Mr. Moore scoffed. “Love is a shackle, and I will not fall prey to the parson’s mousetrap,” he declared.
“You will feel differently when you meet the right woman,” Lord Roswell pressed.
“The right woman?” Mr. Moore asked. “Is there even such a thing?”
Lord Roswell grew quiet. “There is,” he said, his voice full of anguish. “If you are lucky enough to find your match, you must never let her go.”
“I don’t have time to look for a wife,” Mr. Moore shared. “My time is better spent working as a barrister.”
“I don’t usually agree with my friend, but he is right,” Mr. Westcott said.
Lord Roswell bobbed his head. “It is true,” he responded. “Tristan never sides with me. It is rather annoying.”
“That is because you are hardly ever right,” Mr. Westcott bantered back.
Mr. Moore took a sip of his drink before asking, “Can we focus on what is most important right now?”
Greydon interjected, “While you were all discussing love and whatnot, I came up with a plan.”
“Is it a good one?” Lord Roswell asked.
With a slight shrug of his shoulders, Greydon replied, “It won’t get anyone killed.”
“Now where is the fun in that?” Lord Roswell joked.
Greydon leaned forward in his seat and lowered his voice. “All right. Listen carefully. We have one shot at this.”
Enid came to an abrupt stop in the doorway when she saw her father was sitting at the head of the table with the morning newssheets in his hands. Where was her mother, she wondered. She glanced over her shoulder, hoping she would materialize out of thin air. But she was not so lucky. The hall remained empty and her mother was nowhere to be seen.
Did she dare eat breakfast with her father or should she just request a tray be sent to her bedchamber? She knew they both were making an effort to be civil to one another, but most of their encounters were awkward at best. Her father would offer up the vaguest of compliments in an attempt to appease his wife, but Enid knew they weren’t sincere.
While she debated upon what she intended to do, her father’s voice broke through the silence. “You may as well come in,” he said, peeking over the top of the newssheets at her. “Your mother has a headache this morning and will not be joining us.”
“Oh,” Enid murmured, not knowing what else to say. To leave now would make her look petty. She had no choice but to have breakfast with her father.
Enid walked over to the chair and waited as the footman pulled it out. Once she was seated, a plate of food promptly appeared in front of her.
All she had to do was eat and she could leave. She didn’t even need to engage her father in conversation. There was no shame in just eating in silence. She hoped that her father felt the same.
But she was wrong.
Her father folded the newssheets back and said, “Lady Eugenie confessed to murdering the late Lord Rushcliffe.”
“I am aware.” What else could she possibly say on that matter?
“Her sentencing is imminent, but she most likely will hang for her crime.” He placed the newssheets down onto the table. “You are lucky you did not have the same fate as her.”
“Why would I?”
Her father looked at her like she was a simpleton. “You killed your husband.”
“That is not entirely true,” Enid responded. “I was one of the people that took a shot at him, but I do not know who actually killed him. You must understand that John was trying to kill me, and we had no choice but to shoot him first.”
“Who else took a shot?”
Enid pressed her lips together. “It is of little consequence.”
Not satisfied with her response, he asked, “How exactly was it that you avoided a trial again?”
