Page 26 of The Chef and the Countess (The Duke’s Bastards #2)

William stood in the parlor, entertaining his guests: Mr. Silas Foster and his daughter Lynda. The girl, or rather, the young lady, impressed William. She sat straight, looked him in the eye, and answered his probing questions without hesitation or acting like a simpering girl. She would be perfect for keeping Troy in line. Lynda was solidly built, possessed a good shape, and was tall, perhaps only two or three inches shorter than his son’s six-foot height.

Troy had gone out. William had no idea where, but he took advantage of his son’s absence and invited the Fosters for early tea while instructing the footmen to pack Troy’s trunks and load them on the back of William’s Clarence carriage. He did not whitewash his son to the Fosters; in fact, he was entirely blunt, describing in detail Troy’s wayward behavior and wicked ways.

“We will soon bring him to heel, eh, Lynda?” Foster said. “Hard work will smash any of those notorious tendencies. I’d say starting as a furnace operator should sweat out all the evil within.”

Miss Lynda Foster glanced at Troy’s portrait on the opposite wall. “I will ensure he becomes as striking inside as he is outside. I do love a challenge.”

Baldwin stepped into the room. “My lord. If I may speak to you a moment?”

“Of course. Foster, Miss Lynda, help yourself to more biscuits and cakes. I shall return shortly.”

William lumbered into the hall, closing the parlor door behind him.

“The viscount has returned. He came in a hansom cab and entered through the rear door,” Baldwin murmured. “He looks somewhat shaken, my lord. He is upstairs.”

“Bring hot tea and more cakes to my guests. I am going to my son’s room.”

William used a cane today, for he suspected he was developing gout. Taking his time, he climbed the stairs. Stopping for a moment to catch his breath, he flung open the door to Troy’s room, finding him looking out the window, which faced the street.

“Watching for the coppers?” William asked.

Troy swung about, a worried look on his face. “If they ask, I’ve been here all morning.”

William’s insides twisted. “What have you done now, boy? Tell me, or I will hand you to the police myself!”

“I hired some dock rats to throw bricks through Hallahan’s restaurant windows. The blasted idiots were supposed to do it before the restaurant opened! They arrived late. The place was nearly full.”

Dear God! William fought to keep his temper in check. “And where were you during this chaotic scene?”

“I was in a hansom cab at the end of the street. Once I heard the screaming, I left.”

Screaming. Meaning injuries. “You gormless worm. Now you have really done it. You will have to leave. Immediately.”

Troy’s eyebrows furrowed. “What, the city?”

“The country, you blasted dolt! You are not the first aristocrat to flee England because of the law. It has been done for centuries. You’re lucky I have your escape route planned.”

“What do you mean?” Troy whispered.

“It means that you will be charged with multiple acts of assault and probably arson! It is not like the old days when aristocrats got away with all sorts. Times have changed. There is nothing I can do for you now. Our solicitor, Signet, says you will be charged with assault causing grievous bodily harm, which means up to sixteen years in prison. And if they can prove intent, it’s a bloody life sentence!” Perhaps William exaggerated slightly; Signet claimed that being an accessory after the fact brought a marginally lesser sentence.

Troy gasped. “No, that cannot be right.”

“It is! The solicitor would know! He says you will be sent to Newgate Prison. Why, the place is seven hundred years old. Numerous groups are lobbying to have the moldy, damp pile of stones torn down. Many men have died in there, coughing their lungs out. And there are many hardened criminals in Newgate. A pretty boy such as yourself would be fresh meat to them.”

“Father!” All the blood drained from Troy’s face. William had no choice but to be blunt. The situation was dire.

“Mr. Silas Foster and his daughter, Lynda, are downstairs. You will be leaving with them within the hour. Your trunks are already packed and loaded. You will catch a train to Liverpool, then take a Cunard ship to America. You’ll be there in a matter of days. The crossing takes no time at all thanks to steamers. Everything has been arranged.”

Troy’s eyebrows shot skyward. “America? Jesus, no.”

“I am not sending you to hell. Stop being so dramatic. Mr. Foster is wealthy and owns a profitable steel mill in Pennsylvania. It is there that you will marry his daughter. You will also go to work in the steel mill and earn a salary. I will continue your monthly stipend as long as you stay with Foster and marry Lynda. And get an heir off her. With frugality, you will be able to save a pretty penny. Behave yourself, and Foster will leave his fortune to his daughter and you. Provided there are children.”

An expression of utter horror covered Troy’s pale face. “You cannot be serious.”

William ignored him. “I would not recommend trying to run away. Foster’s associates here will watch you day and night. And don’t even think of doing a runner once you reach America. You will be penniless and never survive, as it is a wild place. Face it, you’ve gone too far. There is no escape except the path I have opened for you.”

Troy’s shoulders slumped. Perhaps at last, the gravity of the situation had sunk into his son’s selfish brain.

William patted him on the back. “Not all is doom and gloom. You may only need to be away for five years at most. It depends on how long it takes for things to calm down. You will be the earl someday. Then you can return with your wife and children and take your rightful place, hopefully, a more mature and humble man. But until then, you must hide. And you must leave within the hour.”

“A wife,” Troy murmured.

“A wife is better than a prison sentence,” William snapped.

“Not to me. You are doing this to save your own skin and your reputation in society. By banishing me, you are helping yourself.”

William sighed. “I will not deny a part of me wishes this for self-preservation, but damn it, boy, I love you, despite your many faults. I will not see you founder in a prison cell. You would not survive incarceration. We both know it.”

“I suppose not.”

“As to your future wife, Lynda Foster is a handsome young woman with a pleasing personality. She is better than you deserve. It’s time to grow up. Now, come downstairs and meet the Fosters, and then you must depart. I will try and stall the police. We can only hope they do not call the train back. They can do nothing once you are crossing the Atlantic Ocean. No son of mine will rot in prison, not while I still breathe!” William concluded dramatically.

Defeated, Troy nodded and followed William downstairs. Quick introductions were made, and William observed Lynda’s interest in Troy. To William’s surprise, Troy gave Lynda a thorough inspection. Did he see a spark of curiosity in his son’s eye? Perhaps he imagined it. Not that it mattered at this point.

It was time to leave. William shook his son’s hand. The Fosters and Troy climbed into the carriage and departed.

With an exhale, William returned to his study and sat at his desk for the longest time. An hour ticked by, then another. He would have to curtail his criminal activities for a while in case the coppers started sniffing about. Celia and Hallahan could easily set the police on him.

The sun sank lower in the sky as the afternoon rumbled onward. William knew within his ample guts that this would be his life from now on—sitting alone in a dark room. He had the distinct feeling that Etta would not return home anytime soon. He’d have to write her a heartfelt letter, laying before her all that had happened with Troy, and take his share of the blame for how their son had turned out. William would also have to beg her forgiveness regarding their treatment of Celia. He would also lay his heart bare, for he still loved Etta most desperately. It was on him that he’d allowed her to drift away. Life’s regrets had a habit of gnawing away at one’s soul in moments of deep reflection.

“My lord. Detective Sergeant Morrisey to see you,” Baldwin announced, pulling William from his tortured thoughts.

Morrisey entered with two uniformed police officers. “Where is your son, my lord?”

“Why do you want him?”

“I have a warrant for his arrest for numerous acts of accessory to assault under the Offences Against the Person Act of 1861. These acts were committed during the recent violent incident at the restaurant,” Morrisey explained.

“What assaults?”

William only half listened to Morrisey’s droning reply. He already knew all the parts of the act because Colin Signet, his solicitor, had explained how the police could charge Troy. All he knew was that the more he asked questions, the farther Troy traveled away from harm.

* * *

By four that afternoon, the staff was still laboring to clean the restaurant. Drew left shortly after the injured ladies were taken to St. Thomas’s Hospital. He told Celia he would see Reverend Wilton later that afternoon and come by tomorrow with any possible plans for their nuptials.

“Fiona!” Liam called as they finished scrubbing the restaurant floor. “Time for another meal. Let’s finish off the toff food.”

“Aye, Liam.” Fiona took Bruce’s arm and led him toward the kitchen, and the remaining staff followed.

Celia turned toward Paul Tyler. “You have worked very hard today. Will you stay for another meal?”

“Gladly, miss. I’ve never eaten so well.”

Liam came to stand beside Celia, resting his hand on her shoulder. The fact that Liam openly showed his affection pleased Celia immensely, but it also had her heart skipping a few beats. She felt his hand, warm and reassuring, on her shoulder.

“Do you have a place to live?” Liam asked Paul.

“Aye, sir. It’s not far from here. I live with my sister.”

“Come at eight tomorrow morning, and we will discuss your wages and duties. It will be long hours, but meals are included.”

Paul Tyler beamed. “Thank you, sir—and miss.”

“We use first names here, Paul. We are Liam and Celia,” Celia smiled. “Go and assist in the kitchen. We will be along directly.”

Paul touched his forelock and jogged toward the kitchen, disappearing through the swinging door.

Celia turned to face Liam, slipping her arms around his waist. “You made a wise choice hiring that young man,” she said.

Liam smiled and kissed her on the nose. “I learned from Walter that it’s always smart to have a handsome lad waiting tables as it will draw in the lady customers. I may use Paul for that eventually. We’ll see how it goes.”

Celia laughed lightly. As Liam pulled her closer for a kiss, Bruce entered the room.

“Begging your pardon. Sergeant Morrisey wants a word.”

Liam rolled his eyes. “We’re always interrupted,” he murmured. More loudly, he said to Bruce, “Show him in.”

The detective strode through the door and stopped in front of them. “He’s gone.”

Liam’s smile vanished. “What?”

“You had best sit down,” Morrisey said gravely. The three of them slipped into a nearby booth. “By the time I took those men’s statements, crafted the police warrant, and presented it to a judge, Shinwell had disappeared.”

Liam scoffed. “Why am I not surprised?”

“The Earl of Darrington claims his son has left for America to marry a steel magnate’s daughter and will go to work in the man’s mill. We contacted the railway company, but Shinwell, Mr. Foster, and his daughter had already boarded a ship bound for America. There is nothing I can do. International waters and all that nonsense.”

“I cannot believe this, or maybe I can,” Celia fumed. “So he is to get away with the lot?”

“It depends what you mean, my lady. Darrington tells me his son will be laboring as a furnace operator in the mill. From what I’ve heard, that is a brutal job and probably worse than any hard labor he would have to do in prison. It’s cold comfort, I know. And I can tell when someone is lying to me. The earl was telling the truth about his son’s future.”

Liam banged the table with his fist. “Damn them all. What if he returns? Can we charge him then?”

“Although there is no official statute of limitations in Great Britain, many prosecutors do not like to charge a crime after several years have passed. For that certain charge, ‘accessory to assault’ falls under the Offence Against the Person Act. The most he would get is three years.”

“So that bloody pillock can swan back here and take his place in society like nothing ever happened?” Liam growled.

“Unfortunately. I wish I had better news, and I am sorry I couldn’t get to him sooner.”

“We know you tried, Sergeant,” Celia replied sympathetically. “I suppose, in a way, Shinwell is serving a sort of sentence.”

“You are too kind. Oh--” The sergeant reached into his coat pocket. “The earl asked me to give this to you.” He passed a thick envelope to Celia.

Celia ripped it open. Inside were numerous pound notes. “Money,” she gasped. “And a letter.”

“I will leave you to it,” Morrisey said as he slid along the bench seat to depart.

“No, please stay,” Celia said. “I’ll read it.”

Dear Niece,

I cannot begin to apologize enough for my conduct, or Troy’s behavior. I should have offered you a comfortable room from the start. Instead, I cossetted Troy’s shameful manner as I often did many times in the past. But I make no excuses. Perhaps in time, you will forgive my atrocious deeds.

Meanwhile, allow me to make amends the only way I know how. I have enclosed the total amount of Troy’s gambling debt along with the interest Mr. Hallahan requested. That fulfills my agreement with him. I have also included an additional 150 pounds for the anguish we have caused you, with another fifty for Mr. Hallahan for the damages caused by Troy’s shenanigans. If it is not enough, please get in touch with me, and I can provide more. Again, I sincerely apologize.

Uncle William

“Well, as you said, my lady, it is a sort of sentence. Monetary compensation is usually part of a guilty verdict where damage is concerned,” Morrisey said. Then he shook his head. “Shenanigans. Leave it to the upper classes to refer to crimes as such.”

“And what about my customers, especially the older ladies who had to be taken to the hospital?” Liam exclaimed.

Morrisey stood and placed his hat on his head. “My unofficial advice? Have the earl offer another settlement to those harmed. And ask for more than fifty pounds for damages. You can claim lost income for the restaurant and pub—trauma for your employees and customers. Threaten to sue him in civil court if he does not pay. That, in my book, is hitting him where it hurts.” Morrisey gave them a sly smile. “But you did not hear that from me.”

Liam stood and held out his hand. “Thank you for the wise advice.”

Morrisey took it and shook. “I wish I could have done more. Good day, Hallahan. My lady.”

Liam slid into the bench seat after Morrisey departed.

“Well,” Celia said, “This is quite the turn of events.”

“Am I shocked that an aristocrat fled the country to avoid lawful punishment? No. Am I surprised your uncle offered money to make things right? My cynical side sees it more as a payment to keep our mouths shut about his criminal life of smuggling and theft.”

“And it is a payment to remain quiet,” Celia sighed. “Honestly, I wish to put the entire sordid incident behind me. However, before we do, we should do as Morrisey suggested and threaten a civil suit. There are the ladies injured, the loss of income, and the stress for everyone.”

Liam took her hand. “I will go along with whatever you decide.”

“Let me think about it. Meanwhile--” Celia jumped to her feet, bringing Liam with her. “Come with me.”

She hurried through the kitchen into the staff dining room. When Celia burst through the door, all eyes turned to her. “We are getting married!” she cried joyfully.

Everyone clapped and came to their feet, smiling and offering sincere congratulations. Many hugs were given. Most of all, what warmed Celia’s heart was seeing Liam smile and openly accept the cheers of goodwill. The walls were down, and he had opened his heart at last.

That solidified Celia’s happiness and hope for the future even more.