In the Barrister's Bed (8 page)

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Authors: Tina Gabrielle

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Bella blinked and gazed at the smiling blonde. It was then that she noticed her fine traveling gown of violet silk with lace trimming and black kid gloves. Blackwood had called her “Lady Evelyn,” which could only mean the woman was the daughter of an aristocrat who had kept her courtesy title upon her marriage to a commoner. A nervous fluttering began low in Bella’s stomach.
“I do believe you owe Lady Harding an apology,” James said.
“Don’t be daft, James,” Lady Evelyn admonished. “Mrs. Sinclair owes me no such thing. It’s perfectly understandable for her to question the arrival of a strange woman with a bachelor in the dead of the night in her home.”
Bella did not miss the insightful words at the end of Lady Evelyn’s speech. She had referred to the manor as Bella’s home.
Could it have been an accidental slip? Or can she be an ally?
Bella felt her face redden as she looked to the lady. “He’s correct. Please forgive my rush to judgment and rudeness, Lady Evelyn. I would be honored to have you and Mr. Harding as guests at Wyndmoor.”
“Thank you for your kindness,” Lady Evelyn said.
Bella glanced down at her attire, at once conscious of her nightdress, wrapper, and bare feet. She couldn’t very well escort Lady Evelyn and her husband to the guestroom dressed as she was.
“If His Grace would be so kind as to escort Lady Evelyn to the drawing room, I shall see that a room is prepared,” Bella said.
James grinned. “Excellent idea. I do believe your senses have returned.”
Bella bit back a scalding retort, not wanting to further spar with him. She had already behaved foolishly enough for one evening. She waited until the pair made their way around the corner and out of sight. Only then did Bella sprint up the stairs to awaken the staff and prepare for their unexpected guests.
 
 
Evelyn Harding was pleasantly surprised when James escorted her not to the drawing room, but to the library instead. She was the daughter of an earl, but before her father inherited his title, he had been a barrister and lecturer at Oxford. Evelyn had spent her childhood at Lincoln’s Inn surrounded by books and listening to fascinating legal arguments.
She roamed the library, her fingers passing over the colorful spines of the volumes on the mahogany shelves. The comforting smell of books and well-oiled leather furniture surrounded her. With his back to her, James poured a whiskey from a sideboard.
“Were all these books here when you arrived?” Evelyn asked.
James turned and sipped his whiskey. “Yes, it seems my father no longer had a use for them, and the man he sold the manor to, a Sir Redmond Reeves, sold the place with the furnishings, including the books, intact.” James pointed to one of the shelves. “I brought those legal volumes with me from chambers.”
Evelyn had known all the barristers in her husband’s chambers for five years. There was Brent Stone, with his tawny mane and striking looks, but whose unfathomable blue eyes seemed to hold long-buried secrets. And Anthony Stevens, whose pugilist pastime and controversial area of legal practice had sculpted him into a hard, jaded man. But as for James Devlin—the new Duke of Blackwood—she had always found him the most controversial. She was aware of his reputation with women, and Evelyn vividly recalled her first encounter with him before she had married.
She had run into James at Lincoln’s Inn when she was seeking out Jack Harding’s legal representation. James had flirted outrageously with her in the doorway of chambers, and had tried to tempt her into switching barristers, insisting he was the most competent. His antics had made her laugh, and when she’d refused him, he’d merely shrugged, tipped his hat, and wished her luck with her legal endeavors on his way out the door.
She had never approved of James’s lifestyle—his lovers or his liaisons with the willing wives of his clients. But since Evelyn had married, James had always treated her with the utmost respect. Evelyn had grown to care for him, as well as the other two barristers in their chambers, Anthony and Brent, as friends.
“How’s Phillip? I promised your boy a pony when I return,” James said.
When it came to Evelyn’s three-year-old son, Phillip, James was a beloved uncle. “You spoil him,” she said.
“I take my job as an uncle seriously.”
Evelyn sighed. “Phillip’s as precocious as ever. But it’s the first time Jack and I have left him, and I miss him terribly already. He adores you, you know.”
“Don’t give me too much credit. It’s quite enjoyable to act the doting uncle knowing I get to hand the boy over to his parents at the end of the day.”
“Hmm.” Evelyn wasn’t fooled. James did have a knack with children. Perhaps it was his devil-may-care attitude.
But tonight James had behaved strangely. James had spoken with them in the carriage ride about the unexpected appearance of the widow at the manor, and Evelyn knew he wanted Bella Sinclair to rescind her claim to Wyndmoor. Then Bella had marched down the stairs and confronted James. His reaction had seemed unperturbed, yet behind his façade of amusement, Evelyn had been surprised to sense an undercurrent of tension in him around the beautiful widow.
I warned you about sharing a residence with a bachelor. It’s not too late to reconsider,
he had told Bella.
Bella had eyed him with challenge, and the sparks between the pair had flashed.
In all her time, Evelyn had never known James Devlin unable to win over a woman he had set out to charm. He enjoyed his freedom and avoided emotional commitment like the plague. There had been women who sought more from him than to share his bed, women who had claimed to love him, but he had been quick to break off those affairs. Bachelorhood, he often said, was the epitome of freedom. Why ruin it with marriage and children?
He rarely spoke of his past or his family. His mother had died in childbirth, and—prior to recent revelations at least—it had been common knowledge that he was the illegitimate son of the Duke of Blackwood. The dowager duchess had paid for his education and housing as a boy, but apparently that had been the extent of her sense of duty toward him.
His father had spent only one week a year with James in his youth, and Evelyn understood that was the reason James wanted to hold on to Wyndmoor Manor. “How would you feel if your father had only acknowledged you and shown you affection for one week a year, and ignored you the rest of the time?” Jack had asked her. Evelyn had only known unconditional love from her father, and couldn’t fathom how she would feel if her sole parent had rejected her.
Despite his past, James had made his own way as a man and had done quite well in his chosen profession. But he had learned the lessons of his youth, and he had erected emotional barriers like a suit of armor.
So what was going on with Bella Sinclair? Had James finally met his match? She watched as James leaned against the windowsill and sipped his whiskey.
“Have you made any progress with Mrs. Sinclair?” Evelyn asked.
“Do you mean with her leaving?”
“She was first to buy, James. She may have a legal argument,” Evelyn said.
“You sound like Brent.”
“I take it Brent Stone took her side?”
“I’m not surprised either of you would side with a woman,” James drawled.
“You should show more compassion. She lost her husband.”
“Yes, about that. Something doesn’t add up. I asked Anthony to send for his investigator,” James said.
“You mean to investigate her?” Evelyn asked incredulously.
“Don’t sound so shocked, Evelyn. You know how barristers work. We must know all the facts.”
“Yes, but this isn’t just one of your criminal cases. She’s just as innocent as you. Neither of you knew you were being swindled by the seller,” Evelyn pointed out.
There was a low knock on the door. A glint of anticipation lit James’s indigo eyes before his gaze shuttered. A maid entered and announced the guest chamber had been prepared. Behind her walked in Evelyn’s husband, Jack Harding. But what was it Evelyn had seen in James’s face? If she didn’t know any better she’d have sworn she saw disappointment that Bella Sinclair hadn’t personally made an appearance.
Interesting,
Evelyn mused.
Then her husband approached, and Evelyn stood to greet him. With his light brown hair, green eyes, and quick smile, she had been in love with Jack Harding since he had entered her father’s chambers as a pupil when she was twelve.
“How’s the coach?” she asked him.
“The wheel needs a blacksmith.”
“There’s a good one in St. Albans. We can call upon him tomorrow. You are welcome to stay at Wyndmoor for as long as you wish,” James told them.
Jack Harding looked about the room. “The library is perfect. You know how much my wife loves books.”
“Yes, I suspect she’ll be using them to research some arcane property laws,” James said dryly.
Her husband chuckled and squeezed Evelyn’s hand. “If that’s what Evie sets her mind to, you won’t be able to stop her.”
Chapter 9
The arrival of Lady Evelyn Harding turned out to be fortuitous for Bella. After only three days, word of the new duke’s arrival had traveled rapidly through the closest town of St. Albans. Bella had anticipated a ripple of scandal when people learned that a bachelor inhabited the same residence as a widow, but to her astonishment, many thought the married Lady Evelyn a proper chaperone for Bella. But Bella was most grateful for the Hardings’ company, not only because they were a distraction for Blackwood—who spent much of his time with his three fellow barristers—but because she found Evelyn Harding genuinely friendly.
Bella had gone out of her way to avoid Blackwood, and she had kept busy unpacking her trunks and learning how to run the household. Yet by the end of the third day, Bella had run out of tasks and realized she needed to take a new tactic. Blackwood wasn’t leaving or expiring from boredom in the country. She had to learn more about him, and she hoped Evelyn would be able to enlighten her.
With that thought in mind, Bella had searched the house to ask Evelyn to join her for tea when her husband, Jack Harding, informed Bella that Evelyn had been ensconced in the library for most of the afternoon. He smiled, shrugged his shoulders, and said, “She can’t resist those books.”
Bella knocked softly and opened the library door. Evelyn sat behind a massive oak desk, a stack of open books spread out before her. Light streamed in from the large window behind the desk, turning her hair to a luminous gold.
Bella closed the door and approached. “I apologize for disturbing you, my lady. Would you like to join me for tea on the terrace?”
Evelyn looked up. “Please call me Evelyn. May I call you Bella?”
“Yes, please.”
“You have been nothing but kind to us since our arrival, and I’m grateful. You must understand, however, that my husband and I do not keep secrets from each other, and I’m aware of the situation between you and James. I take an interest in all my husband’s friends and have grown quite fond of them,” Evelyn said.
Disquieting thoughts raced through Bella’s mind. Had she made a mistake in approaching Evelyn Harding?
“I understand,” Bella said in a low, composed voice.
Evelyn leaned across the desk and a thoughtful smile curved her mouth. “That does not stop me from making my own judgments. Your position may not be as precarious as he would have you believe.”
Surprised and more uncertain than before, Bella asked, “You mean the duke?”
“I do.”
“I assume you are speaking of our dispute over ownership of this property.”
“I am.”
“Blackwood claims the legality of his deed is not in question because he was first to record the deed despite the fact that I purchased the property first and moved in days prior to him,” Bella said.
“I’m quite proficient at reading and interpreting case law, even the arcane property statutes, and I have discovered one court that was divided on the issue. Most courts have held that the first to record the deed is the owner; one held for the first to purchase and possess. Every case is fact specific, you see.”
Bella approached the desk and looked over Evelyn’s shoulder. Even though Bella was well read, the thick text of the legal volumes was baffling, with many of the words in Latin. It was like an indecipherable code.
“How can you understand what you are reading?” Bella asked.
Evelyn chuckled and turned in her chair to look up at Bella. “I am the daughter of a longtime barrister.”
“I thought you were the daughter of an aristocrat.”
“It wasn’t until years later that my father inherited my uncle’s earldom. For most of my life, my father was a revered Master of the Bench—otherwise known as a Bencher—at Lincoln’s Inn. I spent my youth roaming around the Inn and my father’s chambers, listening to him lecture his pupils on the topics of contracts, torts, and criminal law. Father has since retired from Lincoln’s Inn, but he never lost his love of teaching and still lectures at Oxford. James and the others call me ‘Lady Evelyn’ in honor of my father.”
“Your father mentored others to become barristers?”
“Oh, yes. My husband and James Devlin were just two of his many pupils.”
“Is that how you met Mr. Harding?”
“I was a skinny twelve-year-old girl when Jack Harding became my father’s pupil, but I adored him the first time I set eyes on him. He’s always been a charmer.”
An image of Jack Harding rose in Bella’s mind: tall and lean with green eyes and an easy grin. She could imagine Evelyn’s fascination with the handsome barrister.
“It wasn’t until a decade later that I encountered Jack again, only I believed I was in love with another, a scholar and my father’s Fellow at the University, who was under suspicion for murdering the Drury Lane actress Bess Whitfield.”
Stunned, Bella could only stare. News of the notorious Bess Whitfield’s murder had reached even the residents of Plymouth far from the London theater district.
“I needed a competent criminal barrister to represent my anticipated betrothed, and Jack Harding is one of the best,” Evelyn explained. “Needless to say, my youthful infatuation for Jack blossomed, and I realized I was wrong about the scholar. Jack and I married soon after Bess Whitfield’s true murderer was unearthed. We have since been blessed with our three-year-old son.”
“You are both fortunate indeed to have each other.”
Evelyn tilted her head to the side and regarded Bella curiously. “James told me you were married for seven years. You must be distraught.”
“It was not a love match.” Bella regretted the words the moment they left her lips. Why had she spoken so honestly?
“I’ve known many friends that have married out of duty. There is no shame in it. I take it you see Wyndmoor Manor as a fresh start.”
“May I speak plainly?”
“Of course.”
“I have always yearned to write, yet my husband never understood and did everything in his power to stop me. Wyndmoor Manor is indeed a fresh start for I am finally free to pursue my dreams of publication and write my stories and articles, despite the fact that some would disapprove of a female author. Can you understand?”
A sudden light glinted in Evelyn’s eyes, and she stood and eagerly clasped Bella’s hands. “I understand only too well. For years I longed to be a barrister. Oh, to experience striding into the Old Bailey and arguing a case before a jury. It makes gooseflesh rise on my arms. But as a woman, I am not permitted to be called to the bar.”
Evelyn Harding’s enthusiasm was contagious. They were kindred spirits. Women whose talents and longings were bound by rigid rules—whether established by social mores, universities, or the commands of stern spouses.
“It’s not just novels that I long to write,” Bella blurted out. “I have submitted a political article to the
Times
using a male pseudonym.”
Evelyn clasped her hands to her chest. “Wonderful! If Wyndmoor Manor and your status as widow provide the security and freedom to pursue your dreams, then you must fight for the place and your happiness. You need to retain a solicitor about your dispute of ownership. There’s no guarantee you will win, but you deserve representation. I can recommend a solicitor, but you will have to travel to London.”
“Why are you helping me?” Bella asked. “Blackwood is your husband’s friend.”
“James may be a friend, but he knows quite well that I cannot stand by and allow him to bully an innocent widow.”
“He has offered to pay me for Wyndmoor Manor if the seller Sir Reeves is found and all our monies spent,” Bella said.
“Will you accept his offer?” Evelyn asked.
“I will not. He cannot get rid of me so easily.”
A look of mischief crossed Lady Evelyn’s face. “Good. James deserves to be challenged by a woman.”
“And your husband?” Bella asked. “How would he feel about your helping me?”
Evelyn responded without hesitation. “Jack understands me.”
What would it be like to have such devotion from a man? To have the confidence to do what you felt was right, without the fear of disapproval? Bella couldn’t fathom it. When she had stumbled upon one of Roger’s questionable business ventures—even those that involved treason—and confronted him, he had immediately responded with threats. “Harriet is old, her bones are brittle, she could easily suffer a fall,” Roger had spat, a wicked gleam in his eye.
A knock sounded on the door, and Harriet entered. “Pardon, Bella. A gentleman caller has arrived asking for the duke. Coates left the man’s calling card on the vestibule table before leading him to the drawing room and summoning Blackwood. I do believe the gentleman’s identity may be of interest to you.” Harriet stepped forward and held out a card.
Bella reached for the card, her brow furrowed and she read out loud, “Armen Papazian, Investigative Services.” She glanced at Harriet in confusion. “I do not know this man.”
Evelyn spoke up. “He is the investigator James hired to find Sir Reeves and look into a few other matters.”
A few other matters?
Bella knew, with certainty, James was investigating
her.
Dear Lord, what if he learned the truth, learned everything ... ?
Bella turned to Lady Evelyn. “Please excuse me. Perhaps we can have tea on the terrace another time?”
Evelyn smiled warmly. “That would be lovely.”
Not wasting another moment, Bella turned on her heel and rushed from the library.
 
 
James had just seen Investigator Papazian out and was closing the door when Bella came rushing into the vestibule.
“I was informed there was a guest. An investigator,” Bella said.
Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes bright slashes of jade in her oval face. As always of late, a frisson of excitement thrummed in his veins when she entered a room. They had resided under the same roof for less than one week, and even though she went to great lengths to avoid him, he had kept an eye on her as she’d busied herself organizing the servants and unpacking and placing her own belongings.
James’s gaze lowered to the calling card clasped in Bella’s hand. “I must remind Coates to exercise discretion when I have a visitor.”
“Why was the investigator here?” she asked.
“Upon inquiry of the patrons of the Twin Rams, I learned that Sir Reeves had left the village immediately after he sold me Wyndmoor Manor. My investigator has located Reeves, and I’m on my way to see him.”
“Now?”
“I see no need to wait to question Reeves,” he said.
“I’m going with you,” she said matter-of-factly.
James shook his head. “It is not a good idea. Reeves is staying at the Black Hound, a rundown posting inn on the outskirts of Hertfordshire.”
She met his gaze without flinching. “I’m going. The man owes me an explanation.”
His lips parted in a curved, stiff smile. “The Black Hound is a bawdy, boisterous establishment. It certainly is no place for a lady.”
She answered in a rush of words. “If Sir Reeves is there, then nothing can keep me away. I am just as much his victim as you, and I have a right to confront him face-to-face.”
“I will confront him for us both. Or do you not trust me?”
“You have yet to exhibit trustworthy behavior.”
His temper inexplicably flared. “Are you always this argumentative?”
“Since you present no logical reason for me not to accompany you, then yes.”
“Fine,” he snapped. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
His gaze raked her from head to toe, noting her cream gown with its rounded bodice. It was hardly scandalous, nothing close to the plunging bodices of the London females of his acquaintance, but the smooth silk accentuated the nubile curves beneath her dress, and the cream color heightened the translucence of her face and neck.
As a barrister whose practice occasionally involved criminal cases, James had met with clients in unsavory establishments throughout the London rookeries, but never with a beautiful lady in tow. His gut clenched as an image crystallized in his mind of the patrons of the Black Hound gawking when Bella Sinclair walked through the door.
His thoughts raced headlong, and anger toward Sir Redmond Reeves rippled along his spine.
Damn him,
James thought,
for thrusting us into this predicament.
His voice was cold when he spoke. “You’ll need to change. Do you own a darker gown?”
“I have a mourning gown.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to ask why, as a widow of less than a year, she never wore it. Instead, he said, “Good. And fetch a cloak, something that covers you from the neck down.”
She opened her mouth to argue but, spotting a parlor maid and one of the footmen staring from around the corner, thought better of it. They were making quite the spectacle for all the servants to overhear—both hers and his.

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