The Heart of a Viscount: Book 1 Victorian Romance Series: SAMPLE CHAPTERS

One

Rough Draft

Detective Franklin Weston read over the document one last time, took a deep breath, and placed it neatly in his black leather bag. Grabbing his coat, he donned his hat and headed out of his office in London's East End to hail a hackney. Although it was late, the street was bustling and just coming to life. On his third attempt, he was successful and to the driver, yelled, "Boodle's, please, and make haste. I'm running late." This announcement earned Franklin a snarl filled grin with missing and yellowed teeth from the driver.

"Wat's a copper like ya doin' goin' ta such a fancy place?" the driver asked, his grin replaced by curiosity and a lift of his caterpillar-like, bushy brows.

"Nosy creature," Franklin whispered to himself.

"Just drive." Franklin was too nervous to chit-chat with the obtuse, unsavory fellow. His only daughter's future was at stake, and his stomach, tied in knots at the very thought. He prayed this meeting would go well. It had to. Franklin could not die in peace without securing as much of Verity's future as possible. Not that he planned on dying anytime soon, but—considering the danger of his job—one never knew.

As Franklin entered the establishment, he handed off his coat and hat to an awaiting footman. "There you are, Weston," Julian, Viscount Stanbury exclaimed. Franklin turned at the sound of the familiar voice and smiled at Julian, who'd been awaiting Franklin's arrival. Although he'd been the viscount's guest at Boodle's and White's several times, he still breathed in the smell of cigars, spirits, and wealth. Even a respected gentleman, such as himself, would find it difficult to afford a membership to a gentleman's club of such quality.

"Good evening, Julian...my lord," he uttered, quickly correcting himself. Franklin often forgot his manners in public when it came to the viscount. They spent quite a lot of time together and had forged a —father and son type of— bond. Franklin trusted and respected Julian, which was the main reason he had asked to meet with him tonight.

He is the only person I trust with something of this magnitude. This thought reminded him of the documents in his bag, and Franklin started to sweat.

"Let's find a private room, shall we?" Julian ventured, and Franklin followed his lead. His sweaty palm gripped the old leather bag tighter and tighter. Please let this be the right thing, and above all, let him agree, he mused to himself.

Once seated in a small yet private room, Julian ordered a brandy bottle and inquired about Franklin's latest case. The latest on-dit —a real tragedy— was a string of murdered women in the notorious Seven Dials of London's East End. Franklin was heading up the investigation, and by the look of the poor man, the job was getting the better of him.

Julian knew Franklin put his life on the line daily to help protect and serve all of London, and the burden must be grave. However, Franklin had spent most of his life as an officer and detective, so why did Julian feel something heavier was plaguing his friend?

When each man had a fresh brandy in hand, Julian proposed a toast. "To our friendship surpassing time, obstacles, and even death."

Franklin shuddered at the thought.

"So, anything new with the case?" Julian asked, oblivious to Franklin's discomfort. Julian had met Franklin three years ago when his sister, Penelope, was brutally murdered. Franklin Weston had swiftly brought the criminal to justice, and the two had been friends ever since. While it wouldn't get his beloved sister back, it did give Julian a small measure of peace. Julian would forever be indebted to Franklin Weston.

"Unfortunately, no," Franklin uttered with a slow shake of his head. He feared this string of murders would open up old wounds for Julian by reminding him of his dearly departed sister, Penelope. For Franklin, it was opening up new wounds and had him concerned for the future—his daughter, Verity's future, to be exact.

"How's the officer after his run-in with the suspected murderer?" Julian inquired, his tone now serious. "Is he well enough to talk and give a description?"

"No, unfortunately, the lad passed away from his injuries this morning," Franklin said with sorrow and another slow shake of his head. "I'm going to catch this bastard, Julian," he finished through gritted teeth.

"I hate to hear that, Weston. That is tragic news to be sure, but he will slip up, get careless and make a mistake," Julian encouraged.

"True, but how many more innocent women must die? And now one of my officers is also dead, and such a young lad too. It makes me wonder..."

"Yes, what type of sick person could kill innocent women," Julian reflected.

"I wonder about that every day, but it also has me thinking about the future..." Franklin's voice trailed off, his eyes solemn as he gazed at something—possibly nothing—over Julian's shoulder.

"The future?" Julian asked, his forehead raised to his hairline.

Furrowing his brow, Franklin stated, "Yes, and 'tis the reason why we are here tonight." Dejected, he leaned in close and said, "That young officer is gone, Julian. He got too close, and this lunatic is dangerous. I feel terrible for the lad and his family. He was just a pup, Julian, and a runner for less than a year. Now he's dead and has left behind a young widow and a babe! What will become of them?"

"'Tis a sad state of affairs to be sure. Would you like me to help this fellow's family? He is a hero in my book, and—"

Franklin held up his hand while giving his generous friend a sad smile. "That's a very gallant offer, and a donation would be very kind and helpful. We have started a fund for his family, and I'm sure his widow will appreciate all the help she can get." Franklin let out a heavy sigh and refilled both their snifters with brandy.

"I'm still confused, Weston. Is there something else I can do for the officer's family?" Julian asked.

"No, Son. I need your help," he ventured. "I'm not getting any younger, and the job is getting more and more dangerous..."

Julian inhaled deeply and urged, "Go on... I'll do anything I can for you, my friend."

"I know it's a lot to ask," Franklin announced and downed the contents of his glass.

Julian watched Franklin intently, noticing the small tremor in his hand as a myriad of thoughts scrambled through his mind: none of them good.

Feeling the warmth from the brandy loosen his tightly drawn muscles, Franklin knew it was time to spit it out. "Julian, you are the best man I know. You are like family to me," he said in a rush. "My only living female relative is an eccentric aunt well in her dotage. While she may be a countess, I do not trust my dear Aunt Margaret with Verity."

"Verity?" Julian quipped a bit louder than intended. He wasn't expecting this conversation to include Franklin's daughter. "What are you on about, Weston?"

Franklin reached down and pulled the papers from his bag beneath the table. Holding them against his chest, he whispered, "You are my only hope. I'm estranged from the baron... my brother..."

As the impact of Franklin's words started to kick in, Julian's mouth suddenly went dry, forming an O.

"If anything should happen to me—before she settles down with a husband—I need to know Verity will be safe and cared for. I'm appointing you as her guardian." Franklin swallowed hard. "I beg of you, Julian! I've set aside a nice dowery, and I know you would secure her a good husband," Franklin finished in a rush and passed the document—Last Will and Testament— across the table in front of a still open-mouthed, silent, and stunned Viscount Stanbury.