Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

F itz blinked rapidly as the night sky high above him came back into focus.

For a moment there, he thought he had left this earth, waking to whatever world next awaited him, but then the pebbles of the road beneath him bit into his back, telling him that his time had not yet come.

He ran his hands over himself, feeling for blood or bullet holes, but they came away dry. Thank goodness.

"Fitz!"

He pushed himself up on his elbows, starting when he noticed the big man lying on the ground next to him. Ignoring the call for a moment, he snaked his arm beneath the man, grunting as his hand wrapped around the pistol. He carefully pulled it out, wary that the big man might wake up and finish the job.

The large gash on the side of his attacker's head, however, might mean he was safe.

With the wood of the still-warm pistol in his hand, Fitz finally allowed himself to look up as a flurry of skirts and concern came crashing toward him.

"Eliza?" he said with confusion as she gripped his shoulders tightly while leaning back and running her eyes over him.

"Are you alive? Shot? Injured?" she fired toward him.

He couldn't help the slight laugh that emerged in response to her onslaught of questions.

"I am well. At least, as far as I can tell."

It was only then he noticed the red smear of blood on her cheek, and he reached up, brow furrowed, to wipe it away.

As he did, he realized that it was not her blood that marked her but rather his own, and it was dripping down his arm.

"You are hurt!" she said, with more accusation in her tone than concern.

"Just a scrape," he said, waving it away. "I'm fine. Better than this knave here," he said, waving his hand to the man beside him.

"Was he robbing you?" she asked, standing now as her mother approached.

"I suppose," Fitz said, not wanting to share the truth.

"Lord Fitzroy!" Lady Willoughby exclaimed, her expression matching her daughter's as she rushed forward, although she stopped short of touching him as Eliza had. "Are you well?"

"We were just assessing that," he said as he gingerly pushed himself off of the ground and up to stand before them. "I believe I shall be fine."

He looked at the man on the ground once more, sorely wanting to determine if he was still alive and, if so, to question him as to who he was and what he was doing here.

If he did so, however, he would have to explain himself to the women in front of him, and he had no interest in telling them about this apparent plot to do away with him – nor how he had discovered it.

He had thought that Madeline might have been putting him on, but this was no prank.

Suddenly, the past few minutes came rushing back, as Fitz recalled the resolve that crossed the man's face moments before he pulled the trigger. Then, how he had rushed toward him at the very moment the gun went off, and then how his attacker had suddenly and unexpectedly come flying forward into him, all of it seeming to happen at once. He had been so focused on his impending death that he hadn't realized in conscious thought that there had been a carriage headed toward them. Which meant--

"Did you… run him over?"

Mother and daughter exchanged a look before beginning their story together.

"I'm not sure if ‘run him over' is the expression I would use," Eliza said matter-of-factly.

"Perhaps he was unfortunate enough to have been clipped by our carriage wheel," her mother said, a look of contrived innocence crossing her face. "I am very glad that you are well, Lord Fitzroy."

"Yes, of course," he murmured, trying not to laugh at the two women before him who could likely pose more of a threat to the criminal underworld than any Bow Street Runner ever could, were they to put their minds to it. "Well, I shall be on my way, then. We wouldn't want him to come back to consciousness and find two beautiful women standing before him."

"Oh, Lord Fitzroy, you are too kind," Lady Willoughby said with a large smile, while Eliza rolled her eyes. "We must see you home after this ordeal you have been through. Come into the carriage. You do not live far from us."

"Thank you, but I shall be fine walking."

"I would not hear of it," Lady Willoughby said, placing her hands on her hips. "How could I look your mother in the eye if I left you here after such a traumatic incident? Come. Now."

It seemed he had no choice. He chuckled as he followed the women up into the carriage. Before he ascended the steps, he stopped and laid a hand quickly on their driver's shoulder. "Thank you," he said in a low voice. "Truly."

The man nodded in response before Fitz joined the ladies within, taking a seat next to Eliza facing forward while her mother perched on the opposing seat.

"Where were you walking home from?" Eliza was not one to mince words.

"A club," he answered honestly.

"Was Baxter there?" her mother asked, fortunately cutting off Eliza.

"Ahh, there are many clubs throughout London," he said, not wanting to answer in the affirmative. "Baxter—" he stopped, realizing suddenly that he was speaking to the man's mother and sister, "—enjoys visiting a wide variety of them."

Eliza snorted at that, obviously knowing exactly what he meant, while her mother pressed her lips together.

"You smell like perfume," Eliza said, wrinkling her nose.

She shifted away from him slightly, and he immediately missed her presence. Why did he feel the need to explain that the perfume was no cause for concern?

"I spent a great deal of the evening dancing," he said, clearing his throat. "It must be from one of the ladies."

"It smells cheap."

"Are you suddenly a perfumer?"

"No, but I am a woman who wears perfume."

That he knew. Hers smelled like jasmine – sweet, exotic, and adventurous. Just like her.

"We should not judge, Eliza," her mother said softly, and Fitz was suddenly extremely grateful that she was here, even if it meant that she had seen him at such a low moment.

"Nothing to concern yourself with, ladies. I was simply gambling."

"You do not like to gamble," Eliza said, and he turned to her in astonishment.

"Why would you think that?" he asked, mostly surprised that she would know so much about him and wondering why she had paid such close attention.

"Baxter loves to play cards and you always refuse to join in," she said. It was too dark to see her expression, but her tone was challenging him to prove her wrong. "You only gamble if you are betting on yourself in a competition of skill."

He opened his mouth to respond, before shutting it firmly once more. She was right. And yet he didn't think it was something anyone else had ever noticed.

"Well," Lady Willoughby said as they pulled up in front of Fitz's townhouse. "No more taking late-night gambles walking alone, do you hear me, Lord Fitzroy?"

"Agreed, Lady Willoughby," he said. "Thank you for the escort. And thank you again for your assistance."

"Assistance?" Eliza repeated, those blue-green eyes of hers wide in the light that emerged from the open door of his townhouse. He didn't need to turn around to know that at least one of his sisters stood in the doorway, likely wondering just whose carriage had conveyed him home at this time of night. "We saved your life!"

"Very well," he said with a sigh. "Thank you for saving my life."

He turned, finding four pairs of eyes upon him, and he left the two women behind to face the eight that awaited him within.

It had already been a long night, and he had a feeling that it wasn't over yet.

Eliza paced the drawing room the next morning.

The sun was shining through the front window, the floral arrangements her mother ensured were well tended backdropping the landscape beyond, and she had every reason to welcome the day ahead.

Yet she couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Fitz's story from last night.

She shouldn't care. She should leave it be and allow him to deal with it.

And yet, she was friends with his sisters. She owed it to them to make sure all was well.

At least, that was what she told herself.

"Mother!" she called up the staircase, wishing her mother would descend earlier in the mornings. Eliza spent far too much time waiting for her.

"Yes?" came her mother's voice, trilling from upstairs.

"Do you have plans for today?"

"Not at the moment."

"We should visit Lady Fitzroy."

Her mother appeared at the top of the stairs, a vision in dark pink, her hair still as dark and curly as Eliza's own. Eliza was fortunate to share so many of her mother's traits.

"Lady Fitzroy?" her mother repeated, raising her brows.

"I would like to ensure all is well after last night. And I had such good conversations with Henrietta and Sloane at the dance. I wouldn't mind seeing them again."

Her mother slowly descended the staircase, finally stopping at the bottom landing. "This has nothing to do with Lord Fitzroy?"

"No," Eliza said, trying to appear affronted. "Why would it?"

Her mother eyed her knowingly as she swept past her. "You were very concerned when he appeared injured last night."

"He is a family friend!" Eliza protested.

"Yes, that he is," her mother said, walking into the breakfast room, even though it was now past noon. Eliza followed her, taking a seat as she watched her mother fill her plate from the sideboard. "However, a family friend can make as good of a match – if not better – than most gentlemen. We know him, we know his family, and he is a good man."

Eliza gaped at her mother. "Is he truly, though?"

"He is a flirt, yes," her mother said, looking her way with her lips curled into a smile. "But that doesn't mean he would make a bad husband."

Eliza snorted as she sat down across from her mother.

"It might," she retorted. "I don't want a man who flirts with every woman he encounters. I want a man like Father, who is utterly devoted to his wife."

"That I am," her father said, choosing that moment to join them. He placed a kiss first on the top of Eliza's head and then on his wife's cheek before he took a seat himself. Eliza knew he had been up for hours, and this was already his second meal of the day, but he enjoyed spending time with them so always made a point to join his wife once she arose. "Where is Baxter?" he said, looking around.

"Here I am!" Baxter said, casually strolling into the room. Eliza wrinkled her nose as she smelled smoke, alcohol, and cheap perfume that reminded her of that which had been cloying to Fitz.

"Have you just returned home now?" she asked, aghast.

"No," he said defensively, obviously lying.

"Where were you?" she asked, and he eyed her before looking around the table at the three of them.

"Are you sure you want to know?"

"I suppose not," Eliza said, crossing her arms over her chest. "Have you spoken to Lord Fitzroy?"

"To Fitz? Not since last night. Why?" He looked up from the toast he was eating, likely to try to relieve any ill effects from the night before, suddenly realizing that there might be an issue of concern.

"Oh dear," their mother said, abandoning her obvious disapproval of her son. "You will never believe what happened."

She proceeded to tell Baxter of the events of the previous night, playing up their coming to Fitz's rescue, even though Eliza remembered it differently. She certainly couldn't recall her mother being the one to urge the driver on.

"Goodness," Baxter murmured as he lifted a scone to his mouth now. "And I thought I was only hearing rumors."

"So, you did know about it?" Eliza attempted to clarify, but he shook his head.

"Not about a man trying to kill Fitz. I heard another rumor. Of someone trying to poison him."

"Poison!" Eliza exclaimed. "Who?"

"Doesn't matter," Baxter said, shaking his head. "What does matter is that someone is obviously out to get him."

"Why?" Eliza said, her stomach beginning to churn. "Is someone trying to claim the title?"

"Doubtful," Baxter said. "I'm not even sure who would inherit."

"If I had to guess," their father chimed in, which caused them all to turn his way, for his contributions to conversations were so rare that they were always worth listening to, "it has something to do with what he is proposing to bring to the House of Lords."

"Which is?" his wife asked expectantly.

"I really shouldn't say."

"Oh, for goodness' sake, Clifford, if you mention it, you must finish the story."

Eliza had to hide her smile behind her hand, for she knew that her father wasn't winning this one. He should have known better before he raised the subject.

"Very well. He has been meeting with a social reformer and political activist, as well as a member of parliament, about repealing the Combination Acts."

"Pardon me?" said Baxter, who had no prior knowledge of his friend's views judging from the expression on his face.

"He is trying to rally some of the other lords to provide their support as well. The trade unions feel they have been suppressed by the laws, and Fitz agrees that this has only led to clandestine activity."

"Why does he care?" Baxter asked with a snort, earning himself the ire of his mother and sister. Sometimes Eliza wondered if she and her brother had truly been raised by the same parents.

"I suppose he has always preferred that things come to light," Eliza couldn't help but note.

"He wouldn't be killed for it, in any case. It's not as though he is irreplaceable on this," Baxter said, sitting back in his chair.

"Well," Eliza's mother said, placing her fork down and clasping her hands together as she looked around at the rest of them. "There is only one thing to do about it."

They all waited expectantly, knowing she would finish her idea shortly.

"We visit his townhouse and find out."