“Perhaps,” Adriana acidly suggested, “we should summon the constable, and all of us can go to Styles Place and take a look in the stable.”
“No—please!” Phillip’s façade crumpled. His features sagged. Every vestige of rigidity went out of his frame. His shoulders slumped, and suddenly, he looked like a man burdened by and buckling under some horrendous weight.
Adriana and Dickie stared at Phillip in surprise tinged with alarm.
Phillip didn’t—wouldn’t—look at them. Instead, his gaze angled downward, he drew in a wavering breath and swallowed. Several seconds ticked past, then he drew a deeper breath and raised his gaze to Adriana’s and Dickie’s faces. “Please, let me explain.”
That such a plea was entirely unexpected was obvious. Both Adriana’s and Dickie’s eyes widened in shock, their expressions telegraphing just how taken aback they were.
In the interests of steering matters onward, Nicholas caught Adriana’s eye and waved toward the armchairs before the fireplace. “Why don’t we sit and hear what your half brother has to say?”
Much like players on a stage who had lost their scripts, the three allowed him to guide them to the chairs. There were only three, which suited Nicholas. He got the Sommervilles to sit, then took up a commanding stance beside Adriana’s chair, with one arm stretched along the mantelpiece.
Now looking older and more worn than his thirty-five years would account for, Phillip looked up at Nicholas, then glanced at his half siblings. Bleakly, he asked, “What do you want to know?”
“Start at the beginning,” Nicholas advised.
Adriana nodded. “If you don’t, we’ll never understand.”
Phillip heard the warning in her tone. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, then, his gaze on the empty hearth, said, “Several years ago, I met a lady—Mrs. Styles. Viola. In London. We…became friends. I saw her whenever she was in town, for the Season or when she was visiting friends. We…grew close.” He paused, then, his voice lower, went on, “Eventually, we became lovers.”
Adriana stirred. “This was while her husband was still alive?”
Phillip nodded. “Her marriage had been one of convenience. She’s the daughter of a wealthy merchant, and Styles needed the funds. It was never a happy marriage and…well, it happened. Whether Styles knew or not, I—we—don’t know, but he wouldn’t have cared. He never…bothered Viola and hadn’t for years.”
Phillip seemed to be following his own story in his head. “Then last year, Styles died. Or more accurately, was killed. In some dark alley in town, when he was leaving one of his doxies. He had certain tastes and preferred their company.” Phillip dragged in a shuddering breath. “Viola and I…we thought that, after she observed the usual period of mourning, finally, we would be able to marry. We’d started talking of it, planning…”
His features hardening, Phillip bluntly stated, “But then it all came crashing down about our ears.”
Before any of them could ask how, he rushed on, “About two months ago, I got a note from a man I didn’t know. He signed himself ‘A Well-wisher.’” Phillip snorted. “Of course, he was anything but. He wrote that he had something of mine—a letter he thought I would want back—and told me to meet him in a tavern off Fleet Street that evening.” Phillip’s shoulders slumped even more. “The only letters I could imagine not wanting him to have were my letters to Viola. I couldn’t understand how anyone could have got hold of one of them, but of course, I went to the meeting to find out what was going on.”
He paused, then grimly continued, “Sure enough, the man—I don’t know his name—handed me one of my letters to Viola. Until then, I hadn’t known she’d kept them. He said he had more. Lots of them, in fact.” Phillip closed his eyes. “Including ones I had written to her before Styles was killed.”
“Before?” Nicholas repeated.
Phillip opened his eyes. “Yes, and you can see how it might appear. Me writing…such things to Styles’s wife, including how I wished we could find some way out of her marriage so we could be together, and then Styles being murdered.” He stared bleakly up at Nicholas. “Based on the letters, it would be easy for the authorities to make a case that I had had the man killed.” Phillip glanced at Adriana. “Can you imagine the scandal?”
“All too clearly,” she grimly replied.
Dickie leaned forward, his gaze locked on Phillip’s face. “So what did you do?”
Phillip blew out a breath. “Unsurprisingly, the man offered me a deal. He would hand back all the letters if I brought him something in return. Something my family owned.”
Incredulous, Addie stared at her half brother. “The Barbarian?” When Phillip nodded, she exclaimed, “But how did he even know The Barbarian was at the Grange?”
Phillip shook his head. “I have no idea, but he knew. He told me about the horse, described him. He told me Papa had the horse and that he was keeping him somewhere on the Grange estate. I had to scout around and find the beast, but knowing he was a stallion, that wasn’t hard. As soon as I saw him, I knew it would be easier to lead him, so that’s what I did.”
Phillip looked at Dickie. “I expected that you and the stablemen would try to track the horse, so I took a roundabout route.” Phillip frowned slightly. “I thought we would have the horse at Styles Place for only a few days, but it took longer than I anticipated for the man to send me instructions about what to do next.”
“Take a step back,” Nicholas said. “The man who contacted you and told you to take the horse. Do you know who he is?”
Phillip shook his head. “I’ve thought and thought, but no.”
“Was he a gentleman?” Nicholas asked.
“Yes, he was. But I’m certain I’ve never seen him before, and when I met him at the tavern, the light was poor, and he was sitting in shadow. I never got a clear look at his face.”
Addie frowned. “So how did he get your letters to Viola? Does she have any idea? Was there a break-in, and someone stole them?”
