Emilia jumped at the sudden sound of breaking glass, piercing her finger with the needle. Yelping, she sucked her finger and inspected the damage. There was a bit of blood, but she hadn’t ripped the skin. Why did needles have to be so sharp, anyway?
She could hear someone shouting close by, but it was muffled. Then Emilia heard a cry and a loud bang. What on earth was going on?
Putting her sewing aside, Emilia rose to her feet and hurried to the door. The downstairs maid was crossing the foyer from the drawing room. She slowed when she saw Emilia and bobbed a quick curtsy.
“Miss Hill.”
“Jenny. What’s going on? Has someone dropped something?”
Jenny hesitated and bit her lip. “Sort of, Miss Hill. It… it’s Mr. Christian.”
Emilia groaned. Of course, it had to be her Uncle Christian. He must be drinking again; it was always the time when things got incredibly noisy in the house. The man liked to throw things around. Her father had told Emilia just to ignore him and carry on, but Emilia argued that Christian’s drinking was getting out of hand. It was a miracle they had anything of value left since Christian came back into their lives.
“Where is he now?”
“In your father’s study.”
“What?” Emilia stared at the other woman. “He knows he’s not supposed to be in there. Father’s not home.”
“Roberts tried to tell him, but he got a fist waved in his face.” Jenny shrugged. “We don’t argue with Mr. Christian when he’s been drinking.”
Which meant everyone kept out of his way and Christian was allowed to run rampant. Emilia sighed and waved Jenny away.
“I’ll deal with him. Just make Roberts aware that I might need a couple of footmen to drag him to his room.”
Jenny’s eyes widened. “You’re going to tackle Mr. Christian?”
“Someone’s got to.” Emilia said as she strode down the hallway.
It had been six months since her uncle had turned up on their doorstep asking for a place to stay, and Jonathan Hill, being the kind-hearted man that he was, had allowed his youngest brother to move in. Which meant bringing in his money problems and drinking habits as well. Emilia hadn’t seen her uncle in three years since he moved to Ireland after claiming he was going to start up a business. That hadn’t happened, and now he was being a waster in their home.
Her father had argued with her that Christian needed guidance, that he was young. Emilia had pointed out that she was only five years Christian’s junior and she could keep herself in control. She guessed it had to do with the fact Christian was born late in his parents’ marriage, a good fifteen years after the last child. He was given far too much leeway, and it resulted in everyone seeming to enable his behaviour. And Christian knew it. He played on it.
The only one who didn’t let him get away with it was Emilia. She was not going to stand for her family to be disrupted by a wastrel who gave nothing to the family. Christian didn’t like it and they were consistently butting heads. Her father despaired at the two of them, but Emilia knew that he wouldn’t stand up to his little brother. It was like dealing with a little boy instead of a thirty-year-old man.
Her father’s study was at the back of the house, overlooking the gardens. They had inherited the house from her grandfather, the Earl of March’s, estate. Her father, Jonathan Hill was a gentleman and he was treated as such. As the second-eldest son of an Earl, he was not particularly in the line to inherit the title, but her father never seemed to be too bothered. He was content as he was.
Emilia wished she could be laidback and calm like her father, but her fiery persona got in the way. She wasn’t one to sit back and let things happen, especially not when she saw an injustice.
She headed into the study without knocking. Christian was sitting on the couch by the empty fireplace, a glass full to the brim with an orange-coloured liquid. He had taken his jacket off and it was on the floor near the door, his cravat tossed almost into the hearth with the buttons on his shirt undone. His shoes were strewn around the room, one under the couch and the other near her father’s desk. He was staring into the hearth, and Emilia could see the glass littering the floor. How many glasses had he broken?
“Uncle Christian?”
Christian looked up, his glazed eyes meeting hers. “Emilia. I didn’t realize you were home. You’re normally on one of your walks.”
“I had some sewing to do.” Emilia strode across the room. “What’s going on? I can hear you throwing things from the other side of the house. And why are you in Father’s study? You know he doesn’t like it when you’re in here.”
Christian grunted and raised the glass to his lips. “He won’t have to worry about that now.”
“What are you talking about?”
Christian downed his drink in one go, lowering the glass and running a hand through his hair. When he looked up again, Emilia saw how red his eyes were, and that he had been crying. Now she was nervous. Christian never cried. He was an angry man. Tears weren’t part of his emotional makeup. He also looked like he had aged ten years in less than a day.
“Your father…he’s dead.”
She stared at him in stunned silence. Emilia didn’t think she had heard him correctly.
“What…he’s dead? How is that possible? You must be mistaken.”
“I’m afraid it is possible. I received word this morning.” Christian hung his head. “He was found in an alleyway a short while before dawn.”
Her father was dead? The words floated around her, but they were refusing to sink in. Emilia tried to grasp at them, but they kept moving out of reach. She counted to five, staring at her uncle willing him say something that made sense. But he said nothing and so the words just hung heavy in the air.
With a crinkly to her brow, Emilia said, “I never heard anyone come in this morning.”
“They didn’t want to announce themselves. Roberts got me and I met with the constable. He…” Christian rubbed a hand over his face. “Your father, he…he had several head injuries. His skull…let’s put it this way, his head was bashed in.”
Emilia’s ears were starting to ring. She felt the room sway around her. And then it tilted. She staggered, grabbing onto a chair to stop herself from falling. Christian shot off his seat and hurried to her, catching her as Emilia collapsed.
“Whoa, Emilia, steady there.” He eased her into the chair and knelt before her. “I didn’t know how else to tell you.”
“Not like that!”
Emilia could feel her chest tightening. She was going to start hyperventilating in a moment. She swallowed hard and counted to ten. And then again. And once more. Her father was dead. It couldn’t be possible, could it? He often went out early in the morning, and Emilia was sure she heard him come home the night before. This had to be a mean trick.
“Are they sure it’s him?”
“They are. He was wearing the family ring.”
The ring he never took off. Emilia felt her throat closing up and swallowed hard. It didn’t help.
“Was…was it a mugging?”
“The constable believes it was, but…” Christian hesitated. “I think it was murder.”
“What?” Emilia stared at him. “Murder? Who would want to murder Father? He was a good man.”
Christian gave a lopsided shrug and rose to his feet. Glass crunched under his feet as he went to the fireplace and put the empty glass on the mantelpiece.
“You know what people will do when they’re giving out punishment. It can often go too far and then they panic.”
“What are you talking about?”
For a while, Emilia thought her uncle hadn’t heard her. Christian stood staring into the empty hearth. She sat up, the room tilting as she tried to rise to her feet. Emilia sat back down heavily.
“Uncle Christian, talk to me. What are you talking about?”
“I know who killed my brother. He’s said as much to my face before. And with his temper…” Christian turned, his reddened eyes locking with hers. “I never thought he would carry it out, though. I thought it was just talk to frighten us.”
“You’re not making any sense.”
“It was Thomas Andrews.” Christian blinked a few times and then looked away, rubbing his eyes hard. “He’s the one who runs Drake’s.”
Emilia knew about Drake’s. It was a gambling hall in Cambridge, a very popular place where many members of Society would go when they were at their country estates. Her father and Christian went to it on a regular basis, Christian more so. Emilia knew that both brothers were not very good, and they did get into debt, but her father always settled his quickly. He never let it get pushed to one side.
“Why would the owner of a gambling place murder Father? What would he gain from that?”
“Non-payment of debts.”
“But Father always paid his debts.”
Christian grunted. “He doesn’t always tell you everything, Emilia. Jonathan was in more debt than you realize. And he refused to accept it until Andrews addressed it. Andrews threatened to do some damage to him if he didn’t pay it last night. Now look what’s happened.”
Thomas Andrews. Her father’s murderer. Even as that sank in, Emilia could feel a part of her fighting that logic.
“A gambling owner wouldn’t murder someone who owes them money.”
“You don’t know Thomas Andrews.” Christian said darkly. “He’s a very vindictive, hot-tempered man. He’ll do anything to get his own way, and he’s always close to snapping.”
“But to murder a man because of an unpaid debt…”
“Maybe it went too far, and Andrews panicked. That alley is often used for some of his clientele to sneak in and out.” Christian shook his head and ran his hands through his hair, making it stand up on end. “I warned Jonathan that we shouldn’t be going there as he scared everyone into submission, but Jonathan said he could handle it. He always thought he could handle it.” He began to shake, and then he started towards the door. “Excuse me, Emilia, but I… I need to be alone.”
Emilia stared after him as her uncle left, the door slamming behind him hard enough to make the vase on a nearby table topple off and smash to pieces on the floor.
#
“Come on, Father!” the girl on the back of the yellow gelding called as they waited at the top of the hill. “I swear you and Midnight are getting slower every day!”
Thomas rolled his eyes as he guided his stallion up the incline. Anna was far too lively at this time of the morning. He would prefer to be still in bed trying to catch up on the sleep he wanted. But Anna was an early-morning person and she always wanted to go riding, and with no chaperone Thomas had to go with her.
He didn’t bother to hide a yawn as Midnight reached the top of the hill.
“Anna, we’ve been riding for over an hour now. Shouldn’t we be heading back now?”
His daughter laughed. God, looking at her was a lot like looking at her mother. Her blonde hair was wildly whipping about in the wind, refusing to stay in the simple braid Anna had managed to do herself a short while ago. But her hair seemed to match her perfectly. She had such a lively spirit that made Thomas envious. He was getting too old to be so spritely, especially so early in the morning. It had to be the reason his dark hair was already going grey at the temples. Anna teased him about that, calling him an old man and pointing out the lines around his eyes. Thomas had simply argued that he wasn’t getting old, but he certainly would if Anna kept making him get up at the crack of dawn. He was not a morning person anymore.
Dark eyes that matched Thomas’ met his with sparkle and amusement.
“Stop complaining. It’s only riding!”
“Not everyone has your spirit.” Thomas yawned again. He needed his bed. “And certainly not at this time of the morning. Your father was up until two in the morning making sure everyone went home and nobody stole any money.”
Anna rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you let someone else do it? You can afford to.”
Because Thomas was not as trusting as his daughter thought. Anna and his mother Margaret were the only two people in his life that he completely trusted. His brother and sister came close, but they were a little wobbly on being consistent. After so many betrayals by people close to him, he was very picky on who he let in. That included the people who worked at the business he had bought two years before.
It had been a moment of grief that had made Thomas decide to buy Drake’s from the previous owner, but he didn’t regret it. It made him feel like he had some purpose back in his life. Once his wife Olivia died, Thomas had felt lost. He didn’t know what to do. If it hadn’t been for Anna, he might have gone into a downward spiral. His daughter and his job kept him going.
Thomas needed it some days. Even if his patrons drove him mad with their tantrums regarding paying up their debts. Thomas had no time for whining from grown men.
He nudged his horse into motion as Anna started trotting her gelding Ada away. Why did he have to have a child who was so awake and lively before the sun came up? The sun had come over the horizon completely a short while ago, the morning still pretty chilly. It was bracing, but not enough to wake Thomas up completely.
He would be quite happy to stay in bed and sleep until a more reasonable time.
If only he could find a governess for Anna. She was twelve. She needed one. Thomas couldn’t teach her the lessons himself. But he was lucky if he kept hold of a governess for more than a couple of months. They all seemed to be keen enough for the walk at first, but then suddenly they said they were leaving, and practically ran away with no real explanation. Thomas was confused as to why. Anna was outspoken, but she was nice to them. He never treated them badly, as far as Thomas was aware. He didn’t even interact with them much. So why were they so scared of him?
He would have to look farther afield. Maybe get his mother to interview them; she had a better sense of character than he did. He would trust her judgement when choosing someone to look after Anna.
“Father?”
“Hmm?”
Anna had slowed Ada to a stop, staring out across the fields in front of them. Thomas rode up beside her.
“What is it?”
“We’ve got company. Look.”
Anna pointed. Thomas squinted, and then he saw the two horses trotting along the path that they needed to take back to the house. One of the riders was a young man who looked terrified to be on the back of the horse. The other was a raven-haired woman, holding herself poised in the saddle as she cantered along the track.
Thomas groaned. Not her again. That woman just would not leave him alone. If they had been anywhere near where she lived, it might be perceived that she was out for a ride with a chaperone. But they were nowhere near her home, and Thomas knew exactly why she was here. This wouldn’t be the first time he and Anna had encountered the raven-haired woman on their early morning rides.
She just would not listen to the fact she was not welcome. Thomas could admire stubborn, at times, but this was something else. It made him want to scream.
“Shall we go a different way?” Anna asked.
“No, she’s already seen us, and she’ll just follow us.” Thomas glanced at his daughter as he urged his horse to keep moving, Anna’s horse falling into step beside him. “Just hold your tongue, Anna.”
“You’ve never been bothered before.”
“I’m not in the mood for another tantrum at this time of the morning. Lady Wilson’s shrieks will give me a headache for the rest of the day.” Thomas rubbed at his head. “My head is throbbing enough, as it is.”
“She gives me headaches for a week.” Anna grumbled. “You’d think the amount of times you’ve told her to go away she would take the hint.”
“Well, some women just won’t take no for an answer.” Thomas arched an eyebrow. “I know someone like that.”
“At least I know when I’m not wanted.”
There was that. Anna had more common sense than this grown woman Evelyn Wilson, who had got it into her head that she and Thomas were meant to be together. After having the suggestion poured into her ear, many years ago now, she had set her sights on Thomas. It was just a shame for her that Thomas already desired to marry Olivia Tinsdale, who had eventually become his wife.
But that didn’t stop Evelyn. She followed him around, not caring that her husbands were often present, and she was being completely shameless. Olivia had objected to Evelyn’s presence, which had resulted in a public argument where Olivia had served all acquaintance with the woman.
Evelyn completely ignored this, of course. Thomas had never known such tenacity in a woman. With her in particular, it was not a good quality.
A widow herself now. Two husbands and fifteen years later. She was still adamant that she and Thomas were fated to finally be a couple. Thomas couldn’t get his head around that. No other person he knew was this slow on the uptake.
He braced himself. Meeting Lady Evelyn Wilson this early in the morning when he was suffering from sleep deprivation was going to turn this into a bad day before the day had fully started.
Chapter Two
There was the rumbling of hooves, and then Evelyn drew alongside him. She gave him a bright smile, her eyes sparkling.
“Thomas! What a surprise to find you out here.”
“You know we go riding every morning, Lady Wilson,” Thomas said sharply. “And I don’t believe I permitted you to use my Christian name.”
“Come on, Thomas. How long have we known each other? Fifteen years?”
“You’re more than enough for fifteen minutes,” Anna snapped.
Thomas bit back a groan. He had hoped Anna would hold back her retorts, but Anna’s impulse control, when it came to speaking her mind, was not admirable. His daughter was fiercely protective, and she made no qualms about declaring who she did and didn’t like. Evelyn had come under fire many times over the years, especially since Olivia died. His darling wife had managed to keep their daughter somewhat tame.
Thomas wished he knew how to tame his daughter. He had no idea.
Evelyn’s smile froze as she glanced at Anna. Then she sniffed and turned to Thomas.
“Haven’t you taught her any discipline yet, Thomas? Women should not be so…brusque and allowed to get away with it.”
“And women should understand when they’re not wanted,” Anna shot back.
Thomas groaned and held up a hand. “Anna, please.” He looked back at Evelyn and said, “Kindly do not comment on my daughter, Lady Wilson, it is not your place. I’m the one raising my daughter.”
“I know.” Evelyn sighed. She sounded almost convincing. “Such a shame. I’m sure a governess would be able to curb her tongue.”
Anna snorted. “I’d like to see them try.”
Thomas glared at her. Then he turned to glower at Evelyn. Why did she like to target Anna to make the girl respond? Thomas wasn’t entirely sure what she was up to with regards to that. Did she think Thomas would send Anna away if she goaded the girl too much?
Thomas figured Evelyn didn’t like sharing him, although that left him bemused. He wasn’t about to be shared with anyone, least of all this woman.
It was getting really tiresome.
He glanced over his shoulder at the young man who had followed Evelyn. Probably one of her father’s footmen. He did not look happy to be here. Thomas straightened up in his saddle. At six-feet-five, even astride a horse he towered above everyone else.
“What do you want, Lady Wilson?”
“I was out for a ride and I saw you here.” Evelyn shrugged. “I thought I’d come and join you.”
“We were on our way home.” Thomas urged his horse into a slightly quicker trot. “Come on, Anna. I suggest you carry on your morning ride alone, Lady Wilson. Good day to you”
“Thomas…”
But Thomas had already cantered on ahead, Anna close beside him. They headed down the slope and both horses broke into a gallop. Evelyn was known to be uncomfortable riding at speed, hopefully, she wouldn’t follow them.
Others might call him callous and harsh for treating Evelyn in such a way, but they hadn’t been dealing with her for fifteen years.
They reached the trees and headed along a path weaving through the copse on the edge of Thomas’ estate. It wasn’t a large estate, but it was enough for him and Anna. Glancing behind him, Thomas couldn’t see Evelyn or her chaperone. Hopefully, they weren’t following him. They had a reprieve, for now.
“Honestly!” Anna huffed as she eased her horse into a walk. “Why is she so set on becoming Mrs. Andrews?”
“It’s the fault of my grandmother, I’m afraid.” Thomas sighed. “Back in our first Season, she was trying to pick out a wife for me.”
“She chose Lady Wilson?”
“I’m afraid so. She thought Lady Wilson would be perfect, and put it into the woman’s head, it was quite a thing to untangle myself from, but I was already known to favour your mother. Even after two marriages and my obvious dislike for her, Lady Wilson still thinks it can happen.”
There were days when Thomas cursed his grandmother, if he thought of her at all. The woman had been a busybody and a nightmare of a relative. Even his mother despaired at her. At least Thomas didn’t have Evelyn’s parents coming after him demanding that he made an honest woman out of Evelyn. They had diverted her to other men, more convenient and profitable marriages, and those men had died within a few years. Evelyn was considered an unlucky woman to marry now.
Thomas had no intention of becoming another dead husband.
“It’s such a shame.” Anna sighed.
“That wasn’t sarcasm, was it?”
“No.”
“Even if I did marry her, how would she be able to manage with you?” Thomas glanced at his daughter with a smirk. “I know you’d make it hard for her.”
“She would make it hard for me.” Anna declared affronted. “She would make you choose between us. If a woman actually loved you, she wouldn’t do that.”
“And in any case, there is no question about who I would choose.” Thomas leaned over and gently tugged his daughter’s locks. “You first and foremost.”
Anna giggled and swatted his hand away. “That’s why I love you, Father.” She kicked Ada into moving. “Race you!”
Before Thomas could respond, she was galloping off across the field. Shaking his head with a smile, Thomas set off after her.
#
“Miss Hill?”
Emilia looked up. Jenny was hovering in the doorway to her father’s study. The maid looked nervous. Emilia swallowed and retrieved her handkerchief. Her cheeks were wet, and her eyes were stinging. Jenny didn’t need to see this.
“Jenny.” Emilie dabbed at her eyes. “What is it?”
“Baron and Lady Chambers are here. They don’t have an appointment to visit, but I thought you might want to know.”
Charlotte. She was here. Emilia rose to her feet and squared her shoulders.
“Show them into the morning room, Jenny. I’ll be along in a moment.”
“Very well, Miss Hill.”
Jenny left. Emilia closed her eyes and took several slow deep breaths. Her father was dead. It had sunk in and hit Emilia in the gut. She felt lightheaded from her crying and her throat was sore. She felt like her breakfast was going to come back up. But Emilia knew no amount of crying was going to bring her father back. Any further crying was going to make her feel worse, so she needed to take a deep breath and step forward with this.
Even though she wanted to go to her room and curl up under the sheets and cry some more.
It took longer than she wanted to feel calm enough to leave Jonathan’s study, but Emilia managed. She had to look somewhat presentable. Looking distressed was understandable, given the situation, but Emilia didn’t think walking around looking like a bright-red tomato would look good.
Her uncle could cut harshly into her when he wanted to. He certainly had when Emilia got upset. Emilia had inherited her mother’s naturally pale skin, so it had a tendency to flare bright red when she was upset, or when she had been in the sun a little too long. Christian had also made comments that Emilia wasn’t a true member of the family because she didn’t look like any of them. Every member in her father’s family were tall and well-built with dark hair. Even the women were well-built. Emilia was a little over five feet tall and slightly built with a willowy figure. Her hair was ash-blonde and her eyes, her favourite feature, were bright green.
Christian wasn’t the only one who commented on her appearance – many of her father’s said the same, simply because Emilia looked like her mother’s side of the family instead of theirs – but his words cut the most.
Taking a deep breath, Emilia rose and crossed the room. Her legs felt weak and she could feel the tears building up again. Above her head, she could hear the sound of more breaking glass and things being thrown. Christian was going to break everything in the house if he kept up like this. Emilia could understand his despair, but did he have to break everything? She made a mental note to speak to Roberts about moving anything of real value out of sight. She didn’t want to lose anything more because of her uncle’s tantrums.
A tall, beautiful woman with golden blonde hair was pacing around in the morning room, her skirts swishing as she moved. Her companion, a tall, broad-shouldered man with pale red hair was sitting on one of the couches. The woman turned as Emilia entered. Her face was pale, and Emilia guessed she didn’t look any better.
“Charlotte.”
“Emilia.” Charlotte Chambers hurried across the room and tightly embraced her. “Oh, Emilia, dear. We had to come over as soon as we heard.”
“I’m glad you came.” Emilia stepped back, grasping her friend’s hands. “Thank you.”
“Anything for you, darling.” Charlotte bit her lip. “You have our most sincere condolences. I’m going to miss your father.”
“So am I.” Emilia looked around as Charlotte’s husband appeared at her side. “Peter.”
“Emilia.” Peter Chambers took her hand and kissed it briefly, squeezing her fingers. “This is a shock to everyone.”
Emilia wasn’t about to argue with that. She turned to the door and saw the butler hovering in the doorway.
“Would you get us some tea, Roberts?”
“Yes, Miss Hill.”
Roberts disappeared. Charlotte tugged Emilia to the couch and sat her down, easing down beside her and linking her fingers through Emilia’s. The two of them had been friends for more than twenty years, Charlotte having practically grown up on a neighbouring estate. Emilia couldn’t think of a more loyal, honest person than Charlotte. Even after her marriage to the dashing, somewhat socially awkward Peter Chambers, Charlotte was still a frequent visitor to Emilia’s home. Christian had complained about her constantly intruding, but Emilia had reminded him that he was a guest as much as Charlotte and didn’t have a say in who came to visit her. Thankfully, Jonathan had backed her up on that.
Give Christian half an inch and the man took a mile, she was sure of it.
“How are you holding up?” Charlotte asked. “Have you started on any of the arrangements? I mean…” Her face flushed. “I’ve not had to deal with a body before, I don’t…”
“I don’t know yet,” Emilia said quietly. “Uncle Christian says he’s got to meet with the coroner and the funeral director. He said he would deal with everything.”
If Emilia was brutally honest, she would rather have her father back. She shouldn’t be having to bury him, not when he had a lot of life in him. Jonathan Hill had been a healthy man and his physician had been optimistic in Jonathan living at least thirty more years. Emilia had thought that would be the case.
“I… I just can’t believe this.” Emilia stared at her hand joined with her friend’s. “Father’s never had a mean bone in his body. He never got into disputes with anyone. Except for Uncle Christian, of course, but other than that…” She swallowed. “He makes friends with everyone.”
“We know that.” Charlotte glanced up at Peter, who was standing over them. “Word has already got around that your father was found in an alley near Drake’s, that gambling hall on St. Mary’s Street. There are speculations as to what happened.”
Emilia stared. “Already? He was only found a few hours ago.”
“You know what Cambridge is like. Word gets around here and the surrounding area faster than anything would in London.”
There would be so many members of Society who would be coming up with their own thoughts on the murder and who might be responsible. Then those speculations turned into rumours and rumours had a nasty habit of becoming fact. Emilia hated the rumour mill. Jonathan said it was nothing to worry about and to ignore it.
Now he was dead, and it was going to be impossible to ignore.
“What are people saying about this?”
Charlotte hesitated. She glanced at her husband again, and Peter nodded. Emilia looked from one to the other.
“What? What do they say?”
“That your father got into an argument with Thomas Andrews and…” Charlotte took a deep breath. “Andrews lost his temper. He beat your father and lost control. Then he got rid of the body. Look, we shouldn’t be talking about this, Emilia. I don’t want to upset you.”
Emilia almost burst out into laughter. Not upset her. It was too late for that.
Jenny entered the room with the tea tray and placed it on the coffee table. She glanced over at Emilia with a nervous frown.
“Miss Hill?”
Emilia took a few deep breaths to push the hysteria back. It had been a few moments since Charlotte had told her the rumours and she was still struggling with wondering whether to laugh or cry. She had ended up doing a mixture of both, and that had resulted in Emilia sounding like a braying animal, breaking down even more than before. Charlotte and Peter had sat there, Charlotte awkwardly patting her hand while Peter looked like he would rather be anywhere else but with them right now.
“I’m fine, Jenny.” Emilia attempted a smile, but it didn’t work. “Thank you.”
Jenny didn’t look convinced, but she left. Charlotte shifted beside Emilia and reached for the teapot.
“I’ll pour out the tea.”
“Oh, Charlotte!” Emilia gasped. “I’m the hostess. I should be pouring the tea.”
“Oh, should you?” Charlotte arched an eyebrow at her friend. “Do you think you’ll be able to pour the tea when your hands are shaking as they are?”
Emilia looked down. She hadn’t realized that she was still trembling. Normally, she could keep her composure and hide it behind a facade. But this wasn’t exactly a situation that could be compared to anything else. How could anyone maintain composure after hearing someone they loved dearly was dead in suspicious circumstances?
Emilia tried to focus on something else. Anything else. Crying was not going to bring her father back. She had to concentrate on something different. Like anger. Anger Emilia could deal with. She could direct that to where it was needed. She knew just where to direct it.
Thomas Andrews. The man who was responsible for all of this. Emilia knew, deep down, that there was a chance that Andrews could be innocent in all of this, but his name kept coming up. Chances were, he was the last person to see her father alive. He had to have something to do with it. Emilia needed to focus on him. She needed answers.
She wanted answers. And from what Charlotte and Peter had just said about him, going straight up to Andrews and demanding the truth was not going to be easy. Andrews would straight-up deny that he had anything to do with it. From her experience, men were smooth-talking individuals when they wanted to be, and they were believed. Women were not so lucky; men could walk away from a scandal unscathed and leave the women to drown.
Charlotte finished pouring the tea and handed one cup to her husband. Then she passed one to Emilia.
“Here you go. Take it easy drinking from it.”
“All right.” Emilia’s hand trembled only slightly as she took a sip. She was glad that she didn’t tip it completely over on herself. She lowered her cup and put it back in the saucer. “How long has Mr. Andrews been running this place? Drake’s, did you say?”
“Just over two years,” Peter said. He had settled into the chair across from his wife, crossed his legs as he raised his cup to his lips. “Came straight out of mourning and bought the place.”
Mourning. So, the man was a widow. Emilia stored that away for later.
Charlotte picked up a biscuit from the tray. “Apparently, this isn’t the first time someone’s come under his wrath, but it’s the first…” She glanced at her husband, who gave her a slight frown. “It’s the first time someone’s died because of it.”
“Does he make a habit of attacking his patrons, then?”
“From what I’ve been told,” Charlotte said hurriedly, gesturing at Peter. “Peter’s mentioned some stories about Mr. Andrews, and they make me very nervous.”
Peter sighed. “My interactions with Mr. Andrews have been brief, but he’s treated me with respect. I keep to the rules that Drake’s has, so I don’t have any trouble.”
“But word gets around,” Charlotte protested. “You’ve told me so yourself.”
“It’s called gossip, darling. You shouldn’t take that as gospel.”
If it had been any other situation, Emilia would have said the same thing. But she had also learned that in among the gossip there was a sliver of truth. And so, she found herself leaning forward, focusing on the man across from her.
“Go on, Peter. What have you heard?”
Peter arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t think you listened to rumours, Emilia. You’re constantly saying that it should be taken lightly.”
“Just talk to me, Peter. I want to know.” Emilia glared at him. “What have you heard? Why have your stories about Mr. Andrews made Charlotte nervous? What’s he done for that to happen?
