Why Kill the Innocent (Sebastian St. Cyr #13)(22)

“You know this for a fact?” Sebastian had a sudden, distinct memory of Jarvis saying, The last thing the Regent needs at the moment is to have Princess Charlotte’s name bandied about in conjunction with that of a woman unwise enough to get mixed up in something as tawdry as murder. He now understood what was so critical about “the moment.”

Maxwell threw down the rest of his drink. “I wouldn’t have said anything about it except I assumed given her ladyship’s relationship to Lord Jarvis that you already knew. Truth is, there’s some would think me more than a bit daft coming here, her ladyship being Jarvis’s daughter and all.”

The statement did much to explain the animosity Maxwell had shown toward Hero before. “I wouldn’t be looking into Jane Ambrose’s death if I were Jarvis’s tool,” said Sebastian. “If that’s what you mean.”

“No, I don’t suppose you would.”

“You said the betrothal has been arranged since before Christmas. So did something else happen at the court recently?” Sebastian asked. “Something that might have disturbed Jane when you saw her on Wednesday?”

Maxwell hesitated a moment, then said, “Not that I’m aware of, no. I think she was simply angry with the lot of them—with the Regent for caring more about his grand vision for rebuilding London than about his own daughter’s happiness, and with Lord Jarvis for having pushed the Orange marriage in the first place. It’s all his scheme, of course. They’re going to turn the Dutch Republic into a monarchy and vastly expand its territory with the idea of making it into a powerful bulwark against the French—with poor Princess Charlotte as the hapless plum on the top of the pudding.”

“Charlotte agreed to this?”

“She did, yes. That bloody father of hers, he told her that if she didn’t marry he’d keep her locked up with stodgy old governesses and subgovernesses until the day he died. She held out for a while, but she knew he could do it to her—hell, look at all those old maid aunts of hers. In the end, she met Orange just once at a dinner party and agreed that very night to marry him. Jane told me she regretted it almost instantly.” Maxwell set aside his empty glass with a soft clink. “But there’s no turning back for her now, poor girl.”

“Another brandy?” offered Sebastian.

“Thank you, but no. I must go. You needn’t ring for a footman. I can find my own way out.”

Sebastian walked with him to the top of the stairs. “When I asked Edward Ambrose about his wife’s family, he never mentioned a brother named Christian. In fact, he led me to think she had no family left alive. Why was that, do you suppose?”

Maxwell paused with his hand on the banister. “Probably because he wishes Christian Somerset actually were dead.”

“Any particular reason?”

His lip curled. “Royal patronage is important for a playwright, isn’t it? I imagine it’s more than a tad embarrassing for Ambrose, having a former radical journalist as a brother-in-law—particularly one who spent the better part of two years in Newgate for calling the Prince of Wales a fat spendthrift who persecutes his wife and oppresses his people.”

“When was this?”

“That we were in prison? From the fifteenth of January 1808 to the twenty-second of December 1809.” Maxwell huffed a rough, humorless laugh. “They were kind enough to let us out a few days early for Christmas.”

Sebastian understood now why Hero had recognized the names of Christian Somerset and Liam Maxwell. Sebastian himself had been off fighting the Hanovers’ wars at the time and had been only vaguely aware of the trial.

Sebastian said, “I take it Jane didn’t share her husband’s attitude toward her brother?”

“Jane was no radical herself, if that’s what you’re asking—far from it, in fact. But she wasn’t ashamed of us. Ambrose was always trying to get her to stay away from everyone in her family, but she wouldn’t do it. When Ambrose gave her that black eye, it was over Christian.”

“Where does he live now?”

“Christian? In Paternoster Row, over his bookstore and printing shop. These days he publishes mainly travel guides and romances, along with the usual odd printing jobs.”

“So you’re no longer in the newspaper business?”

“I am. But not Christian. A spell in Newgate definitely has a way of dampening some men’s passion for espousing reform.”

“Not yours?”

“Some of us are wiser than others.” Maxwell gave a sad smile that had the effect of making him look both younger and considerably more relaxed. “Jane always did say I’m more pigheaded than most.”

“Were brother and sister close?”

“Always.” He turned his hat in his hands. “If there is anything—anything at all I can do to help—you will let me know?”

Sebastian studied the younger man’s dark, haunted eyes. “I will, yes.”

After Liam Maxwell had gone, Hero came from the shadows of the morning room to stand beside Sebastian at the top of the stairs.

“How much of that did you hear?” he asked as the front door closed behind their interesting visitor.

“I missed the first part. So, were he and Jane lovers?”

“He says they were not.”