Page 70 of A Duke for Adela
“Do not get worked up over her,” Ambrose said. “She will not dare approach you. This is what comes of being betrothed to me. You hold all the power now and she knows it.”
Gory set down her fork. “I find this all quite fascinating, these silent communications that flow about a room. Something even more fascinating is that you understand all their nuances, Your Grace. I must say, it is exhilarating to be on the winning side for once instead of being mocked, ignored, or scorned.”
Adela nodded. “Yes, but we must not let that exhilaration go to our heads. We may have power now, but we must always use it for good, never for pettiness or revenge.”
Syd smiled at her. “Why, Adela, you do have the makings of a duchess.”
“Never mind about that nasty girl,” Eloise said. “Look, Huntsford. Is that your Bow Street man?”
Ambrose turned to the entryway and the man now speaking to the steward. “Yes, it is.”
Adela gasped and started to rise, but Ambrose motioned for her to remain seated. “I’ll bring Mr. Barrow to our table.”
The portly Bow Street runner could have been Sir Galahad as far as Adela and her friends were concerned.
“Is that a pouch he is carrying?” Adela was craning her neck to see what he had brought. “He did not have it earlier. I think that is a very good sign.”
Ambrose crossed the room in a few strides. “Come join us, Mr. Barrow. I shall have the steward bring over a chair and place setting for you.”
“Very kind of you, Your Grace. But I would like to get home to my wife, if you don’t mind.”
“Then I will not detain you long. However, it is late and I’m sure your wife has put away supper for the evening. Have a quick bite with us while you give us an account of what has happened.”
He led Mr. Barrow to their table, ignoring all eyes upon them as this man was clearly not dressed for this fine establishment. However, Ambrose thought he was worth more than the lot of them put together.
The steward brought over a chair and the requested place setting. “Soup and some of your excellent cornbread for my guest,” Ambrose said.
“At once, Your Grace.”
Ambrose waited for Mr. Barrow to settle in the chair beside him. “Now, tell us what you have to report.”
“All of it is good news so far.”
“It is?” Adela appeared ready to leap out of her seat with joy.
“Yes, Miss Swift.” He nodded in gratitude as an onion broth and cornbread obviously hot and straight out of the oven was set before him. Ambrose filled the man’s glass with wine as he listened to the report. “I have your book and Miss Swift’s notes in this pouch. They were there with Runyon’s sister all along. She and her husband were appalled to learn he had turned them into his unwitting accomplices.”
“I can imagine,” Eloise said.
“Indeed.” Mr. Barrow paused a moment to take a sip of his soup. “The husband vowed to murder Runyon if he dared come around to their house again. Poor fellow was obviously in dread fear we would arrest him and his wife. But I have been in this business for over thirty years and I know an honest man when I see one.”
“So you are certain the sister and her husband were innocent dupes?” Ambrose asked.
“Aye, Your Grace. He’s a hardworking tradesman and they have small children to tend and feed.”
Octavian leaned forward. “Is this not more reason he would feel compelled to make some easy money?”
Mr. Barrow shook his head. “No, my lord. It is all the more reason to keep out of trouble. He makes a decent wage in his trade. They reside in a modest but solidly built house. They are not extravagant and do not appear to live above their means. But more important, they did not behave as though they were guilty.”
“How might one who is guilty behave?” Adela asked.
“Oh, fidgeting. Eyes darting left and right. Palms sweating. But it’s the eyes mostly that give a criminal away. Runyon’s sister and her husband were scared out of their wits and clearly knew nothing of what was really going on. They gave us all we needed for the magistrate to serve an arrest warrant on Thomas Runyon.”
“It must have been hard on his poor sister,” Adela said.
“It was, Miss Swift. It surely was. She was in tears and begged us to be lenient with him. But he’s a bad cove, that one. Thinks he is smarter than everyone and enjoys the cruel games he plays. He is filled with conceit and amuses himself by manipulating those around him. What sort of man puts a loving sister at risk or travels to Oxford merely to obtain forged bank notes to then use as a ruse? He’s a right, evil puppet master.”
Ambrose choked on his wine.
