Page 25 of A Reckless Courtship (A Chronicle of Misadventures #3)

25

SILAS

“ N othing from Miss Easton?” Frederick asked as Silas watched him tie his cravat.

“No.” He’d not had a word from her since their tense exchange at Aunt Eugenia’s, days ago, and he was not fool enough to think that boded well for him. And yet, there had been no visits by the constable, indicating she had not told her father of his presence in Town.

It was puzzling, to say the least.

Frederick adjusted the knot at his throat, then turned toward Silas. “No news may be good news.”

“Perhaps,” Silas said doubtfully. Anything short of Arabella forgiving him and Drayton taking the blame for his actions would not seem good .

Frederick pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time.

“Time to go?” Silas asked.

Frederick, Drake, and Fairchild were attending a lecture that evening.

Explaining why Silas insisted on remaining at the townhouse each night rather than joining them had become a difficult task, and he was running out of excuses. One could only have so many headaches and urgent letters to write, after all, particularly when one had no correspondents.

“I have a few minutes,” Frederick said. “You know how long Drake takes to dress.”

“Everyone but Drake knows how long Drake takes to dress,” Silas retorted.

There was a knock on the door, and Frederick went to open it. A servant stood there, but his gaze shifted past Frederick and landed upon Silas.

“This was just delivered for you.” He held out a parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.

Frederick reached for it, but the servant withdrew it from reach. “Forgive me, sir,” he said with sincere apology, “but I was given very particular instructions to place it directly into Mr. Hayes’s care.”

Silas rose with a puzzled brow and went over to receive it. “Thank you.”

The servant bowed and left, and Silas stared down at the package.

“What in heaven’s name is it?” Frederick asked.

Silas did not respond, for he had an idea, but he was too afraid to give voice to it. He turned over the package, but there was no note or writing to provide a clue as to who had sent it.

He strode over to Frederick’s dressing table and set it down, then pulled at the bow and began unwrapping it.

Between the first and second layer of paper laid a small note. He picked it up, but his eyes had already devoured the message.

Forgive me for ever doubting you,

A

Silas tore the second layer of paper away, and just as he had hoped and suspected, a leather ledgerbook sat beneath it.

“Is that...?” Frederick asked.

Silas nodded and picked it up reverently, his heart pounding like war drums. He opened the ledger as Frederick stepped up beside him to watch.

Silas’s eyes and finger ran over the entries hungrily, and his heart threatened to leap from his chest at the sight of the first entry for Seamark Trading.

“There,” he said, pointing at it.

“By Jove,” Frederick said with awe.

“And there again,” Silas said, indicating another instance.

The more they looked, the more they found. Tangible, physical proof that Drayton had been working in secret to undercut his own investments with their main competitor—the competitor with whom he had later gone into business.

“It is enough, isn’t it?” Frederick asked, his voice full of restrained energy.

“It is more than I had even hoped for,” Silas said, his heart racing with anticipation.

Frederick grasped him by the shoulders excitedly, then pulled him into his arms.

Silas responded with gusto, only to draw back suddenly. “Careful!” He pulled the ledger book from being crushed by their exuberance and set it aside.

Frederick laughed at him, and Silas’s heart was so full of joy he couldn’t help but join, and they were soon embracing again.

“What do we do now?” Frederick asked once their laughter had subsided.

“Protect it with our lives,” Silas said, running a hand over the soft cover. The truth, however, was that he had been so focused on obtaining the evidence that he had not truly thought through what precisely he would do with it once he had it.

It needed to be brought to light—and by someone they could trust, someone who was not in Drayton’s pocket and might be tempted to alert him or even destroy the evidence to stay in his good graces.

“William will know what to do,” Frederick said.

Silas nodded, flipping through the pages again to see the entries, as though perhaps he had imagined them before. But they were still there.

“William is the only person I would trust with this. And Bence, perhaps. The information here will ruin Drayton, Freddie. Once its contents are known, the people he has been blackmailing—half of London, from what Bence says—will be able to come forward, as well. It will finish him.”

He gave a little sigh. “Poor Miss Easton.”

Silas’s gaze shot to his. “What do you mean?”

Frederick shrugged. “If what you say is true, it is not only Drayton who will be ruined. His family will be disgraced.”

Silas stared at his brother, his thoughts racing.

How had he never considered what his own freedom would mean for Arabella? How had he been so single-minded to neglect considering what her father’s downfall would mean for her or her sisters?

“Silas,” Frederick said, a warning in his voice, as though he was following the train of his unspoken thoughts.

Silas did not respond.

Frederick took him by the arms and rattled him. “Silas, you cannot throw away your chance at freedom. You are innocent ! Drayton is guilty. Justice requires that he pay for what he did.”

“And what does justice require of Arabella? That she be sacrificed for something she had no hand in? Is my innocence, my liberty, my future of more value than hers?”

Frederick had no response for this, but he shook his head in frustration. “What do you mean to do?”

That was the question, indeed.

The one thing Silas knew for certain was that he needed to return the ledger to Arabella, and he needed to do it in person. How he could arrange for such a thing was less evident. But there was one option.

“You think I have nothing better to do than arrange clandestine visits?” Aunt Eugenia barked.

Silas opened his mouth, intending to placate her, but she interrupted him unceremoniously.

“Because I don’t,” she said. “Leave it to me. I will summon you when it is arranged.”

Silas smiled, took her by the hand, and kissed the back of it.

She yanked her hand away. “Save that for the Easton girl.”

This had the effect of wiping the smile from his face, for there was no prospect of sharing any such intimacy with Arabella. Both of them knew now that anything between them was an impossibility.

The best he could do was to assure her he had no intention of turning her life on its head in his quest for justice.

Just what he did intend was less clear, for he could not live in hiding forever.

Perhaps he could assume a new identity and move to Bath or Brighton or somewhere Lord Drayton was unlikely to venture. It was not a particularly happy prospect, but he was not convinced that a future without Arabella contained any happiness, whatever the circumstances.

Silas’s heart thudded with force as he opened a note from Aunt Eugenia just before five o’clock.

A meeting here is impossible. Her father is keeping her home like a prisoner. He has plans to return her to their estate in Staffordshire soon.

Naturally, this has only increased my determination. He shan’t win. Miss Fairchild and I are in contact and will find a way.

Await word from me.

Aunt Eugenia

Silas didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Drayton was keeping Arabella like a prisoner? And he meant to send her home?

The words brought a sort of panic in their wake.

And yet, he knew his aunt and he knew Miss Fairchild. They would, indeed, find a way.

He had been pacing for nearly an hour in his bedchamber, wishing Aunt Eugenia had specified what soon meant so he would know when exactly Drayton meant to send Arabella home, when a servant brought another note.

He tore it open and looked over the exceptionally brief note in Aunt Eugenia’s script.

Vauxhall. Ten o’clock. Entrance to Dark Walks by the Chinese Pavilion.

Silas’s brows snapped together. They had set up a meeting at Vauxhall? How in heaven’s name would Arabella manage to visit a place like that when her father would not even allow her to visit Aunt Eugenia?

He pulled out his pocket watch.

Half-past eight. It was just enough time.