Page 87 of The Chef and the Countess

Troy’s shoulders slumped. Perhaps at last, the gravity of the situation had sunk into his son’s selfish brain.

William patted him on the back. “Not all is doom and gloom. You may only need to be away for five years at most. It depends on how long it takes for things to calm down. You will be the earl someday. Then you can return with your wife and children and take your rightful place, hopefully, a more mature and humble man. But until then, you must hide. And you must leave within the hour.”

“A wife,” Troy murmured.

“A wife is better than a prison sentence,” William snapped.

“Not to me. You are doing this to save your own skin and your reputation in society. By banishing me, you are helping yourself.”

William sighed. “I will not deny a part of me wishes this for self-preservation, but damn it, boy, I love you, despite your many faults. I will not see you founder in a prison cell. You would not survive incarceration. We both know it.”

“I suppose not.”

“As to your future wife, Lynda Foster is a handsome young woman with a pleasing personality. She is better than you deserve. It’s time to grow up. Now, come downstairs and meet the Fosters, and then you must depart. I will try and stall the police. We can only hope they do not call the train back. They can do nothing once you are crossing the Atlantic Ocean. No son of mine will rot in prison, not while I still breathe!” William concluded dramatically.

Defeated, Troy nodded and followed William downstairs. Quick introductions were made, and William observed Lynda’s interest in Troy. To William’s surprise, Troy gave Lynda a thorough inspection. Did he see a spark of curiosity in his son’s eye? Perhaps he imagined it. Not that it mattered at this point.

It was time to leave. William shook his son’s hand. The Fosters and Troy climbed into the carriage and departed.

With an exhale, William returned to his study and sat at his desk for the longest time. An hour ticked by, then another. He would have to curtail his criminal activities for a while in case the coppers started sniffing about. Celia and Hallahan could easily set the police on him.

The sun sank lower in the sky as the afternoon rumbled onward. William knew within his ample guts that this would be his life from now on—sitting alone in a dark room. He had the distinct feeling that Etta would not return home anytime soon. He’d have to write her a heartfelt letter, laying before her all that had happened with Troy, and take his share of the blame for how their son had turned out. William would also have to beg her forgiveness regarding their treatment of Celia. He would also lay his heart bare, for he still loved Etta most desperately. It was on him that he’d allowed her to drift away. Life’s regrets had a habit of gnawing away at one’s soul in moments of deep reflection.

“My lord. Detective Sergeant Morrisey to see you,” Baldwin announced, pulling William from his tortured thoughts.

Morrisey entered with two uniformed police officers. “Where is your son, my lord?”

“Why do you want him?”

“I have a warrant for his arrest for numerous acts of accessory to assault under the Offences Against the Person Act of 1861. These acts were committed during the recent violent incident at the restaurant,” Morrisey explained.

“What assaults?”

William only half listened to Morrisey’s droning reply. He already knew all the parts of the act because Colin Signet, his solicitor, had explained how the police could charge Troy. All he knew was that the more he asked questions, the farther Troy traveled away from harm.

* * *

By four that afternoon, the staff was still laboring to clean the restaurant. Drew left shortly after the injured ladies were taken to St. Thomas’s Hospital. He told Celia he would see Reverend Wilton later that afternoon and come by tomorrow with any possible plans for their nuptials.

“Fiona!” Liam called as they finished scrubbing the restaurant floor. “Time for another meal. Let’s finish off the toff food.”

“Aye, Liam.” Fiona took Bruce’s arm and led him toward the kitchen, and the remaining staff followed.

Celia turned toward Paul Tyler. “You have worked very hard today. Will you stay for another meal?”

“Gladly, miss. I’ve never eaten so well.”

Liam came to stand beside Celia, resting his hand on her shoulder. The fact that Liam openly showed his affection pleased Celia immensely, but it also had her heart skipping a few beats. She felt his hand, warm and reassuring, on her shoulder.

“Do you have a place to live?” Liam asked Paul.

“Aye, sir. It’s not far from here. I live with my sister.”

“Come at eight tomorrow morning, and we will discuss your wages and duties. It will be long hours, but meals are included.”

Paul Tyler beamed. “Thank you, sir—and miss.”

“We use first names here, Paul. We are Liam and Celia,” Celia smiled. “Go and assist in the kitchen. We will be along directly.”