Warmth flooded through Isabel. Hopefully the blush was not obvious. This wasn’t exactly a romantic moment, even if she could smell him and understand the underlying promise he was saying. Her throat constricted and she couldn’t find her words for a moment, so all she could do was nod.
Behind Sebastian, her brother noisily cleared his throat. “I heard that.”
“Good,” her husband said while still looking at her. And then he turned away, walking down the hall like nothing had happened.
Thomas was rubbing his jaw when she finally turned back at him. His hair was thinning, she noticed, but he didn’t look particularly as unwell as she had thought. Perhaps it really had just been shadows.
“What an interesting fellow you married,” he said after a moment’s delay.
“Indeed.” Isabel took a step back as she gathered her strength. She would need it now. Throwing out her hopes of working on matters with Sebastian, she now had to focus on her brother. While her heart wanted to pull him into a hug with relief that he was confidently alive, she restrained her feelings and clung to the doubt and frustration she had been living with for the last couple of months.
When Wesley cleared his throat, she startled. So did Thomas, for they had all forgotten about the poor butler.
He gave a slight nod and looked rather put out. But he still politely waved a hand down the hall. “Shall we open the drawing room for your visitor, Your Grace?”
“Yes. Yes, I would appreciate that,” Isabel said with relief.
Allowing the butler to lead the way, she stepped into her favorite drawing room and wondered if she was a fool to be here with Thomas. But she still closed the door once he was inside, and then she took her seat, ready to listen.
CHAPTER 20
“Well, what is it you wish to do?”
Sebastian grumbled before rising to his feet, unable to sit still for another minute. Already he’d taken a brisk walk around the grounds while waiting for a servant to drag his local solicitor from town into his study, and now they were looking over newspapers and documents to… to do what?
“I don’t know,” he groused. “Something.”
Lowering his monocle, the older gentleman huffed. Mr. Tiller was an excellent solicitor even with his constant state of ire. “You dragged me from my warm and comfortable home on Christmas Eve to tell me you don’t know what you want?”
“It’s warm in here too,” he mumbled. He even went to stir the fire in his study before turning back toward the man. “Can’t we put him in jail?”
Back went the monocle. “Do you have a case against him?”
“The Crown does.”
“You can’t force the Crown to continue their case against the man,” Mr. Tiller reminded him. His curly white hair danced about his head while he shook it. “I think you’re wasting your time and mine.”
Sebastian groaned in frustration. “There must be something that can be done. I want to protect us.”
“Unless he steals from you as well…”
“He wouldn’t dare.”
Mr. Tiller pretended not to listen. “If you don’t have a case, you cannot take him before a magistrate and you cannot have him sent to jail. Talk to the Crown, Your Grace, or hire a Bow Street Runner to see if someone else knows of his crimes.”
“He stole from the Duke of York,” he pointed out.
“Then it has to be the Duke of York taking him to the courts. You do know how our judicial system works, yes?”
It was a conversation Sebastian had been playing around in his head for the last week or two while waiting on and reading his available documentation on his brother-in-law. Mr. Tiller wasnot particularly helpful. Perhaps there would be no miracles this Christmas.
Groaning, he collapsed back in his chair. “I don’t like him. And I don’t trust him.”
“You have very good reason not to,” his solicitor finally agreed with him. “None of us should. You could always toss him out.”
“My wife welcomed him in.”
“Ah. They do tend to have the final say.”
