Chapter 37

CHAPTER 37

T he day of the ball had arrived quicker than Edwin had anticipated. As he stood in front of the large mirror in his chamber and examined himself, he took a deep breath.

“You look troubled,” Martin noted.

The Marquess was in his finest attire as well, wearing a suit and his hair slicked back. He played with his top hat, turning it over in his hands, his fingers sliding along the velvet.

“I am worried that Peter and Thomas are not sufficiently prepared. They have had about a week.”

“Believe me,” Martin said, “that is all they needed. They are the best.”

He ought to know, since he was the one who had contacted the Jenkins brothers.

“You are quite certain. This might be our only chance. I do not know when I might have the opportunity to sneak back into my father-in-law’s house.”

“They are the best of the best,” Martin repeated. “My cousin Doncaster recommended them. He used their services when he sought to prove his brother was misappropriating funds. And of course, you know my fencing partner, Sir Marcus? He used their services once to prove that the young lady he was courting was having an affair with another man. The Jenkins are the very best. I have heard that the Bow Street Runners have attempted to recruit them, but they have not been interested. It is not lucrative for them.”

“Yes, I imagine so,” Edwin muttered. “They certainly charge quite the sum.”

“Worth every single guinea,” Martin said.

Edwin waved his hand. “Very well. So, it is all arranged? We will meet them there?”

“Yes. They will have the invitations sent to my cousins, Henry Stanton and Dean Fitzwilliam. That will allow them entry. My cousins are from Ireland—nobody will recognize them.”

“Save for the accent,” Edwin pointed out.

“You are not paying a small fortune for amateurs,” Martin insisted.

“Very well. Once they are in, it will be easy enough for them to investigate. I believe they said they intend to question the servants,” Edwin said.

Martin nodded. “Worcester is highly unpopular, even with his own staff. Somebody will certainly reveal something.” But then he paused and tilted his head. “What if your lovely wife… Does she suspect that you’re still investigating her father?”

“I do not think so. Although I feel terrible about it. She worries about me. I told you that she has similar attacks to the ones my mother used to have.”

“Panic attacks? Yes, I remember.”

“Her condition had improved, but of late, the attacks have returned. I have tried my best to comfort her, to keep her company?—”

“Dreadful chore, I am certain.” Martin chuckled. “Having to spend time with a beautiful woman.”

Edwin smiled. “It is true that I enjoy her company. At the same time, it makes this so much harder. I truly care for her. I… I truly feel that she and I… We could be real. Our marriage could be real, if not for all the secrets.”

“Your secrets, you mean?” Martin said gently. “Unless you think she is keeping something from you.”

“Hanna? Never. I do not doubt that her father was using her as a pawn to deliver those forged letters to me, but I think that is all. There is not a duplicitous vein in her body. I am sure of that. I, on the other hand, have lied to her and kept a great many secrets. I am ashamed of myself. Truly, I am.”

“You can confess everything to her once you have the evidence that Worcester was responsible for the mismanagement of the funds. Once you know that he drove your brother into his grave…”

Edwin closed his eyes. “Do you know, dear friend, there is a part of me that almost wishes that the letters were real. That I was wrong about Benjamin. That he had done all of these awful things. I could’ve believed that perhaps he was so ashamed of himself, that he crashed his curricle on purpose, killing himself and Cecilia. It would make things easier. I would have to live with the shame of what he had done, and I would have to live with the fact that many people would continue to believe that I played a part in his death, but the wondering… the doubt… all of it would’ve been over.”

“The Jenkins are certain the letters are forgeries?”

“Yes. I saw them not two days ago, and they found the forger. A man in St. Giles. He admitted to forging these letters for Worcester months ago. Worcester must’ve had them done as a precaution. An insurance of sorts. The Jenkins are planning to find the originals, although it will be difficult. We will have to make sure that Worcester is distracted.”

“I suppose that is where your wife could come in handy, since she is his daughter.”

“I would rather not use her again. Not if I don’t have to.”

“Well, you may not have a choice.”

“I suppose you’re right. I would rather not, but if I must, then I must. I’ve gone this far, what is one more betrayal?” Edwin asked miserably.

He straightened his burgundy waistcoat, smoothed down his jacket, and placed his top hat on his head.

“Shall we?”