The Heiress Effect (Brothers Sinister #2)

Lirington—perhaps, Anjan thought, because he did not know Emily—recovered first.

“Miss Fairfield,” he said. “I’ve brought Mr. Batty, as you requested.” He walked to a chair and gently pulled it out for her. “Please sit,” he said, “and tell us how we might be of service to you.”

She glided over to the table, slid her hands over her skirts, and then—Anjan swallowed hard—folded herself gracefully into the chair.

“Batty,” Lirington said over his shoulder, “fetch some tea, would you please?”

She frowned at that, a slight hint of darkness flitting across her features.

When Anjan returned with a tray, she was seated properly, looking as comfortable in the chair as if she took tea in the office every day.

“You know, Miss Fairfield,” Lirington was saying, “I do hope we can find a way to be of service to you, but I suspect we will not. You’ll have to find a solicitor, of course, although I have some excellent suggestions there. And our specialty is maritime matters. So if you would tell us what it is that is bothering you…?”

“If you can’t help me,” Emily said calmly, “I’m sure you can refer me to someone who can. I had hoped you would listen to my story.”

“Of course,” Lirington said smoothly.

She had gazed at Anjan briefly when he’d returned to the room—a cool, questioning look. But she folded her hands and contemplated them now without sparing him a second glance.

“My uncle is my guardian,” she finally said. “I have a medical condition, one that Doctor Russell here in London says is a convulsive condition.” Her fingers played with a button on her cuff. “There is no cure for it, not one that has been discovered, at least.” She shrugged. “It is an annoyance, of course, but it leaves me in no danger.”

Anjan nodded, remembering the fit he had seen.

“My uncle,” she continued, “nonetheless wishes to seek a cure. He believes that no man will wish to marry me until the matter is resolved.”

So saying, she set her hands to her cuff at her wrist and very deliberately undid it.

“I say,” Lirington said. But he didn’t speak beyond that. He stared at the pale skin of her wrist, utterly riveted at the sight, leaning forward. Anjan wanted to smack his friend or turn him away from the sight of her skin.

“He has had me shocked with galvanic current,” she said, undoing a second button. “He had a man hold my head underwater. There was the man with a contraption. It utilized leverage to apply bruising force to my leg when a convulsion started.” She undid more buttons as she spoke. “We stopped use of the machine after it broke my femur.”

His eyes rose to hers, and he felt a moment of sick comprehension. When she’d talked of their walks being an escape, he’d imagined her as simply rebellious. But this? This was awful.

She spoke so matter-of-factly that Lirington simply nodded in tune to her recital, as if these things that she were listing were normal activities. If he hadn’t been looking for it, Anjan would have missed the way her fingers shook as she undid the next button and rolled up her sleeve, revealing a white, perfectly round scar.

“A doctor had me burned with a red-hot poker,” she said. “He thought it would disrupt my convulsions. It did not.”

Anjan gripped the arms of his chair. Barbaric, that’s what it was. It was barbaric. And how had he not known this? All those weeks they had walked together, and she had said not a word. He’d lectured her about family. About doing as her uncle told her.

He felt a fury rising in him.

“Gentlemen,” she said, still calm, “I hope you will understand when I refrain from showing you the burns on my thigh.”

“Miss Fairfield,” Lirington said in confusion, “this is all well and good, but I am at a loss as to how we are to help you. It is your guardian’s duty to provide medical care, after all.”

“It is not well,” Anjan heard himself growl. “Neither is it good.”

She heard him and smiled. “Well, one possibility is to petition for a change of guardian. I had hoped…”

“We handle maritime affairs,” Lirington said. “This is a matter for Chancery.” He shook his head. “As grievously as you no doubt have suffered, I do not see how we could be of service. My secretary, Mr. Walton, can provide you a list, but—I am desolate to admit—we ourselves can do nothing. Now, if you’ll excuse us…” He stood. “Batty, as you’re here, I think we should discuss the Westfeld accounts after all. My father is in his office, and—”