Chapter 12

Chapter 12

It was difficult for Isabella to keep her composure when she climbed back in the carriage. The afternoon was quickly becoming the most fun she'd had in years. She'd seen a side of the city and people that she'd never seen before. It completely fascinated her. However, that could not take away from the fact that Mr. Alton had taken her somewhere unsafe, after lying to her about their plans for the day.

Mr. Alton had been eyeing her closely the entire day, and she knew he was waiting for a break in her armor. She couldn't dare let it show. He had underestimated her, and it was fun.

"Why are you taking part in this?" he eventually asked.

"This?" she asked. "You mean this entire thing that was originally my idea?"

The look on Mr. Alton's face told her that he was in no mood to get into that argument then. He sank into his seat and sighed.

"Never mind," he murmured.

Isabella was inclined to leave it there, but without knowing it he had given her a gift that afternoon. He had shown her a fun evening and allowed her to do something that she'd never done before, and might never have done if it weren't for him.

"I mentioned before that I read a lot," she started. "Most of what I read is adventure stories. I envy the characters in my books and the lives they lead. That is a reality that could never be mine. I guess taking on this task of finding a gunman is the closest thing I can get to a real adventure."

Her vulnerability had taken her by surprise. She wasn't the kind of woman to speak so openly with people. She wished, for a brief moment, that she could take the words back. She could see the pity in his eyes already.

There were so many things that had filled her mind for years, and she had never said them out loud. She wasn't sure she wanted to. Saying it out loud made it all too real.

"That's interesting," Mr. Alton said. "You seem comfortable with me in this carriage alone. That's quite a risk for a woman. If this was found out, it could ruin your reputation."

Isabella fixed a stray strand of her hair, tucking it back. There was something comforting about the carriage as it rocked over the bumpy roads. It was a small space, and it felt as if they were tucked away from the world.

"I'm too old to worry about such risks," she said plainly. The words felt like poison on her tongue, but they were true. If she wanted Mr. Alton to keep allowing her to help him, she needed to make sure he could trust her. Trust was something that went both ways.

"My reputation no longer matters," she continued. "I'm not dim, you know. I understand what it means to be my age and unmarried. I'm past the point of worrying about such things."

"A reputation always matters," Mr. Alton argued.

That was the typical thought process of a man in her experience. Their lives and the expectation on them were so different that they just simply didn't understand it at all.

"I'm no fool," Isabella continued. She made sure to smile so that he knew she was all right. "At this age, I've become undesirable. I might as well cut the concern for it and do what I please."

Despite her smile, she saw more pity in his eyes. He looked at her differently, which was what she had hoped to avoid. She knew what was going through his mind. He thought she was too different from the rest, too eager to be out in the world instead of being a good, agreeable wife.

She cast her eyes out the window. Isabella couldn't stand the look on his face any longer.

"I think you're desirable," he said.

It wasn't a mumble or an afterthought. Rather, it seemed as if it had slipped out. When she glanced back at him, he seemed bashful.

Her cheeks flushed as she pushed away her rising smile. She didn't want him to know that he'd paid her the greatest compliment she'd ever received, and she wasn't sure why she wanted to hide it. She worried about what he might think of her.

An awkward silence fell between them then, one that felt tangible on the air. She wondered then just how much of a good idea it was to be in a carriage alone with him.

"You said earlier that you trust me," Mr. Alton said, breaking the silence.

"Yes."

He cocked his head. "Why? I know you said there is a lack of reason, but that just can't be true. So, what is the reason then?"

Isabella smiled. "You threw yourself in front of a bullet to save a man," she explained. "I don't think I've ever seen such a sign of trustworthiness before. If I can't trust a man like you, who can I trust?"

Mr. Alton grinned, and it set something alight inside of her. It was as if the air in the carriage warmed then and the rest of the world fell away. It felt as though something shifted inside her. Perhaps it was his words, or the way his smile made her feel, but for the first time in months she truly felt desirable.

As if she still had something to offer the world.

She felt then as if she could still blossom into something more than what the world expected of her. It was an exciting thought, and it filled her with some sense of pride. None of which was what she had expected to find that day.

Finally, the carriage started to slow and Mr. Alton checked that his clothes were still neat.

"Are you ready for our next act?" he asked.

"Absolutely," she answered. "Hopefully, this time, we'll get something useful."

When she stepped out of the carriage she saw that they were somewhere in East London. She took a look around and found the sign of the establishment.

"The Rusty Dagger," she read it out loud. "You really know how to show a lady a good time."

"If you don't like my methods, then you should never have married me, Mrs. Milburn," he teased as he moved to open the door for her.

The Rusty Dagger was different to the Bounty Inn. The area was quieter than the docks. It was a small hole in the wall with a few stragglers enjoying a drink. It was certainly not as cheerful as the place they had been before.

There was no excited laughter and chatter. Rather, the tables were quiet, and the people seemed dismal. Isabella looked around the space, and an idea came to her. It felt a little as if she'd stepped into one of her favorite books.

"I have an idea," she said.

Mr. Alton leaned in closer so that he could hear what she had to say. He smelled of cedar and it only sparked her desire for adventure even more.

"What is it?" he said quietly.

"In places like these, there is always one man who hears everything being discussed," she said. "This crowd doesn't seem particularly chatty to me."

He looked around and nodded in agreement.

"We need to speak with the barkeep," she said. "Find out what he knows."

Mr. Alton clenched his jaw. "I thought we'd speak to the patrons. We don't want to draw attention by speaking with the staff directly."

She had not expected him to be so easily bothered by a change of plan. Then she wondered if it was just because she was a woman and he had hoped to take the lead in their team.

"It's our best choice, and you know it," she snapped.

"Keep your voice down. We're supposed to be a happy couple, remember?"

Isabella straightened her back. "Then perhaps you could try and be a little more supportive, honey," she argued.

Mr. Alton's face stiffened. " Fine . We'll try your idea for a little while and if it doesn't work then we're sticking to the original plan."

The barkeep was a grizzly man with a long beard and a large physique. He towered over the bar as he leaned with his hands on the bar.

"I'm Bartholomew. Welcome to my pub. Now, what will it be for you?" he asked, seeming entirely uninterested in them at all.

"Brandy," Mr. Alton said.

Isabella nodded that she'd like one as well. Bartholomew shuffled over to the other end of the bar and poured them their drinks. He slid them across the bar at them.

"I haven't seen you in here before," Bartholomew said. "Are you new to the area?"

"Newlyweds," Mr. Alton said. "Taking a look at your beautiful city."

"Ah," Bartholomew said. "You chose the wrong end of the city. Let that be my advice to you."

To Isabella, the conversation was off to a good start. The fact that he noticed they were not regulars there meant that he knew most people who came through there. That meant he definitely had some information.

"We've chosen an interesting time, too, haven't we?" Isabella said. "Everywhere we go, they're talking about this assassination attempt on the duke."

"Word is spreading that fast?" Bartholomew asked. "People talk too much."

Mr. Alton glanced toward her. He still didn't seem entirely convinced by her plan, but she knew it would work. They just needed to make sure the conversation went in the right direction.

"Everyone has a theory, don't they?" she said, glancing at Mr. Alton. "We've heard some interesting ones. What's the best one you've heard?"

"I don't like to talk about such things," Bartholomew said, eyeing them closely.

"Fair enough," Isabella said. "How long were you in the military?"

Both Bartholomew and Mr. Alton were shocked at her question. They stared at her in disbelief.

"How did you know I was in the military?" Bartholomew asked.

"I know the signs," she said. "It's in the way you carry yourself. I married a soldier, after all." She motioned in Mr. Alton's direction. "I should know a soldier when I see one."

Bartholomew smiled then. "I joined the army as soon as I could. And I was a good soldier until I took a bullet to the shoulder. I'm afraid my injury was too severe to continue. So, I opened this place instead."

"It's a noble thing to do," Mr. Alton said. "There can never be enough good soldiers."

Bartholomew nodded. "I hadn't realized you were a military man."

Mr. Alton smiled. "I don't carry it as well as you do, I suppose."

Isabella knew she had him then. There was a connection, something that made them seem more trustworthy. Bartholomew poured himself a brandy then, saluting to the military and to Great Britain. Then he leaned in closer.

"I had some rough-looking blokes in here not too long ago," he said. "I'd never seen them before. They were talking about a sizeable payment to be sent to a certain someone if the job was well done."

Isabella leaned in, too. "Do you think it has to do with the duke?"

"I had the sense of something like that," Bartholomew answered. "I don't want to get too involved, but I don't like the idea of such dangerous people walking these streets. An assassination attempt like that one is sophisticated and complicated. It scares me."

Bartholomew couldn't give them much more than that, but it was more than they'd gotten before. As the pub started to fill up, they decided it was time to take their leave. They thanked Bartholomew and headed out to the carriage.

"Say it," Isabella pleaded as they closed the carriage door, safely inside.

Mr. Alton smirked. "You were right."

"Of course I was," she teased. "We didn't get much, but we got something. If the men met there before, they'll likely meet there again."

"That's what I was thinking, too," Mr. Alton said. "There is still much more clue-seeking to do. However, I think this has been an excellent start."

"And a fun one, too," Isabella added with a smile.

"You had fun, did you?"

"I did," she confessed.

She didn't know what the rest of their investigation had in store for her, but she was eager to find out.