Chapter 37

CHAPTER 37

T he guests were gone, the first entertainment at Everdene Hall having provided the ton with more fodder for gossip than anyone could imagine. The barrels of gunpowder had been safely removed and the premises searched for any more signs of danger, but every nerve in Lucien's body was still buzzing with the memory of the disaster they'd missed by one stray spark.

He wanted nothing more than to gather Grace in his arms. Assure himself that she was safe. Comfort himself by feeling her body pressed against his. Instead, he had directed Simon to gather the Harcourt women and try to calm their nerves. He remained with Darragh Nolan.

He looked across the study to where the Irishman sat on a chair, his face buried in his hands as he waited for the magistrates to arrive. Lucien had told Simon and the others that he hoped to learn who was behind the plot. But the truth wasn't that simple.

There was something about Darragh Nolan that hooked a claw in Lucien's chest. He knew that echoing silence of regret. Being alone with the horror as he faced the consequences of something he had done.

That sensation had crashed over him in a wave at the London docks on the day Cassandra and Jane returned from Italy.

Now, he could barely recognize himself, the man who had made an excuse and fled before they set foot on dry land.

But God, he remembered that barren wasteland he'd felt inside.

"I will engage a barrister on your behalf," he promised. "Tell me who is behind this so we can help you," he asked again, with little hope Nolan would answer.

The man did not raise his head. They sat silent. Lucien wasn't sure for how long. When they heard movement and voices outside the door, Nolan stiffened. Waiting for the ax to fall , Lucien thought.

When, at last, a soft rap sounded on the door, Nolan's eyes went wide. Lucien stood and crossed to the door, opened it. Guards still stood at attention outside the room, but it was Jamie MacLeod who whispered something in his ear. Lucien nodded.

"Show them in," he said, then turned. He saw Nolan's Adam's apple jump. "It seems someone followed you from Seven Dials," he said.

There was a rush of footsteps, a clamor of voices and Moira rushed in, flinging herself to her knees before her husband, clutching his hands. Robert marched after her with a scowl, looking far too old for his age. But it was the woman who followed them that held Lucien's very heart: Grace, leading a child by each hand. Sibby Rose, pale and shy. Scrap…his face tear-streaked and grimy. His cherry-red nose running.

The child's eyes went saucer wide.

"Dado!" he cried pulling free of Grace.

But instead of running to Nolan, Scrap launched himself at Lucien, wrapping thin arms around Lucien's legs, burying his damp face against Lucien's trousers.

Lucien could feel the boy sobbing, reminding him of Simon that awful night decades past.

Robert Nolan snorted in disgust. "Daft nodcock! How many times do we ha' to tell ye he's not your da!"

Something about the words drove deep into Lucien's chest. He paused for a moment, then scooped Scrap up into his arms, feeling the child's slight weight, the way his body trembled. Scrap hid his face against Lucien's shoulder.

"Ho, there, little man," Lucien murmured soothingly, Scrap's coppery curls brushing his jaw.

"Fwightened!" the boy sniffled.

A wave of protectiveness swept over Lucien as he rubbed the child's back, every rib and vertebrae a bump beneath his hand. "There is nothing to fear. Not anymore."

He saw Darragh Nolan's face twist, anguished. Thought of his own failings, how close he'd come to denying Grace and the child to come. Angry as Lucien was at the danger Nolan had put them in, he understood the choice the man had made. Even the choice Moira had made, keeping silent in an effort to protect the husband she loved.

He looked at Grace. She had gathered Sibby Rose close, those hands that would one day comfort Lucien's child curved around the little girl's shoulder. Grace, who saw the world so clearly and yet, still was brave enough to love. She knew that he would make countless mistakes as a husband and father. But he would make amends. They would forgive him, and he would forgive himself. That was the price to be paid for this almost unbearable closeness, this wonder, this awe.

Lucien hunkered down with Scrap in his arms, gently setting the child on his small feet. "I will see that you are safe, Scrap. You, Sibby Rose, Robert and your mother. But I am not your father." He took Scrap's hand and led him to the man who sat, quaking with emotion. "This is your da. His first name is Darragh, just like yours."

The child popped his thumb in his mouth, regarding Nolan shyly. With his other hand, he gripped Lucien's fingers with all his might.

"Can you say hello?"

Scrap looked from Nolan to Lucien, then back to Nolan again. The boy pulled his thumb from pink lips and said, "'Lo."

"Y-you were just a babe when I left. Look at you…" Nolan reached out a hand to touch the boy, but Scrap shrank away.

"Give him time," Lucien said.

The Irishman looked up, desolate, and Lucien felt his pain. "Time is the one thing I haven't got," Nolan replied.

Another rap on the door, and MacLeod cracked it open. "My lord, the magistrates have come."

"Post a guard at the windows and door and tell the magistrates to wait in the ballroom. I will speak to them directly." Lucien turned to the Nolans. "We will give you this hour. Be wise."

"I swear it." Nolan nodded and looked up at him. "Thank you."

Lucien was almost to the door when he heard Nolan speak.

"Lord Everdene."

"Yes?"

"I will tell you who paid me."

The information electrified Lucien, a lightning strike of murderous rage, but he kept his voice level. "Do you have any proof?"

"He's the one who gave me the lady's tin soldier. It was at the Swan and Thistle. Roger, the barkeep, saw it, along with the barmaid, his daughter. She heard enough to ask me about it after. There was also a hack driver at the next table getting bubble an' squeak."

"Was there anything else you overheard? Anything that might help bring the bastard to justice?"

"Overheard 'm mention one other toff when they were arguing. I never saw 'm or heard a name."

"Is there anything more?"

"No."

"If you think of something…"

"I will send word."

Lucien feathered his fingers over Scrap's curls, then smiled at Sibby Rose and touched her cheek. With one last look at the family, he walked over to Grace and took her hand, leading her away.

The minute he was able, he drew her into a room, gathered her into his arms. "I almost lost you. You and the baby."

"You didn't. You never will."

"So…now we know."

Grace nodded. "I feared there must be some connection to the Pinchbecks, as soon as I realized the kegs held gunpowder. And the night of the riot at Drury Lane…Alice invited me, then made her own excuses."

A haunted aura shadowed Grace's face. "Do you think Alice knew?"

"I don't know, but I will find out. I intend to go to Pinchbeck's soiree and return the barrels he sent."

No footman in England would dare to refuse entry to Viscount Everdene and his brother, and tonight was no exception. Oh, they gawked at the Harcourts' sudden appearance and the strangeness of a keg balanced on Captain Harcourt's strong shoulder. One startled fellow attempted to announce them, but Lucien and Simon merely stalked into the Pinchbeck ballroom like an invading army.

The chamber was filled with guests of the highest importance. Men from the House of Lords rubbed shoulders with wealthy industrialists and their wives, along with a glittering array of Torys. But it was members from the Home Office that held Lucien's gaze. The perfect witnesses…

The music being played trailed off, the violin's strings screeching. Everyone in the room spun around to regard the new arrivals with blatant curiosity. Lucien gave a hard smile at his reflection in the mirror, the ever-impeccably turned out Viscount, looked as if he had been through a war. His evening blacks were mud-spattered, his cravat wilted and askew. His hair tumbled across his forehead and he'd torn off his gloves at some point. Mouths gaped open, hands pressed to breasts. But no one looked more gratifyingly stunned than Lord and Lady Pinchbeck and Neville Freyne.

"Lord Everdene?" Pinchbeck's jowls quivered as he left off speaking to the Home Secretary. "What is the meaning of this?"

"A bit of a shock to see me, Pinchbeck?" Lucien boomed in the voice that could hold all of parliament captive. "You are staring as if I've come back from the dead."

"Of course I am surprised. I understood that you were having an event of your own tonight. Is there some news from the continent? Some disaster you bring tidings of?"

"Were you expecting one?"

"See here. Whatever you have to say, spit it out."

"Permit me to return one of the kegs you had delivered to Raven's Court as decorations for my wife's charity event."

Simon swung the barrel down to the floor, setting it on end.

"The contents are untouched, as you must have surmised."

Pinchbeck waved one hand in dismissal. "Leave it in the stables. Whatever you are on about, it can wait until tomorrow. We are celebrating my daughter's betrothal. I'll not have the night spoiled."

"Betrothal?"

Alice blushed prettily and extended a hand with a large ring. "To Father's partner. Mr. Freyne."

"My condolences," Lucien said, then looked at Freyne who stood across the room, his eyes fixed on the barrel. "Planning to celebrate with fireworks, were you?"

The girl's worried voice cut in. "Lord Everdene, was there a problem with the barrels?"

"You might say so. Come and take a look inside." When Lucien signaled to Simon, his brother took out the pry bar thrust in his belt, using it to open the keg's lid.

"Alice, come here," her father said. "We will not indulge Everdene's nonsense?—"

"The circumstances merit close inspection, Lady Alice," Lucien said smoothly. "Bring that candle from the table."

She grasped the nearest candlestick and came toward him. "My lord, I assure you, I was only trying to help your wife. I felt sorry for the way my mother behaved."

Lucien reached in to the barrel and brought up a handful of black powdery substance. He let it sift through his fingers.

The girl looked genuinely bewildered as she drew closer. "I don't understand…The barrels were empty when Neville and I chose them."

Five steps nearer. Six.

"Alice!" Freyne's voice. The man's face gleamed with sweat.

"Neville, I must make this right," Alice insisted drawing nearer. "Grace is my friend, and?—"

"No!" White-faced, Freyne snatched the candle from her hand, blew it out.

Lucien saw the Home Secretary's keen eyes on the proceedings. "What the devil is going on here?"

"The keg was full of gunpowder?—"

Guests gasped, shrank back.

"—as Mr. Freyne and the Lord Pinchbeck obviously knew. This, and two other kegs were placed as props for tableaux in the ballroom of my townhouse. They were delivered to Raven's Court courtesy of my wife's supposed friend, Lady Alice Pinchbeck. The others were so large, it seemed excessive to carry them here. However, they will be available for Lord Russell and the members of his Home Office to examine at will. Mr. Freyne coerced a desperate man to set off an explosion tonight at the charity event my wife was hosting. His goal, to murder everyone gathered at Raven's Court."

"What the devil?" Russell strode up to examine the keg and its contents.

"You needn't fear," Simon said. "We emptied the powder in this keg and replaced it with coal dust before we brought it inside so it wouldn't explode. Unlike Freyne and Pinchbeck and whoever they are in league with, we are averse to spilling innocent blood. But when Nolan was holding a candlestick over this keg at Raven's Court, the powder was very much alive."

Alice stared at him, her face waxen with horror.

"Darragh Nolan, the man Freyne hired, told us everything," Lucien said.

"I've never heard of this Nolan person," Freyne sputtered. "You can't believe some Irish scum scrambling to keep a noose from around his neck!"

Lucien pinned the lying bastard with his glare. "Witnesses saw you engage his services at the Swan and Thistle, Freyne. You gave Nolan a tin soldier wrapped in my wife's handkerchief. The toy was sent to Raven's Court with a threatening note—which I still possess—and I would wager, if someone at the Home Office examined it, they would see similarities to your penmanship. As for the handkerchief, it was at the Nolan's home in the Seven Dials."

"What motive could these gentlemen possibly have for such a scheme?" the Home Secretary asked.

"The goal was to trigger another Peterloo. Convince parliament that Nolan and people from the streets were responsible for the attack," Lucien explained, then turned to his adversaries. "Pinchbeck, Freyne, you and your cohorts have been trying to incite riots for months so you could crush people who only wish for fair treatment, to feed their families."

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 was mine ," 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 damned world 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 to God , I'll spend the rest of my life making damned sure there is."