Alice nodded, but said nothing. From the look which passed between her and Stephen, Bridget concluded that Harry’s wife knew not to press for further information. “We shalt hold you up any longer. Will Toby be staying with Harry and I again this evening?”
Stephen screwed up his face. “I can come and collect him, but it will be late if I do. How about I come to your house for breakfast in the morning and then take him home?”
Alice met Bridget’s gaze, but her words were directed at the large man standing in their midst. “I have bought Toby clothes and books, but only you can give him what he really needs.”
After Alice and Toby had continued on their way, Stephen remained, slowly shaking his head. “I am still not certain that bringing him to London was the best thing I could have done.”
“Does Toby know who you are? I mean, the true nature of your relationship?” she asked.
“No. I am just a stranger who suddenly appeared in his life and took him away from the only home he has ever known. I don’t know when or how I am going to explain to him that he is actually my brother.”
At least that went some of the way to explaining Stephen’s reluctance to connect with Toby. For a large, strong male, he seemed almost timid around the boy—unsure of how he should respond to the open warmth of a child.
Is that because you have never had a loving relationship with anyone in your life?
“What did Alice mean by only you could give Toby what he really needs?” she asked, genuinely intrigued.
He sighed. “She means the boy needs a mother, and the only way he is going to get anything remotely resembling one is if I marry. And therein lies the problem.”
Because you have sworn to never take on a wife.
“You made a vow not to marry and have a family. Can I tell you something, Stephen? Vows are funny things. Sometimes we don’t realize how high the cost is of trying to hold true to them, until we have to pay.”
Chapter Eighteen
The print seller and publisher, M. Jones’s office and shopfront were located at 146 Bond Street. The front window was full of caricatures and rather scandalous drawings, which of course meant it drew quite the crowd. People were gathered tightly together whispering, pointing, and sniggering at the pictures.
A steady stream of customers filed in and out the front door of the shop. While the periodicalTheScourgehad recently closed, Mister Jones was obviously still running a lucrative business catering to the whims and amusement of the people of London.
Bridget and Stephen finally managed to fight their way through the throng to take up a spot at the window. The first thing that struck Bridget was the depth of detail in the drawings. Lionel Hosey might well be their primary suspect for blackmailer, but there was no doubting his talent.
Beside her, Stephen snorted a laugh. He pointed to a drawing over toward the left-hand side of the window. Bridget nodded. It was a caricature of a well-known lord pinching the oversized ass of a woman, while a second man stood close by and protested. She immediately recognized all three of the people in the sketch as well as the infamous scandal which their ménage à trois had caused in high society.
Thank god they didn’t draw me. I would have been crushed to know that people came and made fun of my failure.
She leaned in closer, reading the speech bubble which had been drawn coming out of the lord’s mouth. He was protesting his innocence of any misdeeds, while at the same time complaining that the bed the three of them had slept in was too small. It was all too ridiculous.
Bridget’s gaze took in the rest of the drawing, and she was about to turn away when she caught sight of something which sent her heart straight to her mouth. She clutched at Stephen’s coat sleeve. He leaned in, and she whispered in his ear, “Look—at the bottom of the picture. Can you see the figure of the archbishop and what he is saying to them? You know what that means, don’t you?”
He pressed his face against the glass. “Yes. I see it. And it means that someone was careless when he wrote the letter to your mother.”
When Stephen drew back, Bridget looked at the picture once more. There was no mistaking the familiar words and signature.
It is time to pay for your sins.
N.
They had discovered the blackmailer.
Chapter Nineteen
Despite Bridget’s vehement protests, declaring that she wished to go immediately inside the shop and confront the owner about his employee, they left Bond Street soon after. She even offered to march upstairs and drag Lionel Hosey out from his lodgings, into the street, and give him a sound public flogging.
Stephen, of course, wasn’t having any of it.
A showdown was the last thing he wanted. The resultant scandal would not only stand to ruin Bridget, but it would jeopardize his future business dealings. His whole livelihood depended on him being able to handle his client’s problems with discretion.
It took quite an effort for him to haul her away from the print shop. “Let us discuss this in private. I suggest we go to your house,” he said.
