“Damn it, no! Atwood was willing to negotiate, to drop the matter if I agreed to abide by certain conditions. Then he died, and I discovered Daventry had inherited his damn books.” Newberry flopped into the chair, released a weary sigh and turned to Lucius. “I’ve been waiting for months for your blackmail note. When you said you were selling Atwood’s work, I seized the opportunity, would have paid anything to obtain them.”
Lucius sat quietly, debating the information.
He knew Atticus well enough to know what he would have demanded from Lord Newberry. Justice. Justice for the poor families who had lost loved ones and a means of income. Even with evidence, he doubted a man of Newberry’s standing would ever be committed for trial.
“I think I have a solution,” Lucius said, “but allow me a moment to confer with Miss Atwood.”
“You ask as if I have a choice.” Newberry pushed out of the chair and stomped from the room.
Lucius explained his plan to Sybil, reminded her of their lack of evidence. Sometimes justice meant making compromises.
“Newberry’s an arrogant fop, but instinct says he’s innocent of Atticus’ murder,” he said, his heart heavy with regret, for he was desperate to blame someone. “Cowards threaten women. It takes a devil to suffocate a man in his bed.”
Sybil’s eyes widened. “Heavens, do you think that’s how my father died?”
He captured her hand and stroked it gently. “I believe so.” There had been nothing to rouse the coroner’s suspicions.
She looked to her lap before meeting his gaze. “Do what you think is right.” Tears welled, and she inhaled in an attempt to keep them at bay.
Lucius leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. Love filled his heart. “Trust me. The person responsible will pay. Newberry is guilty of negligence, maybe arson, of being a damn fool, but I’m confident he didn’t kill Atticus.” The lord was hardly the sort to enter a house uninvited, let alone have the skill to pick the lock.
Sybil cupped his cheek with a tenderness that stole his breath. “I trust you with my life, Lucius. I trust your decision regarding Lord Newberry. And let me say that there is nothing insignificant about you.”
He kissed her again, released her before Newberry sauntered back into the room.
“So, what do you intend to do, Daventry?” Newberry took his seat behind the desk. He appeared to have reclaimed his right of entitlement during his brief absence. “Bind my legs and hurl me into the Thames? Nail my tongue to the pillory?”
“You deserve nothing less,” Lucius said. “No, I intend to give you Atticus’ notes relating to the incident at the mine. But only under certain conditions.”
“What conditions? What do you want? Blood?” Newberry mocked. “Nomination to my club?”
“I would rather eat my own eyeballs.” Lucius snorted. “No. Your solicitor will find the families of all those who died in the mining accident. They will all receive the sum of a thousand pounds as compensation. Those evicted from their homes will receive five hundred pounds. I don’t care if the sums are given anonymously. But I want proof before handing over the evidence.”
Newberry gritted his teeth. “You’re talking about sixty families, about forty-five thousand pounds.”
Lucius stood and tugged the sleeves of his coat. “The choice is yours. Now, I’m sure you would like to see the matter concluded quickly, lest I have another change of heart.”
And with that, they left the lord to his business.
Chapter Eighteen
“Miss Trimble is to manage my husband’s home for destitute ladies,” Mrs Wycliff said, keen to explain the presence of an elegant woman who had just passed Sybil in the hall. “The refurbishments have taken a little longer than expected, which means we might have to postpone our trip to Italy.”
“We won’t need to postpone.” Mr Wycliff crossed the drawing room, thrust a glass of brandy into Lucius’ hand, a sherry into Sybil’s. “My father can oversee things for a few months while we’re away.”
“Your father!” Mrs Wycliff couldn’t hide her shock. “Heavens, he does nothing for himself. He hires people to arrange his extravagant parties. Hired a man with the same measurements to visit his tailor. What does he know about ladies down on their luck?”
“It will give him a sense of purpose. And Miss Trimble will keep him in check.” Mr Wycliff swallowed a mouthful of brandy before dropping down onto the sofa to sit next to his wife. “We can discuss this later. Daventry hasn’t come to hear about my father’s faults.”
“No,” Lucius said, “though I doubt the list is as long as my father’s failings.”
“It’s said the duke is a heartless devil.”
Lucius sighed. “That would be an accurate assessment.”
Mrs Wycliff’s gaze softened. “And yet you appear to have a huge heart, Mr Daventry. Your need to protect Miss Atwood is commendable.”
“I swore an oath to her father, and I always keep my word.”