning that everyone was a suspect until they could be eliminated, so he withheld certain information. “And I shall journey to Derbyshire, soon.”
“Oh?” Ernest stretched his legs. “Do you not wish to partake of the Little Season? Given your exoneration, I had supposed you might be anxious to reclaim your position in society.”
“And I will, once I return to London.” From a drawer, Barrington collected a piece of crisp stationary, which bore the family crest, and sketched a missive for his solicitor, because he had no time to spare in securing a special license. Then he needed to compose a suitable summons to secure the sort of aid to which Sir Ross and Prosecutor Berwick had no access, the sort of assistance that did not follow the law. “For now, I must away for a brief respite.”
“When do you depart?” Ernest stood, strolled to the bellpull, and gave it a tug. “I need to make some adjustments.”
A knock had Barrington glancing at the door.
In unison, the brothers said, “Come.”
Ernest cleared his throat. “Sorry.”
“Good morning, cousins.” Percy Howe, a paternal relation with a propensity for dramatics, strolled into the study, clutched his chest, and gawked. “Upon my word, I thought the servants were joking, but I cannot deny what I see for myself.” In a welcome similar to Ernest’s, Percy approached and embraced Barrington. “It does my heart wonders to have you home.”
“Thank you, cousin.” Barrington chucked Percy’s shoulder and recalled the carefree days of their youth. Because they were close in age, with nary a year separating the three, they spent much of their lives in each other’s company, and once again nagging suspicion crept up on Barry. “Are you visiting?”
“Uh—no.” Percy glanced at Ernest. “Mother and I live here, and in the summer we reside at Garring Manor.”
“I invited them, some two years ago, after Uncle Cecil passed away.” Ernest bowed his head. “In an unfortunate set of circumstances, he left them naught but our estimable name and a series of bad debts, which I covered, as I suppose our father would want, given they are family.”
“I could not agree more, and I am so sorry for your loss.” Still, Barrington struggled with a distressing sense of foreboding, which he could not shake. “How is Aunt Esther?”
“In the aftermath of mourning, she is quite the grand dame, as always.” Percy rocked on his heels. “And she is a vast deal more than capable chatelaine.”
“Well, she will soon surrender those duties to my wife, as I am to marry.” Bloody hell, Barrington spoke before he could stop himself. “While I appreciate Aunt Esther’s support, I would not trouble her any more than necessary.”
“It is no trouble to aid family.” Percy appeared insulted, which was the last thing Barrington wanted, because he could ill afford another enemy. “She was happy to do it, as a form of repayment of our father’s arrears, and she will continue to serve in any capacity, as long as you need her. So, who is the lucky bride?”
“Lady Florence, as if you did not know, and I am forever grateful for your mother’s aid during my exile.” For some strange reason Barrington could not discern, Percy’s query inspired a shudder of trepidation. “Now, if you will excuse me—”
“Oh, my dear nephew, I am overcome with emotion at your wonderful news.” With tears streaming her face, Aunt Esther charged forth and pressed a wet kiss to Barry’s cheek. “It seems my prayers have been answered.”
“Thank you, Aunt Esther.” With his handkerchief, he daubed his skin. “It is good to be home.”
“And just wait until our friends arrive.” She skittered to the window. “In fact, I took the liberty of dispatching a servant with a stash of invites to our closest associates, that we might celebrate your return, in style.�
��
“You did what?” Now Barrington well and truly panicked, as he promised Sir Ross to behave in a manner that deflected attention, while the veteran spy plotted a strategy for identifying the murderer.
“My dear nephew, we cannot permit you to lock yourself in your chambers.” Aunt Esther rested hands on hips. “We must shout your presence from the tops of Parliament, if necessary, and rejoice.”
“Mama is right.” Percy slapped his thigh. “Why the long face? We will host a fête to end all fêtes.”
Although Barrington would rather honor Sir Ross’s wishes, did he not deserve a measure of happiness? Given everything he endured, given his absence from hearth and home, given his separation from Florence, did he not have a right to mark his survival with a glorious entrance and his woman at his side?
“Perhaps you are correct.” He nodded once. “Let us make merry.”
~
A bank of ominous clouds loomed on the horizon, and a gale whistled and thrummed through the city, as Florence peered out the window of her bedchamber, which commanded an impressive view of Hyde Park, while her lady’s maid tightened the laces of the emerald green, silk satin gown trimmed in silver embroidery. At her throat, she toyed with a diamond necklace, a gift from Barrington, which arrived only that morning, and prayed for his safety as he ventured into the social circles he once fled.
“Hold still, my lady.” Mead sighed, and Florence laughed.
“But I am too excited.” In truth, she was giddy yet nervous about the impromptu soiree, because an unknown assailant lurked in the shadows. In the long mirror, she assessed her appearance and her coif of curls. “Does my hair look all right? Oh, I do so wish to make a good impression, as my love returns to society.”
Yet she could ill afford to ignore the danger invested in what she previously considered a frivolous pastime.
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