Page 36 of The Marquess of Secrets

Lydia murmured in agreement, for she had lived it firsthand. Anyone could wind up on the streets due to fate and circumstance. A scary prospect.

Empty soups bowls were whisked away, and a plate of meat and vegetables replaced it. They had skipped several courses, and Lydia was glad. Her appetite still was not what it should be.

“A hearty roast beef. Please, do not stand on ceremony. Tuck in.” Harrison gave her a teasing smile.

Cutting her meat, she asked, “Is the viscount your only sibling?”

“No, I have a younger brother, Spencer.” He paused; his look turned reflective. “Spence is special. He had many issues growing up, so much so that the physicians wanted him placed in the asylum. Children’s psychosis, the experts called it. My father would not hear of it.” Harrison laid his utensils aside. He explained the manifestations of his brother’s condition.

Lydia nodded. “Once at St. Thomas’s, a young boy was brought in suffering from much of what you have described. He seemed completely lost in his own world. Wouldn’t look you in the eye. Hardly seemed aware of what was going on around him or what was being said. Then he would react, usually violently.”

“And what happened to the lad?” Harrison asked softly.

“The doctor said he must be committed to the asylum at once. The child knew, for when he heard that word, he began to cry and rage. He spoke for the first time, begging his parents that he not be taken away. It was horrible.”

“Spence was not that severe, thank God. But I have noticed there are times he doesn’t look you in the eye. My brother has suffered from outbursts, more frequently as a child, not so much now. If he structures his day and sticks to it, he can keep control of his impulses. He managed to get through school, though Tremain and I were there to assist in any way we could. He is a professor of ancient history. Researching, not teaching.”

“How wonderful for him. Is that why you became interested in medical studies, your brother’s—I’m not sure what to call it. A condition? A malady?”

Harrison picked up his utensils and continued eating. “A condition. Yes, it is the reason. I was mocked mercilessly at Cambridge. Why would an heir to a duke study medicine? It was deemed to be beneath me. A middle-class profession. Obviously, I didn’t listen.”

“Yet, you kept it secret. Is it because of the censure from your peers?”

“Yes and no.” He glanced at his butler. “Leave us, Youngston. Return in about thirty minutes.”

“Yes, my lord.” The butler snapped his fingers at the two footmen, and in a matter of moments, they were left alone.

“I am sorry. Is your staff not aware of what you do? Did I reveal too much?”

“They are not aware, but I’m sure they must have an inkling. I wish to continue with our secret exchange, and—”

A coughing fit interrupted Harrison. She lifted the napkin to her mouth to catch the sputum. How mortifying.

His eyebrows creased with worry. “You’re still unwell. As soon as we complete our meal, you should return to your room to rest. Are you up for further conversation?”

If Lydia were of a mercenary bent, she could exaggerate her illness. Take advantage of his generous nature by extending her stay and continuing to indulge in her beautiful room, servants, food, clothes, and anything else she could squeeze out of him.

But regardless of her sins and mistakes, she was not that shameless and cruel. Glancing at Harrison's handsome face, the concern showing on it touched her.

Lydia could not hurt this caring man no matter what her circumstances.

Wiping her mouth, she nodded. “Yes, please. Let us continue.”

“Last night, we left off at what you’re being accused of. I want to let you know that I’ve hired an investigator to look into these charges. Mr. Robins is an ex-copper, a decorated and respected detective sergeant with the Metropolitan Police.”

Lydia dropped her fork, and pieces of carrot bounced across the tablecloth. Her heart sank. Then fright settled in the dark corners of her soul. If John Huntsford caught wind of someone asking questions. It did not bear thinking about.

Harrison laid his hand on top of hers. Much needed comfort and warmth traveled through her.

“Mr. Robins is discreet, do not worry. He knows of the detective who came to the terminus. Said Willis is an oily character. In fact, Willis may be investigating this off the books. The surgeon no doubt hired him. There may not even be official charges against you. Robins will get to the bottom of it.”

No charges? Could it be possible?

Her stomach lurched, and she brought her hand to her mouth, her eyes closing briefly.

“Lydia? Look at me.”

She cracked open her eyes and met his gaze.