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Chapter Fourteen
Six Months Later
There’s a chill in the air, at last. The Murderer knows that the gentlemen on the list are getting ready to return to London. The Murderer is pleased. The boy did everything on the list, leaving messages in all of the gentlemen’s country estates. Both the boy and his sister were gone. Nemesis knew better than to leave loose ends, no matter how much they had begged.
The Murderer is ready. Passing by the Millgate Club, the Murderer noted that it was starting to have the beginnings of a crowd. During the summer months, when all of the gentlemen were away, there was the select few in town on business and out for a drink.
The Murderer scanned the gentlemen who were entering the club. The Murderer’s eyes landed on Lord Danbury, feeling the rush of anticipation. It was nearly time to put the plan into action. It was all about slowly tightening the noose. Waiting for the gentlemen to get so caught up in looking for the Murderer that they didn’t realize who it was until it was too late.
Another carriage pulled up in front of Millgate, and Lord Diggar climbed out. The Murderer was pleased. Now that Diggar was there in London, it could all begin.
The Murderer placed a hand into a pocket, feeling for the handle of the knife—the one which would taste blood. Its handle was warm, from sitting there in the Murderer’s pocket. Retribution was imminent.
* * *
Charles’s search for the writer of the letters had stalled, several months back. Since there had been no further communication, he figured that the individual responsible had likely gotten what they’d wanted—for the party at Tiverwell Manor to be frightened enough to leave. Perhaps, it had been someone living in the surrounding countryside.
Charles sat down at his dining room table. Mrs. Osbourne came bustling in a few moments later. She was a jolly woman, with curly gray hair. She was dressed in a simple gray frock, with a white apron over the top.
“Eggs and toast for you, sir,” she said, setting the tray down in front of him. On it, there was a rack, with two slices of golden-brown toast, a plate with three eggs and several slices of bacon.
“Thank you, Mrs. Osbourne,” he replied, taking in his breakfast with pleasure.
“I almost forgot,” she said, pulling a handful of letters out of her apron pocket. “Here’s the morning post.”
“Excellent,” he said, his eyes scanning the letters. He spotted one with the Duke of Tiverwell’s handwriting, his crest pressed into a blob of red sealing wax on the reverse side.
“I’m going to pick up a nice roast for your supper,” she went on. “You should ask Mr. Hinkley over.”
“I will,” he replied, smiling. Arthur ate supper over there often. He was living in some rooms over a pub at the moment. As a bachelor, Arthur wasn’t particular on his living situation.
“Very good, sir.” Mrs. Osbourne beamed at him, bustling off.
She was his only servant, but she kept his house run like a well-maintained clock. It was neat, orderly. Charles found that he only rarely had to worry about a thing. Mrs. Osbourne was on top of it.
As he dug in to his breakfast, he realized that with the addition of a wife, particularly one who was used to nice things, like Lady Arabella was, he would need to hire…more staff.
He glanced around the dining room. It was spare. The whole house was spare. As he considered it, he decided to let Lady Arabella do as she chose. He could start putting aside some money for her use.
She would, no doubt, want to keep Annette on.
Mrs. Osbourne would stay, of course. He wasn’t quite sure who else would be necessary. He didn’t have a horse or a carriage—he hired hansom carriages on the few times that he needed them. Arabella had a horse of her own, so he might have to hire a groom. There was an old stable out in the back of his townhouse. At the moment, it was sitting empty.
He set down his fork, breaking the wax seal on the Duke’s letter and unfolding it. He read it.
Dear Mr. Conolly,
My family and I are leaving the North in the next few days. By the end of the week, we will be residing in London for the Season. I plan to be settled in town by Thursday. Can you make sure that there is time set aside for me to come in? I have urgent need of your services. Say ten of the clock? Send me word at your convenience if this is amenable.
The Duchess sends her regards, as well as an invitation to our daughter, Lady Arabella’s birthday party. It will be held on Friday, at our townhome in Kensington…
The rest of the letter were particulars of the event. Charles folded the letter. Of course, he was going. Though Lady Arabella had assured him that she hadn’t changed her mind, he wanted to speak with her before he asked her father for his permission.
After his talk with Arthur, he was nervous. Usually, Charles wasn’t the type to have doubts. He didn’t doubt Lady Arabella, but he did doubt her father. He wanted to see her. The way that her eyes sparkled when she looked at him. He wanted to walk in to speak with her father with all of the confidence of a man who was in love—and loved in return.
* * *
As their carriage made its way through the familiar London streets, Arabella and her mother were making last-minute plans for her birthday party.
