“To do so would imply that my brother meant something to me,” Greydon said. “And he didn’t. Not anymore.”
Rising, Lord Roswell’s eyes held compassion. “I think he meant more to you than you are letting on.”
“Don’t presume to know me,” Greydon said, his voice taking on an edge. He may have recently become friends with Lord Roswell, but that didn’t give him the right to encroach into his personal life. He was a man that preferred to be alone. It was much simpler that way. But Roswell and Brentwood had impressed him, on multiple occasions, and he determined that he could trust these men. Which was not something that happened very often.
Lord Roswell offered him a sad smile. “I know better than you are letting on, and I am worried about you.”
Greydon scoffed. “Worried about me?” he asked in disbelief. “Whyever for?”
“A man that is grieving deeply doesn’t always think clearly,” Lord Roswell replied. “Just promise me that you won’t go off half-cocked on us.”
“You have no say in my life,” Greydon challenged.
Lord Roswell stepped back and put his hands up in surrender. “Very well, but if you do require my assistance, for anything, let me know.”
Greydon knew that Lord Roswell was only trying to help, but he didn’t need, or want, his help. Or anyone’s help, for that matter. He was just fine the way he was. Yes, his brother had died. But that didn’t mean everything stopped for him. If anything, he was busier now that he was his father’s heir. He had to become acquainted with their accounts and help his father run the estate.
Why couldn’t everyone just leave him alone?
As he turned to leave, Brentwood’s voice stopped him. “Will you help Enid, then?”
It was on the tip of his tongue to refuse him, but he knew that he would always regret it if he didn’t help Enid find the happiness she deserved. He wanted to see her smile again- truly smile- as if she had never experienced pain.
“I will call upon her three times,” Greydon conceded. “No more, no less.”
Brentwood tipped his head. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Greydon said before he walked away from his friends. He hated to admit it, but he was already looking forward to seeing Enid again.
Enid stared out the window of the coach as it turned onto Bow Street. She was dressed in her plainest gown, her hair was in a tight chignon with no embellishments, and she was wearing her sturdiest boots. She didn’t know much about The Brown Bear but she knew that is where Lady Eugenie was being held.
The coach came to a stop outside of an unassuming, two-level, brown-brick building and a plaque near the main door readThe Brown Bear. The pavement in front of the public house was relatively clean and there was a guard out front.
A footman opened the door and assisted her out of the coach. “Would you care for me to accompany you, my lady?”
“No, thank you,” she replied. This was something that she had to do herself. “But wait here. I shouldn’t be long.”
The footman tipped his head before he stepped back.
Enid walked towards the door and the guard eyed her with a critical look. “Are you lost, Miss?” he asked in a harsh voice.
“No, I am here to see a prisoner,” Enid said.
The guard harrumphed. “Are you now?” he mocked as he stepped in front of the door. “I suggest you run along.”
Enid squared her shoulders. “I demand to see Lady Eugenie.”
“You demand?” the man asked with a lifted brow. “Well, little lady, I don’t take kindly to people demanding anything.”
As her confidence wavered, a male voice came from behind her. “She is with me,” he said.
Enid turned her head to see a tall, black-haired man behind her. He had brown, astute eyes and tanned skin. His fine clothing marked him as a gentleman, and he was holding a satchel over his shoulder.
The guard glanced hesitantly between them. “Are you sure, Mr. Moore?”
“I am,” Mr. Moore replied. “Now, will you kindly let us enter the building so I can see my client?” His words were cordial enough, but his tone was anything but.
Stepping aside, the guard held open the door without saying a word.
