“Of course I am.” If there was anything for which Byron could be counted on, it was keeping up the family business. “Not that it matters. Given everything that’s happened and a year of your efforts to soil its reputation, we haven’t a single patron.”
Elijah scratched his fingernails along his pants, his leg jittery. “There’s a waiting list in the drawer in my study. Extend an invitation to those on it—they’ll want to stake their claim while they have the opportunity. This will blow over soon enough.”
This was the last sentiment Blythe wanted to hear from her father. He wasn’t asking because he was concerned about Grey’s but because he was concerned about them. Elijah wanted his family to be taken care of if he was found guilty, and the very thought of it had bile rising to Blythe’s throat. “Invite them yourself once you’re out of here in a week,” she said.
Elijah reached out as if to squeeze her hand before the manacles stopped him. Blythe’s face fell; she wished nothing more than to tear them free.
“Why hasn’t Signa come?” he asked as the silence dragged, his jaw tensing. Though it was Blythe he turned to for an explanation, Byron answered. “Miss Farrow returned to Foxglove manor this morning.”
Elijah’s shackles clanked against the chair. “Does she intend to come back to Thorn Grove?”
“Considering she took her lady’s maid with her, I have my doubts.”
Elijah wilted before their eyes, skin sallow and sickly. His shoulders caved inward. “If she’s decided to abandon us, then I fear we may have a harder time than we thought.”
Blythe hated the resentment in his voice. She hated how the fire in his eyes had dimmed so much that she pounded a fist on the table to get his attention. Behind her, a warden shouted a warning until she settled back in her seat, still seething.
“You have no right to say that.” Her words were tight, each as enraged as the next. “We’re all trying to clear your name. Signa’s odds of that were no better than mine.”
So what if Signa could do the impossible? So could Blythe, even if she wasn’t sure how. She’d make a deal with the devil himself if that’s what it took to free her father.
“Are you certain that finding the late Lord Wakefield’s murderer is what we should be focused on?”
A chill ran down Blythe’s spine at her uncle’s question. Yet it was her father who asked pointedly, “Is there a reason you think we shouldn’t?”
Byron stared his brother dead in the eyes. “I’m saying that perhaps we will not find a culprit, Elijah, and that it might be time to look at alternative strategies for getting you out of prison or at the very least lessening your sentence.”
Oh, how she wanted to strangle her uncle. So did Elijah if the rage on his face was any indicator. Perhaps it was fortunate that his hands were shackled.
“Are you suggesting that I killed Lord Wakefield?” For all his anger, Elijah’s voice was remarkably measured. “What reason would I have to do something so foolish?”
Byron gave no indication of backing down. It was as though he couldn’t even hear the ridiculousness of his own words. “I’m not suggesting anything. I’m only trying to get you out of here, Elijah, and we’re running out of options.”
Elijah leaned in as close as he could and hissed under his breath, “I didn’t kill him. I will always be the first to admit my past failures, of which there are many. But do you truly think my mind so weak that if I were to have killed the duke, I would do it under my own roof, with a drink fed to him by my own hand? My manner would be much less conspicuous, I assure you.”
Growing up in Thorn Grove, Blythe was entirely too used to her father and uncle’s bickering. It didn’t seem there was a single gathering where the two did not butt heads, for her father was far too lewd for Byron’s taste, and Byron too rigid for Elijah’s. Nevertheless, Blythe fixed her father with a glare.
“Do you think it’s wise to admit that aloud while you’re shackled in a cell and awaiting trial?” Elijah’s grin slipped, and when Blythe was satisfied with his embarrassment, she turned to her uncle. “And you. If you kept your opinions to yourself long enough to think rationally and not let some silly competition color your thoughts, perhaps you would not be wasting time with baseless accusations.”
Redness flooded Byron’s skin from the neck up, but she ignored his sputtering.
“I haven’t a doubt in my mind that you’re innocent.” Blythe kept her voice low enough for the warden not to pry. “We’re not going to think of alternatives—we’re going to find the killer. I promise you both that I will not rest until my father walks free and the culprit is hanging from a noose. Now, everyone stop bickering, and let’s make a list of suspects.”