Alice looked as sallow as the yellow gown she wore. Her hands knotted in her skirts. “What Lord Everdene says is true, isn’t it? That is why Neville insisted I go back to Grace, offer her those specific kegs for her tableaux.”
“Alice, be quiet!” Pinchbeck hissed.
“Neville instructed me to have them delivered. Have them put in place by specific footmen. Mother, I heard you attempting to convince Lady Aylcock and other friends not to go to the Harcourt’s event. I thought you merely wanted to steal Lady Everdene’s guests away. Did you know about this as well? Did you want to kill all of those people?”
“Alice!” her mother gasped.
All around them, disgust and horror flooded the faces of the guests.
Alice’s voice broke. “You almost succeeded in it because of me.”
Pinchbeck grabbed his daughter’s arm, shook her with a violence that stunned the crowd. “Don’t be a fool, girl!”
“Get your hands off of her!” Lucien lunged for the man, ripping Pinchbeck’s hand away from Alice and thrusting the girl behind his broad shoulders. “By God, you’ll not touch her again!”
Alice turned to Lucien, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I didn’t know. Tell Grace…”
The Home Secretary met Lucien’s gaze. “You’ll present this proof you have, Everdene?”
“A full confession from Nolan and corroborating witnesses, not to mention Lady Alice’s words here. The man they paid to set off the explosion was fired from Pinchbeck’s factory. They knew he was desperate to feed his family. Offered him a choice. They would dismiss his wife and son from their factory jobs, have his family thrown out of their lodgings to starve in the streets or Nolan could die setting off this bomb and they’d pay enough to keep his children in comfort for the rest of their lives. If presented with such a choice, which man among you would choose differently?”
“You’re excusing violence?” the Home Secretary huffed.
“No. I’m laying blame where the fault lies. I’m saying that there, but for an accident of birth, go any of us.”
The Home Secretary gestured to some nearby men.
They came forward, taking Pinchbeck and Freyne by the arms. The two men stood rigid.
Lucien walked up to Freyne. “You were willing to kill a woman you supposedly once loved.”
“She would have been the perfect hostess, get me into any drawing room in the land. An asset I refused to lose.”
“So you were willing to condemn her to suffer a horrific death because you couldn’t use her to gain power.”
“She wasmine,” Freyne snarled.
Bile rose in Lucien’s throat. “She was never some possession to be used or discarded for your own selfish purpose. She has the right to chart her own path.”
“A woman?” Freyne scoffed.
“Yes. A woman. Workers in your factories. The slaves that pick your goddamned cotton. You believe the whole damnedworld is meant to be crushed under your heel. You destroyed the Nolans’ lives, and God knows how many others. I would like nothing more than to kill you with my bare hands, but I won’t. I will let the courts have you now. You’ll pay if there is any justice in England.” His jaw knotted with resolve. “I swear toGod, I’ll spend the rest of my life making damned sure there is.”
CHAPTER 38
Raven’s Court was silent by the time Lucien and Simon returned. Lucien was mind-numbingly weary, and was certain his brother felt the same after the race through London’s wintery streets and the confrontation at Pinchbeck’s. The guard at the door informed them that magistrates had escorted Darragh Nolan to Newgate, and Lady Everdene had settled Moira and the Nolan children into rooms until they could be taken to Everdene.
“A Mr. O’Malley arrived an hour ago,” the footman continued. “Her ladyship tended his wounds, then settled him in one of the bedchambers.”
Lucien’s throat felt tight. O’Malley had saved the lives of every guest at Raven’s Court. He owed the Irishman more than he could ever repay. Lucien vowed to sit down with the man and the leaders of his movement, and listen to what they had to say. Hadn’t Grace urged him to do the same thing before this night’s treachery?
But there would be time for that tomorrow. Tonight, he needed to find his wife and hold her as if he would never let her go.
Lucien and Simon mounted the stairs, talking in low murmurs, Simon veering off toward his bedchamber to find Penelope who had taken Kit there as well, refusing to let the boy out of her sight.
He heard a muffled voice from his own bedchamber, someone calling his name. Cassandra. Despite his eagerness to find Grace, something in his sister’s voice drew him. Something small. Something lost.
He entered the bedchamber, finding her sitting on the floor, her skirts pooled around her, the wooden chest where Lucien kept his most precious mementos open beside her. His heart lurched. The blue tin box was open on her lap, her long, slender fingers holding the ragged bit of cloth that box had contained for almost twenty years.
