“Please do.” Knowing it was unlikely he bore any glad tidings, I wanted to speak with him without Ivy. “Davis, ask Mrs. Brandon to wait for me in the library when she’s finished her breakfast. The duke and I will come to her as soon as we can.”

I had never before given much thought to the drawing room at Berkeley Square, but as I walked into it today, its warmth struck me. Walls draped in red silk, Venetian marble mantel framing a blazing fire, chairs meant to be comfortable, their curved backs and soft leather like a gentle embrace. Despite its palatial proportions, it felt like a snug, welcoming home. The precise opposite of Beaumont Towers. Jeremy was idly slouching in a seat near the fireplace, but leapt to his feet when he saw me.

“I can’t remember the last time you received me in a drawing room. You treat me more like a favored suitor with every passing day.”

“You’re a dreadful flirt and know perfectly well that the way to my heart is through my library. The drawing room is a vapid and soulless place.” I smiled as he kissed my hand.

“Soulless. Perfect for me.” He sat down. “I’ve just come from Newgate.”

“Newgate?” There was not a person in England unaware of the horrors associated with London’s most notorious prison. “Of course. That’s where they would have taken Robert.”

“I’ve just visited him. He asked if you would come to him.”

“Of course. I’ll get Ivy at once.”

“No. He doesn’t want her to see him in his present circumstances. He was very clear on this point.”


Jeremy insisted on accompanying me to the prison, and I was grateful for this. The drive, filled with nervous discomfort, seemed to stretch to eternity. My stomach was uneasy, and I couldn’t keep my hands still. When at last we arrived, I was horrified to find Newgate more appalling than I could have imagined. Whitewashed walls did nothing to hide the filth and stench that filled the place. Jeremy spoke to the warden near the entrance and in short order convinced him to have Robert brought to me.

“I don’t like giving prisoners special privileges, Your Grace.”

“It’s not for him, sir, it’s for her. Do you really expect her to go all the way inside?”

The warden looked at me through narrowed eyes and grunted. “Very well. Wait here.” This was one moment where I did not object to being treated like a lady; I had little desire to see firsthand just how awful the depths of the prison would be. He returned ten minutes later and led us up a maze of stairs to a small office. “You may speak to Mr. Brandon for ten minutes, but I will have to remain in the room with you.” He unlocked the door and swung it open.

Robert was standing with his back to us, facing windows that looked out on the Old Bailey, where his trial would take place. The buildings of the prison and London’s Central Criminal Court were joined by a series of dismal passages; I wondered if Robert was considering what it would be like when he was led through them to face his prosecutors. The warden locked the door after he’d closed it behind us and returned the key to his pocket. It was an odd feeling to know that I could not leave the room without his assistance.

I crossed the room to Robert, who was still staring out the window, despite the fact that he must have heard us enter, and spoke to him in a low voice. “It would be ridiculous to ask if you’re all right, but I don’t know where else to begin.”

He turned to me, his face drawn and pale, dark smudges beneath vacant, frightened eyes. “I’m relieved that you’re not fluent in the language of conversing with prisoners. If you were, I’d have to forbid Ivy from speaking to you.” He nodded at Jeremy, who was hanging back near the warden.

“I’m a bad enough influence as it is,” I said.

“I know that you and I have not always agreed when it comes to subjects on which you hold firm opinions. I’m a traditional man, Emily. I believe there is a natural order to things, and that, as a gentleman, one of my primary responsibilities is to shield ladies from the uglier sides of life.”

“It is sometimes better to see the truth.”

“Not necessarily.” He glanced towards the warden, who had sat on a chair and was pretending to be engrossed in a newspaper as Jeremy looked over his shoulder. “But at present, I find myself in the unhappy position of having no one to whom I can turn other than you.”

“How can they believe you killed Lord Fortescue?” I whispered.

“They’ve no other reasonable suspect.”

“At least half the population of England is rejoicing to see him dead,” I said, careful to keep my voice low. “And you don’t stand to benefit from the death of your mentor. Why would you have killed him?”

“He publicly insulted me in a manner certain to destroy any hopes I’d have of a political life. It’s well known that I’m an excellent shot and would have had no difficulty in carrying out the murder.”

“Perhaps not the technical aspects of it, but I know you’re not capable of killing a man.”

“But I am, Emily. I have,” he whispered.

I was stunned. “But…surely not…”

“No, not Fortescue. It was ages ago. A duel.”

“A duel?” I could not image mild-mannered Robert agreeing to duel.

“Ivy does not know this, of course, and you are not to tell her. It would only cause her further anxiety.”

“I don’t see that it matters regardless. You didn’t kill Fortescue.”

“No. But the gun used to kill him was a dueling pistol.”

“I don’t understand why this matters,” I said, frowning.

“Fortescue knew about the duel and has a file that proves my involvement.”

“Why would he want such a thing?”

“To hold over me, Emily.”

“Hardly seems like grounds for blackmail,” I said. “Repugnant though it is, dueling is still considered by some gentlemen an honorable activity.”

“Not for cabinet ministers.” He stared out the window. “But that’s out of the realm of possibility for me now.”

“Why did you ask to see me, Robert?”

“I don’t know who killed Fortescue, but I’m convinced that he was assassinated. He told me that he’d received a warning while we were at Beaumont Towers.”

“From whom?”

“I’m not sure. All I know is that it came from Vienna, that he was personally threatened in it, and that it contained information about a planned attack against a high-ranking political figure.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you tell the police this?”

“Yes. But they found nothing to corroborate my story at Fortescue’s house.”

“I read that there were papers missing. Surely this could be among those stolen.”

“That’s exactly what I think,” he said. “But I can’t convince anyone else.”

“We have to find out who sent the message,” I said.

“That’s why I asked to see you.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “My father was just here with his solicitor and has vowed to spare no expense in mounting my defense, but all his pretty words couldn’t hide the fear in his eyes. It was perfectly clear that neither of them holds out much hope that I will be acquitted.”

“But surely your solicitor—your barrister—someone will be able to discover who sent the message to Fortescue.”

“The only way to do that would be to send someone to Vienna, and no one aside from myself seems to think that’s a worthwhile endeavor. I realize that it is wrong of me to impose upon your friendship with my wife. With Hargreaves out of the country and my colleagues turning against me with dizzying speed, I’ve no one left with proven abilities to handle any sort of investigation but you. I asked Bainbridge, but…”

“He didn’t know what to do.”

“Precisely. But he did suggest that I speak with you. It is unconscionable to ask a lady to embroil herself in such a thing, but I can’t deny the fact that you’ve succeeded”—he sighed—“rather spectacularly when you’ve taken up cases in the past.”

“What would you have me do?”

“As little as possible. I don’t want to place you in any danger. If you could go to Austria and find out who sent the warning and get that person to talk—perhaps to Sir Augustus Paget at the embassy in Vienna—then the authorities here might be persuaded to believe me.”

“Do you know anything else that might be of use?”

“Only that Fortescue was concerned about a group of anarchists there, headed by a man called Schröder. But I don’t know if they are connected to any of this.”

“I will do everything I can,” I said.

“I am indebted to you beyond measure.”

“No, you’re not. I haven’t succeeded in helping you yet. But I hope, soon, to be able to say that you owe me your life.”

“I look forward to the day.” He managed a slight smile.

“I’ve something for you,” I said, and pulled out from behind my back a book. “It wasn’t easy to convince your jailer to let me bring it, but Jeremy’s wallet is very persuasive. I know your views on popular fiction, and can’t resist taking the opportunity to persuade you that sensational novels do, in fact, have some merits.”

He looked at the cover. “Lady Audley’s Secret? I’ve heard more than enough about this atrocious story.”

“Even my late husband enjoyed it, and you know how seriously he took his academic pursuits.” Philip’s reputation as a gentleman scholar was unparalleled.

“I will read it, but only because there’s nothing else here for me to do.”

“Precisely why I thought now the perfect time to corrupt you.”

“First ladies drinking port, now this. Is there no end to your debauchery?” He was trying too hard to take a light tone.

“I will do everything in my power to secure your release.” Our eyes met only briefly, both of us all too aware that any power I might have was negligible at best. I squeezed his hand.