by Dawn Brower
The fires in every hearth would remain burning hot every day for the rest of eternity if it brought even an ounce of comfort to Charles.
The knocking receded, and Pires, the Galway butler, shuffled by the dining hall toward the foyer.
Apprehension marred every line on Charles’ once boyish face.
“I have given my servant specific instructions that no one is to pass my threshold without my explicit permission,” Gideon said, nodding at their meal. “I am not expecting anyone. Therefore, we shall finish our repast undisturbed.”
The tension did not leave Charles, but he followed Gideon’s lead and took hold of his knife once more. He cut a piece of duck into minuscule portions before bringing a bite to his mouth.
Gideon had taken great pride in watching Charles gain weight and strength as each day passed. His skin no longer had the yellow hue of sickness, nor did his fingers shake when he brought his glass to his lips. Yet, still, the haunted stare remained. Gideon wondered if it would ever disappear completely, even when official word came from the Admiralty Courts declaring Charles a free man.
“What if they send orders demanding my return to the Caledonia. Or, worse yet, send the pressmen?” Charles’ head hung as he made a show of staring at his plate, his knife moving a roasted turnip from one side to the other. “I shouldn’t have accepted your offer of lodging. I have put your entire household in danger.”
Gideon’s chest tightened with fear, though he refused to let Charles notice his trepidation. “It is highly unlikely that a man in your condition”—Gideon gestured toward his injured leg nestled under the table—“would be found useful on a warship.”
“There are many tasks aboard a ship that one does not need the use of his legs to successfully accomplish.” Charles had spoken of this exact subject several times when Gideon had hired a physician to examine his friend and submit a written report to be included with his paperwork sent to the Admiralty Courts. As well as when Gideon had several pairs of trousers commissioned at his tailor’s, and even that very morning when Gideon had bid Charles accompany him to Hyde Park. “They may not demand my return to a ship, but they could turn me over to the courts for judgment.”
Gideon had long since run out of encouraging words to ease Charles’ fears. “We can only wait until word arrives with regards to your fate.”
While Charles had little confidence in the outcome of his friend’s request to the courts, Gideon was positive that Charles would be released from his impressment duties. If Charles’ injuries were not persuasion enough, Gideon was prepared to offer a large sum to make certain Charles’ bounty was paid.
Gideon would buy his friend’s freedom a thousand times over if that was what it took.
Being of noble birth, Gideon had never known the fear of being pressed into service to the crown. Neither of them could have imagined the consequences of their blithe night of drinking by the docks. To think that they could awaken and have their lives be utterly unrecognizable hadn’t crossed either of their minds. Gideon because his station in society placed him above such things. And Charles because he’d trusted Gideon.
A faith that had been obviously misplaced.
However, Gideon would not fail Charles again.
“My lord,” Pires cleared his throat at the door. “A missive arrived for you.”
Gideon waved the servant closer and snatched the letter from his hand, immediately noticing the distinctive seal of the courts. Maritime tradition boasted the silver oars as the symbol of their authority.
The audible gasp from across the table said that Charles had seen it, too.
“I hadn’t expected a response so quickly,” Charles said.
Gideon met Charles’ gaze. “I didn’t either. My solicitor, who has an old friend in the courts, said it could take up to a year to hear anything on the matter.”
An entire year during which time Gideon had been prepared to keep Charles hidden and safe.
A year before he could speak on the matter to Sybil, and that was if he could remain in her good graces for that extended period of time.
“Are you going to open it?” Charles rearranged the blanket covering his legs, attempting to hide his nervousness regarding what the letter held.
Gideon extended his arm, holding the letter out for Charles to take. “I think you should do the honors.”
“It is addressed to Viscount Galway, not me,” he said with a firm shake of his head.
They both stared at the letter, Charles not making any move to take it, and Gideon wondering if he dared to open it. They’d waited less than two weeks after his solicitor delivered Gideon’s request. Did the court’s rapid response signify that they were in agreement with the laws governing the Navy’s ability to impress men into service with no notice?
The practice was barbaric—and archaic.
There were men of every station about England who longed for a commission into the crown’s Navy; yet during the wars, his country had continued with the practice of forcing unwilling countrymen to serve.
“My lord, my apologies for interrupting your meal once more, but we seem to have a situation in the front drive that needs your attention,” Pires said with a curt bow before hurrying back to the foyer.
Gideon’s first thought was that the courts had sent men to collect Charles and remove him back to the port immediately.
“I will come with you.” Charles laid his napkin on the table beside his half-empty plate, and a footman stepped forward to assist him in standing. “My cane, if you please, Jackson.”
“You should wait here.” Gideon knew his request would be met with defiance.
Charles was resolute in his decisions, much like a certain dark-haired, wild-spirited woman Gideon was acquainted with.
“If they are here to collect me, I will go willingly.” Charles held his chin high as he collected his cane and started for the door. “I will not cause you any more grief.”
The only person responsible for Gideon’s surmounting grief—with accompanying guilt—was Gideon himself. It had been his fault that Charles was taken, and now, Gideon had once again not done everything in his power to protect his friend.
“They will not take you,” Gideon bit out through clenched teeth, taking hold of Charles’ arm as they walked side by side toward the foyer. “That much I can promise you.”
“We may not have a choice.”
There were always options, of that Gideon was certain.
“—you will allow me entrance.”
Gideon’s steps faltered as the familiar voice floated down the long hall.
“Lord Galway is expecting me,” Lady Sybil said, her voice rising an octave.
“My lady, I can assure you, the viscount is not—“
“If you would announce my presence, I can assure you Gideon will welcome my arrival.”
“Who is that?” Charles asked, hurrying his steps while Gideon dug in his heels. “It cannot be…”
Gideon released Charles’ arm, and his friend shuffled ever closer to the foyer, his injured leg dragging slightly in his haste to find out what all the commotion was about.
It was on the tip of Gideon’s tongue to call to Charles, warn him that the woman might be a distraction, a ploy to get Charles out into the open so he could be apprehended.
“Giddy, is that who I think it is?” Charles hissed in his direction. The words echoed in the foyer, bouncing off the vaulted ceiling. “Lady Sybil Anson?”
He saw enough to notice that Sybil had stopped tussling with the footman who attempted to keep her out of the townhouse.
“Step aside, my man, step aside,” Charles’ voice boomed across the foyer. “Allow the woman in. Have you completely forgotten your manners?”
The elder of the pair, Gideon had forgotten Charles’ assertive nature from their boyhood days. His commanding voice and sturdy presence dominated every village gathering at Gideon’s country estate. As they aged, Gideon had no doubt that the young women of the village would j
ust as likely find delight if asked to dance with Charles as they did with Gideon.
The footman stepped aside, and Sybil huffed as she pushed the hood of her cloak back and began unbuttoning the long row of brass buttons holding the overgarment closed to keep the chilly night air at bay.
“Very kind of you, sir,” Sybil said, turning her most innocent smile on Charles.
Gideon watched the man practically melt into his boots.
“As I was attempting to tell Lord Galway’s butler…”—she paused, glancing about the foyer—“wait, speaking of Gideon, where is he? And who are you?”
He could fairly visualize Sybil’s confused expression—the way a single cocoa brow would raise, her lips would press into a frown, and she’d stumbled over her words. None of this would take away from her exquisite beauty. It would only serve to lull Charles into a false sense of chivalry. He would want to help her, assist her in any way possible, just to dispel her unease.
“I am Mr. Charles Smythe.” With amused chagrin, Gideon watched Charles bow grandly as if Sybil were the queen. “Lord Galway and I grew up together. My father worked as the Galway steward for several decades.”
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Smythe.”
“Do call me Charles.”
If anyone in Gideon’s household thought it peculiar that Lady Sybil had arrived at Gideon’s door—obviously unchaperoned and long past the socially acceptable calling hour—they did not breathe a word of it.
At that moment, Sybil glanced over Charles’ shoulder, spotting Gideon lurking down the hall, her eyes narrowed on him.
“We were enjoying our evening repast,” Charles said, nodding back down the hall. “Would you care to join us?”
“I…well…I came to speak with…” Sybil stumbled over her words as she glanced between Gideon and Charles. “I suppose I should join you, or I fear your food will grow cold.”
Gideon had remained hidden long enough. Stepping into the foyer, he greeted her. “Good evening, Lady Sybil. I was not expecting you. In fact, I believe I specifically said not to—“
“Heavens,” Charles snapped as he held out his arm for Sybil. She glanced at it for only a second before determining the man posed no danger and set her fingers at his elbow. “It appears everyone in this household has abandoned their manners. Luckily, I am here, the perfect gentleman.”
Sybil giggled. Actually giggled.
In the last few minutes, Charles had gone from utter terror at what the letter held to charming London gentleman.
It was obvious his friend had missed his calling. Sybil’s radiant smile as she stared up at Charles sent a jolt of pure jealousy through Gideon. Odd how the appearance of a beautiful woman had them both forgetting the letter from the courts.
Gideon slipped the missive into his shirt pocket and followed the pair as they walked by him toward the dining hall.
“Jackson,” Gideon called to the lingering footman. “Please, have a place setting added for Lady Sybil. She will be joining us for the remainder of our meal.”
Chapter 7
Another woman? Tell me, kind readers, that this author is mistaken. It is rumored that Lord Galway did not leave to pursue his interest in pirating, nor did the intrigue—and coin—of a life as a highwayman steal him from our great town. No…another woman? I shan’t believe it until I see it with my own eyes.
~ Whispers from Lady X
Sybil did her utmost to remain tranquil and composed at Gideon’s dining table as the man to her left, Mr. Charles Smythe, regaled her with tales from the viscount’s childhood by the Scottish border. Inside, she was reeling from the fact that Gideon had such a close confidante and friend he’d never spoken of to her.
Smiling and nodding, as any enthralled woman would do while listening with rapture to the men jesting back and forth, Sybil could not help casting furtive glances in Gideon’s direction.
It was with great abandon that she’d told Gideon everything about her past—before he learned of her less than stellar upbringing in France in the gossips—yet, he’d kept so much of who he was and where he came from to himself.
“…and so, Giddy and I—“
“Giddy?” Sybil asked, raising a brow at Gideon. “I must say, I have never heard anyone call Lord Galway Giddy.”
To his credit, Gideon’s cheeks flamed, and he made at least an attempt to look sheepish. “Yes, it was what my mother called me when I was very young. A play on Gideon, obviously, but also because I was fond of horses.”
“And he’d neigh before he spoke,” Charles laughed. “He not only had a fondness for horses, but he actually thought himself one until he was what…” He paused and looked at Gideon for input, but the viscount remained silent. “Age fifteen?”
“Come now, Charles,” Gideon boomed. “It was closer to five.”
“All right, all right…I find myself exaggerating the details for the amusement of our guest.” Charles laid his napkin next to his untouched plate. “I find I am helpless to do anything but make certain Lady Sybil is having a marvelous time after her less than hospitable welcome.”
“I assure you, Charles, my arrival was a shock to everyone, including Lord Galway.” Sybil saw Gideon cast his friend a veiled glance as she tried to make excuses for him. “Besides, my mere presence here is highly scandalous, do you not agree?”
Sybil took a sip from her wine goblet to keep from glancing in Gideon’s direction. She knew bloody well he was angry with her. He’d specifically instructed her not to call on him, but what other choice did she have? Gideon was keeping things from her, and she doubted Charles’ presence at his townhouse was even the half of it.
“I can only speak to what I see, my lady.” Charles gestured to the pair as he spoke. “I see a dour, slightly distracted lord, having a pleasant meal with a beautiful, articulate woman while chaperoned by a dashing young man of little consequence. Though I’ve been away for some years, I do think this meal will hold up to even the highest scrutiny.”
“No one shall know about this meal.” Gideon pushed back his chair, a footman jumping in to assist him as Charles followed suit. “Lady Sybil, will you be so kind as to join me in the study for a private conversation?”
Charles tsked. “That, I’m afraid, will not hold up to any—“
“Charles.” The warning in Gideon’s voice halted his friend. “Lady Sybil?”
A footman pulled her chair back, and she smiled at both men. “Of course, my lord.”
Could it be that she was enjoying this? Gideon was rather irked, and Charles was doing his utmost to prod him.
Sybil was familiar with the many sides of Gideon: reserved and pensive, light and jesting, confident and chivalrous.
But this demanding, domineering, stalwart man before her was different.
“If I have angered you, Gideon, I am sor—“
“My study, Sybil. Now.” He didn’t wait for her, but pivoted and stalked from the room.
When she turned to Charles with a weak smile, he only shrugged, but his following wink settled a bit of her unease at Gideon’s turn in demeanor.
“It has been a pleasure meeting you…far overdue, if you do not mind my bluntness,” he said with a stiff bow.
She didn’t mind his candor at all. “May I offer a bit of frankness?”
“Certainly.”
“Why have we never met?” Her tentative question brought a shadow to the man’s face. “What I mean to say is, Gideon and I have known one another for quite some time, and he has never so much as mentioned your existence.”
Sybil expected hurt or at least confusion to cloud Charles’ face; however, his expression turned dark, and he pivoted to the footman for his cane, not looking back at her when next he spoke. “I think that is something you must speak with Gideon about. I bid you good evening, Lady Sybil.”
He hobbled from the room, his cane hitting the polished floor the only sound as she was left in his wake.
Bloody hell. She didn’t know where Gid
eon’s study was located.
As if sensing her flustered temperament, the butler stepped into the room. “My lord is awaiting you. This way, please.”
When he gestured for her to follow, Sybil moved around the table, quickening her pace to keep up with the servant.
Sybil was uncertain why she was annoyed. A private moment with Gideon was the reason she’d flouted convention and dared come to his townhouse.
Perhaps it was that her arrival had only added more questions to the surmounting concern surrounding Gideon’s return, not even to touch on his disappearance. If she were to convince her brother that dragging her back to France and away from the man she loved was a bad idea, Sybil needed answers, not more questions.
The door to the study stood open, and Sybil spied Gideon pacing before the hearth, his strides long and heavy on the carpeted floor. There were not many occasions when she had the opportunity to gaze upon him unnoticed. His sun-kissed light locks hung over his collar in a very pleasing manner. How had she not noted that his hair had lightened significantly over the last year, as if he’d spent months in the sun? His cream-colored skin was several shades darker, making it contrast considerably with his hair. His skin tone did nothing to hide the dark circles under his eyes, however. Had he not slept recently? He’d appeared unburdened when she spotted him at the ball several nights past, but a weight had obviously settled upon him since she first laid eyes on him again.
She was desperate to know what troubled him, and how she could help.
But he’d need to open up to her first, trust her with whatever he kept secret, and have faith that she would do her best to assist him.
His shoulders tensed, and he halted, staring into the open flames. It tore her heart from her chest to see his frame snag as he exhaled.
“I told you not to come here.” His tone held little conviction. “It is dangerous.”