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Sophia was sitting on the blackguard’s legs. The sight of disheveled hair and her split lip, with a trickle of blood running down her chin, broke his heart—until he noticed that her face, her eyes, her skin were glowing. She was incandescent with unbound joy.
“Richard! I caught him! I tackled him to the ground!”
Richard reached over to wipe the blood off her chin, feeling reverence at the bravery of his young wife. He realized why she was so overjoyed—she had just bested the bully that tortured her these past several years. “You did, my love. I take it this is your brother?”
“Of course!” He forced back a smile at her wounded affront. “I do not make a habit of tackling strangers.”
The taller John helped him hold the struggling man by the arms so they could turn him over. Richard reached down and pulled off the low-slung hat to reveal red-blond hair and defiant bloodshot eyes. The brother showed evidence of hard drinking, his face ruddy and his congested skin webbed with spider veins. For such a young man, his appearance was bloated and unhealthy.
Richard grinned with grim determination. “Mr. Hayward, I spent the day looking for you.”
* * *
Who would have imaginedthat visiting his own stables to deliver the long-overdue apology would fortuitously lead to the capture of his foe? It was fitting somehow that the two events converged in such a manner. By accepting responsibility for his past, fate dictated that he solve his present troubles.
Now the scourge of their household was trussed to a chair in a little-used drawing room. The cursing man tugged at the ties in a futile attempt to leave while being guarded by the two Johns and Radcliffe.
“He certainly has a fixation on coin,” commented the duke in a dry tone.
It was as if Hayward overheard the remark; the cursing increased in volume. “I do not see why that bitch should receive all the money and advantages! She leaves nothing for me!”
Annabel, the duke, Perry, Sophia, and Richard stood on the far end of the large drawing room, huddled in a group to discuss what to do while pointedly ignoring the brother’s spitting vitriol.
Only Perry glared at the scoundrel. “I knew it! I knew he must have been observing Balfour Terrace! Who would have thought such a spoilt young man would take a post working as a groom? He must be quite dedicated to ruining this household!”
Sophia shook her head in disbelief. “He could be angry that I tattled to my uncle about his plot. Or he is simply enraged to be thwarted in his plans to exploit my inheritance. He seemed to think he had some right to the funds, so that might fuel his petty anger.”
Richard nodded in agreement. “The stable master said one of the grooms disappeared the afternoon of the wedding—hopefully because your brother paid him off and not for more sinister reasons—and that Hayward showed up early the next morning with references, which I assume are faked. Or written by his cronies. He has been right under our noses the entire time.”
Halmesbury’s deep baritone interjected. “Yet somehow he found the time to sneak off to rile up Lord Stanford and Lord Wood.”
“How intrepid of him. If he put half that energy into making a respectable living, he would have done well for himself,” Annabel observed.
“Be that as it may, what do we do now?” Sophia’s question made them all pause.
Minutes ticked by without any suggestions offered. Richard sifted through ideas in his head but came up with nothing worth offering out loud.
“We could have him jailed,” Perry finally ventured.
“There is no evidence that he broke the law. The only offense we can prove is he provided false references, and an assumed name, but I would not want to take my chances that he goes to prison for a short time and then returns angrier to seek vengeance for having him arrested,” Richard reasoned.
“Nothing for which he could be transported, then.” Perry appeared disappointed.
Sophia hissed in dismay. “Not that! The journey could kill him, especially in his current unhealthy condition. He is … still my brother.”
“So, burying him in the garden is out of the question, then?” Perry joked weakly. Richard saw Sophia’s elbow come up to dig his brother in the ribs. It made his heart sing to observe their familial horseplay; they were becoming a proper family here at Balfour Terrace.
After a moment, Halmesbury spoke up. “If it were me …”
Richard waited, but the duke did not complete the sentence, clearly musing. “If it were you …?”
The duke turned his gaze to Richard. “I would want the man as far from my family as I could manage, even if I paid coin to ensure it. Say, New York or Boston. Australia, perhaps. Whatever destination he chose, I would pay for the privilege of knowing he was very distant from my family.”
Richard thought. He wanted to mete justice on the brother, but more important was the need to protect his family. “I could have him accompanied. Long or Johnson could deliver him there and find a solicitor to manage a trust. Hayward would need to present himself each month to collect an allowance. If he has to collect it every month, he will never have time to travel back to British soil and return in time for the next payment.”
Sophia clapped her hands. “That could work! Perhaps his escort could ensure that the solicitor knew Cecil’s appearance and even provide a miniature of him to be kept on file, so he could never pull another of his sly tricks to collect the funds while not being personally present.”
“I will do it! I will escort him to the Americas!” Perry sounded committed to the task.
