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He picked up a towel and patted the water off of his newly shaven face. He didn’t understand it. He should be glad for Eleanor, and yet, he felt something that could only be described as a subtle panic over how things would play out for her. He shook his head and looked at his reflection.
“You’re losing your mind,” he told himself. “Stick with the assignment. A good Runner never lets feelings get in the way of his job.” No matter how confusing those feelings might be.
He took a deep breath then set his towel aside. Once he finished getting dressed, he left his house. He walked down the streets that would take him to the Duke of Dormondton’s residence. Unlike some, he didn’t have the money to pay for a horse and carriage, nor did he feel inclined to pay for the services of those who transported people around London. That money was better spent on essentials.
When he reached the street where the duke lived, he saw the Duke of Winnett’s carriage in front of it. His steps slowed. He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten that the Duke of Winnett was to pay Eleanor a visit today. This wasn’t good. He usually remembered things like this.
It’s Eleanor. She’s getting to your head. You’ve been thinking of her more than you should. This isn’t about her. It’s about the person who pushed her at the theatre and loosened the carriage wheel. Keep your focus on what matters.
He tapped the button on his waistcoat. Should he go to the townhouse now or wait until the Duke of Winnett left?
It was best to wait. The Duke of Winnett was a suspect. The last thing Byron wanted to do was make the duke aware of him. Yes, the duke assumed he was Eleanor’s suitor. That was safe. But if the duke suspected Byron’s motives were different, it might make him change some aspect of his behavior. A criminal who changed their behavior was harder to catch.
Byron decided to walk past the residence. He would wait until after the Duke of Winnett left before talking to them.
***
Eleanor, who stood by the window, frowned as she watched Byron walk right past her townhouse. She leaned closer to the window and watched as he headed down the street. Why didn’t he come up to the front door?
“You shouldn’t let the whole thing with Lord Edon bother you,” the Duke of Winnett told her father. “What does it matter what he does or doesn’t do? There are some influential members at White’s. Some even excel with investing. I wish I had taken their advice instead of listening to Lord Swenson.”
“Lord Swenson is a fool with money,” her father replied. “I certainly wouldn’t trust him with my daughter. I saw the way he was looking at her at the ball. I’m just glad so many other gentlemen kept coming up to her that he never got the chance to dance with her.”
Eleanor looked over at the gentlemen. The Duke of Winnett sat on the settee, and her father sat in a chair across from him. She had started off by sitting next to the Duke of Winnett, and though he hadn’t made a move to get too close to her, she couldn’t resist the impulse to get away from him. Whatever she did, she must not marry him.
“I’m afraid we’re boring your daughter,” the Duke of Winnett said as he glanced her way.
She inwardly shivered and turned her gaze back to the window.
“Perhaps we should do something like check out the museum or go for a stroll at the park,” the Duke of Winnett told her father.
Her father called out to her, so she directed her attention back to them. “You haven’t been to the museum yet. Perhaps it’s something that we should do.”
Being anywhere but trapped in this drawing room with the Duke of Winnett sounded good to her. Relieved, she offered a nod then said she would get her bonnet and shawl for the outing.
***
Byron sat a good distance from the museum. He had followed Eleanor, her father, and the Duke of Winnett there. Thankfully, he had been rounding the corner of the street in time to see them leave the townhouse. He knew nothing bad would happen at a museum, but his gut told him to stick around anyway, and if there was one thing he had learned over the years, it was to listen to his gut.
He lowered the paper he’d been pretending to read. They were still inside the building. He brought his gaze back to the paper. There was a good amount of activity around him. Plenty of carriages and people passing by. It was easier to hide out in the open like this in a busy part of town. All he had to do was remain still, and he was practically invisible. It also helped that he wasn’t wearing anything that drew attention to his clothing. He’d learned long ago that muted colors worked to his advantage. That’s why his closet was full of blacks, greys, and browns.
Practically everything about his life was about fading into the background while the people around him lived their lives. This hadn’t bothered him in the past, and it didn’t bother him now, except for one tiny area that wanted to push its way into his consciousness. He didn’t like that prickling sensation, so he forced it back into the recesses of his mind. He would be glad when this case was over. Something about this case was different, and he hated different. Different threatened something in him he couldn’t explain. Was it possible that telling Eleanor’s father to hire the Duchess of Ashbourne had been a mistake? Until recently, life had been the same for him. It’d been safe. It’d been predictable. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but after Eleanor had those lessons, he had changed. He didn’t know how he’d changed, but he didn’t like it.
“How are you doing this afternoon, Mr. Tumilson?” a familiar voice asked.
Byron looked up from the paper, surprised to see Piers and Stacey coming up to him. Perhaps he wasn’t as invisible as he’d thought. He offered a polite smile. “I’m doing well. How are you two?”
“We’re doing wonderful,” Piers said and gestured to the two books he was holding. “The books we ordered finally arrived. They are rare finds.”
“Yes, these are the original edition,” Stacey added. “One was printed in 1530 and the other in 1594. They have been well-cared for.”
“They cost a pretty sum of money, but it’s worth it.” Piers gently touched the books. “These will go in our third library. That’s where we keep our most important books. But we love books no matter when they were printed. All of them are important in their own way.”
Stacey offered an emphatic nod. “Even two authors will approach the same topic from a different perspective.”
“Yes, we like to play a game of comparing the authors when we can find books on the same topic.” He chuckled. “We’re as bad as the children are about not wanting to go to sleep when the conversation about those books get really good.”
Stacey laughed along with him, and it was then that Byron realized how well these two fit each other. There was no way Piers could entertain secret romantic notions about Eleanor. He was much too devoted to his wife, and his wife knew it. Stacey was secure in their marriage. This would make Eleanor happy. Stacey was no longer a suspect.
