In Compromise with the Earl by Ava MacAdams

Chapter Twenty-Four

Stunned, Aphrodite could only sit and swallow over the words Oswald had just uttered. She reached out for the pup. “When?”

“I am not sure,” he sat near her. “But it might be very soon.”

Shaking her head, Aphrodite laughed hollowly. “And I can bet she will be making it out that I am the reason. The bad seed that has sewn discord in her home.”

“I don’t think it will go that far,” Oswald said. “But it is disheartening overall.”

“Is there anything I can do to change her mind?” Aphrodite asked dully. “I never wanted to break up your home.”

“You are not,” he said deeply. “Mother chose to leave instead of listening to common sense. I cannot believe she will take the misguided beliefs she has and use them to push herself out the door.”

“I…” she faltered, “I wish I could do something. I feel so powerless here.”

He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and tugged her into his side. “Sadly, you cannot force anyone to like you. When she is ready to see the truth, I hope it will not be too late.”

The pup came to nuzzle at her hands and lick her palms. “And if it is?”

“I wish I could answer that,” he replied, laying a soft kiss on her temple.

While mulling over the situation, Aphrodite felt a strong disquiet in her soul. This should not be happening, and though she knew it was not her fault, she felt responsible for it. Determined, she said, “I must talk with her.”

“I don’t think that’s advisable,” Oswald said, his lips titling wryly. “But you’re going to do it anyway, aren’t you?”

She stood. “Come with me.”

“I wouldn’t go anywhere else,” he rose and joined her.

The pup’s head perked up and he made to follow, but she shook her head. “Stay.”

His rump hit the floor immediately and with a tenuous smile, she left the chamber with Oswald a step behind her. They made it to the Dowager’s drawing room and Aphrodite knocked on the door.

“Come in,” the Dowager said.

Stepping inside, Aphrodite did not recoil from the stiff look she received from the Dowager “What are you doing here?” the Dowager asked.

“To ask you not to leave,” Aphrodite said. “You and I have our differences, but will you abandon your home because of this misguided prejudice against me and that Oswald should have married someone else?”

“He should have,” she replied.

“But he has not,” Aphrodite replied placidly. “I have tried to extend my hand to you, but you’ve batted it away every time. I mean you nor your son any ill will and if you are going to leave because you still believe that I will, I will be one to leave instead.”

“Aphrodite—” Oswald cut in.

“No, Oswald,” she said. “If I am the bone of contention, I’ll remove it and take myself away. That’s all. I would rather not to leave, but I will not have it that I forced a woman from her rightful home.”

The Dowager stopped from shuffling the cards on her desk, but her knuckles were white as she gripped them. Her eyes were shifting and her jaw spasming a little before she asked, “Where would you go?”

“Back to my fathers if I must,” Aphrodite replied.

“Isn’t there going to be contention there?” the Dowager asked.

“Yes, but I can handle my father,” Aphrodite replied as she sensed a change, a minute shift in the Dowager’s demeanor. “But before either of us leaves, I ask again that you stay. I only want peace between you and I, can we not meet each other on the viewpoint of the things we have in common and work out our differences? I swear on my life, I will never do anything to hurt Oswald and I need you to trust me on this.”

A stifled silence hung in the room and started to grow oppressive until the Dowager sat back. Her eyes were guarded, her face still and waxy pale. Her fingers drummed on the table, the soft thuds the only sounds in the room except the breaths that Aphrodite felt in her ears.

“You give your word?” the Dowager asked.

Notching her chin up, Aphrodite said, “Yes.”

The Dowager’s gaze shifted from Aphrodite to a silent Oswald then back to the younger woman. “If you mean it, have tea with me tomorrow afternoon.”

The tension in the back of her neck began to lessen and Aphrodite nodded. “I will be there, thank you.”

With a fleeting smile, Aphrodite curtsied and left the room, while Oswald stayed. Her heart was pounding out of rhythm as she went back to her chamber to find the pup snoozing in a tiny ball on the carpet.

She made sure not to disturb him and went to the chaise, sat and placed her hands on her lap only to find them trembling. Had she truly just done that or was it a dream? It felt dreamlike.

Barely hearing when the door opened again, she only looked up when Oswald came to crouch at her knees and take her hands. Pride and awe were stamped brightly across his face. “I’m so happy you did that.”

“I…” she swallowed, “I was afraid she wouldn’t stick to her word.”

“I am glad you managed to convince her otherwise,” Oswald replied. “I know it was frightening, but that’s what I am starting to love about you. You do not run from your battles.”

“I try,” she said.

He joined her on the couch. “I do want you two to come to an accord.”

“Me too,” she replied. “For the longest time now.”

Oswald nodded at the sleeping pup. “That is Leo’s handiwork, I suppose.”

“Yes,” she smiled. “Now, I need to figure out what to feed him.”

Taking her hand, he kissed the back of it. “That cannot be too hard to figure out. I am proud of you, Sweetling.”

Releasing a shuddery breath, she smiled. “Me too.”

* * *

Closed up in his study the next day, Oswald tried not to worry about what his mother and Aphrodite were discussing just five doors down from his. He was working through another stack of papers when the butler came with news that two Bow Street Runners had arrived for him.

His eyes clenched as he knew what the visit was about. Every now and again, they would come by to alert him to the on-going investigation in Claire’s murder.

Sometimes he wondered why they even bothered; it was a year now and they had not had any leads back when the murder had been fresh. Months later they were still picking at it like a scab on a wound.

Sighing, he dropped the quill. “Send them in.”

He stood as the two men, both Constables by the names of Davis and Toole.

“Gentlemen,” he greeted. “What can I do for you?”

“My Lord,” Toole said. “We’ve come to tell you that we’ve gained a long-awaited lead on your late wife’s case. A courtesan was found in Seven Dials with the same stab wound your wife had. The coroner has determined they are identical.”

“And this will lead you to the killer?” Oswald asked darkly.

The two men shared a look “We have men out in the area, as the murder is fresh, we are sure we can find the killer. He might be hiding out in the slums.”

Oswald turned his attention to the windows and forced himself to not let the burgeoning hope that always overtook him when they came with ‘leads’ to settle deep in his heart, because they always fizzled out to nothing.

Nevertheless, he could not let them see it. Marshaling a pleased look, he nodded. “Thank you for updating me. I do hope this one will turn out well. Shall I send for some refreshments? A cup of coffee perhaps?”

“Thank you but no, My Lord,” Toole nodded. “We’d best get back on the scene.”

“Very well,” Oswald stood and shook their hands. “Safe journey. My butler will show you out.”

After the men shut the door, Oswald reached for his quill again and trained his eyes on the papers. He tried to do something, to add a line here or a few words there, but the letters began to blur into each other, which was curious because he was dry-eyed.

When he realized that his concentration was broken, he dropped the quill on the blotter and leaned back to rub his face.

“The same wound from the same knife,” he muttered emptily.

Old grief, muted but hollow, rested in his chest, an old burden he had carried for months. He did not want to admit to the hope he told himself to stave off, had sunk inside his soul anyway.

After a long moment, he stood and went to a cabinet across the room. Opening it, he took a well-worn folio out and pressed his lips tight at the indents made by his insistent fingers for over nine months. Taking it back to his desk, he opened it and read over the papers there.

There were all reports from Claire’s death, and he paged through the statements one after the other. He came upon the drawing of the knife that had been sticking out of her breastbone. It was so odd, but somehow fitting, that a sacrificial dagger had taken her life, required payment for all her sins.

He trailed his fingers over it, the dips and wicked curve of it before he sighed and closed the folio. What sense was there in hoping—again—for something that would come, more than likely would come to nothing.

Taking a look back at the desk and the work waiting for him, he grimaced. Standing, he left the room, headed up to change into riding gear then went to the stables.

* * *

Pleased with the conversation she had just had with Henrietta, Aphrodite left to find Oswald. She and the Dowager had not gotten into anything deeply intimate or sensitive, but they had spoken cordially.

Hoping she could tempt Oswald away from his work to share a late luncheon with her, she knocked on the door. “Oswald, do you have a moment?”

When no answer came, she stepped into the room and found it empty. While wondering where he had gone, she approached his desk and traced her fingers over the top of a folio. Inquisitively, she opened it to see the drawing of a dagger, and reading the top, sucked in a breath.

It was a report on Claire’s death, and this was the instrument that had taken her life. Swallowing, she looked at the dagger and noticed how deadly and serpentine the weapon was; it was pure evil.

Her eyes traced the fiendish curve of the weapon and noted the wrapped cord around the handle. Promising herself to apologize to Oswald when she saw him again, she read a few lines of the papers in the folio and realized they were so official they had to have come from the Bow Street Runners.

Closing it, she wandered back to the chamber and sat, thinking about what had just read. Leo’s words about the knife being sacrificial were true, the blade looked like one that kill rams and bulls for burning.

Biscuit came to her feet and she lifted the pup, and smiled when his tongue lolled out. “Hullo darling boy.”

Why is Oswald going over his late wife’s murder?

Had something happened with his late wife that she was not aware off? And where had he gone off to?

She started playing with the pup, rolling a knit ball to him and smiling as he scampered after it. The motions of throwing the ball grew repetitive and gave her time to think. When the puppy plunked down for a rest, she made sure a bowl was filled with water before she left to find Oswald.

After a quiet question with a footman, she realized that he had left the Hall and decided that he must have gone riding. Quickly changing, she hurried out to the stables as well, saddled her horse and rode off to meet him.

She could only imagine that he had taken the same trail through the woods that she favored, she rode down the trail and didn’t have to wait long before seeing him. He was sitting on the ground with his one knee up and arm wrapped around it. Gently coming down from her saddle, she went to sit beside him.

“I thought you might find me,” he muttered.

“What happened with your late wife?” she asked. “I went searching for you and found a folio on your desk. I apologize for—”

“No need,” Oswald said. “I would have told you anyway. Two Bow Street Runners came by this morning with the news that they have found another woman who was killed like Claire was, with the same weapon. It brought up some bitter memories and I had to get some air.”

“I’m sorry,” she replied, reaching out to touch his arm. “But if they do have a lead on her killer, after all these months, why feel so discouraged?”

“Because for month after month after she had been killed, they spun the same tale to me and my hope mounted only to shatter when they could not follow through,” he replied. “It made me emptier than Claire’s murder.”

“Leo mentioned the grim details of her death,” she added.

“I do not want to be doing that waltz again,” he shook his head. “I still mourn for how she died, and we have not gotten an answer for it yet.”

Leaning into his side, she wrapped an arm around his waist. “I think this time will be different.”

While he stared out at the rolling lands beyond, his jaw firmed. “I hope so.”