“When I took you to my bed, it was not part of this,” he said.
Hugh’s eyes closed briefly. He didn’t know why Theo would lie now, about this. He turned to challenge him. “Yet you still talked of regiments and routes.”
“I wanted to believe you innocent, Hugh, but there was too much at stake. My instinct told me you were exactly as you seemed, but I had to be sure I wasn’t simply telling myself what I wanted to believe. I had to be sure.” His eyes were intent on Hugh’s face. “Do you understand?”
Hugh certainly did understand. Theo had taken Hugh to his bed so he might either prove himself innocent or give himself away.
Giving himself away was precisely what he had done, Hugh realised with a rush of shame. He had responded with such wretched eagerness to every advance or attention Theo had bestowed upon him. As for the scheme he had dreamed up when Theo was arrested…
“Why the charade about being arrested?” Why pile yet more humiliation on to Hugh? He had betrayed himself completely in that upper floor room, clinging to Theo and practically confessing his love for the man. He wished desperately for the floor to open, or the heavens to fall, or anything to happen that he would not have to remember what he had done.
“Being arrested was not part of my plan, believe me,” Theo said ruefully. “I admit Courtenay took me by surprise there. He knew that once Horse Guards believed they had caught their spy, he would be safer and could go about his business unhindered. Having had to dispose of Badham, he found the perfect opportunity to frame me.”
“The snuffbox that went missing,” Hugh started, for it was easier to think about the mechanics of the situation than about anything else.
“That was stolen,” Theo corrected, “when Courtenay searched my chambers. Nothing I had said or done could lead him to suspect me, so I believe he merely suffered from an excess of caution. Perhaps that is why he seized upon the snuffbox, to have it for a contingency. Or perhaps he simply wished to ensure that if an intruder was detected, he would be thought to be no more than a common thief.” Theo smiled suddenly, though there was no humour in it. “As it happened, once I was arrested he became positively careless and fell into the trap set, passing false information about Wellington’s plans for an assault next month. Once he had done that, he was to have been seized, while I was released with no blemish on my name.” Theo’s smile changed, until he looked genuinely amused as he added, “And thankfully no pressing need to sell my horses or visit the Godforsaken county of Yorkshire.”
Hugh stood as tall and straight as his leg would allow. “Am I to be arrested for treason?”
All colour fled from Theo’s face as he stared at Hugh. “Why would you say such a thing?”
“Yorkshire,” Hugh got out, his voice thick.
“God, Hugh, no. Never, I swear. That was between us, that was—no, God, do not tell a soul,” Theo pleaded, his eyes dark with something that if he did not now know better, Hugh would have thought to be distress. “It goes to the grave with me.”
Hugh supposed numbly that he should be thankful for that, though he could not guess at Theo’s motivation. No more than he could guess at the reasons for any other thing that had happened.
“How did that memorandum come to be in the book on my desk?” he asked.
“I can only think that Courtenay took it to make a copy and then could not find a way to replace it without risk of discovery. Hiding it in the book meant it could look accidental, or it could cast suspicion on you.” Theo shrugged slightly. “Either way worked to his advantage.”
“Did it cast suspicion on me?”
A slight smile touched Theo’s lips. “It assured me that I was right. No one who was guilty could have reacted in the artless way you appear to have perfected as your own.”
“I see,” Hugh said. He was fighting hard to sound like Theo, matter-of-fact and untouched by this, but it felt like Salamanca all over again—one moment striding forward, certain and sound, and the next the ground cut from beneath his feet, and so much pain. “So that’s when you knew I was innocent?”
Theo shook his head impatiently. “I knew—I believed before then, Hugh,” he said. “But I had no evidence. And until I came to know you, you were the perfect candidate: quiet to the point of invisibility, at Horse Guards for long hours each day, with your brothers placed as they were and your unexpected friendship with Lady Emily, who was until lately married to a Frenchman.”
“You suspected Emily?” Horror almost choked him at the situation Emily might have found herself in. “God, man, have you no shame? How could you ever think that of her?”
“You forget, I didn’t know her. Nor you. And there was always the possibility you were being milked for information while remaining innocent.”
Hugh looked down, shame and anger filling him. “You think me so stupid?”
“No! God above, no. But when you trust, it seems you trust wholeheartedly, and you do not expect to be betrayed.”
“It’s true,” Hugh said quietly, looking back up to find Theo’s eyes were intent on his face. “I did not expect it from you.”
Theo took in a sudden sharp breath. His face was wintry, his lips thin and tight.
“I wish you good day,” Hugh said, and turned to leave.
“Hugh,” Theo said.
But there was nothing left to say. Nothing to be done except to get out of this place and attempt to forget all about Colonel Theo Lindsay. It appeared Theo also realised that, for he said nothing further as Hugh opened the door and left.
The walk back to his lodgings was a peculiar kind of torture, because Hugh’s leg meant he could not hurry. He could not get away from where he might be seen or greeted by someone he knew, and the sunshine that had been so bright with hope as he had hastened to Theo’s now taunted him. Finally he was through the door and safely into the familiar rooms that were dark after the day outside. He went to his bedchamber, for it was the only room with a lock, and he could not have anyone see him, not even Murray. Not yet.
He sat on the bed and saw with surprise that his hands were trembling. He supposed he should not have been so shocked by Theo’s revelation. The very concept that a man like Theo Lindsay could have an interest in Hugh was ridiculous. Hugh had always known that but had elected to ignore it, instead behaving like a spoiled child who believed he could order the world as he wished it to be instead of how it really was. He’d chosen to believe he, Hugh, could somehow earn the regard of such a man, and he had no right to be surprised when the entire edifice he’d constructed came tumbling down around his ears, for it had never had any foundation.
Hugh buried his face in his hands. God, he had been so stupid. So terribly, monumentally stupid, and the worst of it was that Theo knew it. Theo knew everything about Hugh’s wretched delusions and infatuation.
When he’d been with Theo, everything had seemed different and anything had felt possible. But nothing had changed—he was still Hugh, still the stupid third son who had gone to war and come back too damaged to be of any use.
He hated Theo Lindsay then, with everything that was in him, because he had made Hugh believe, if only for a short while, that things could be different.
Chapter Twenty
That night Hugh slept very ill indeed. The brandy he had consumed to help him sleep brought him only bad dreams. As a consequence, he was out of bed several hours before he was due at Horse Guards, desperately seeking a diversion, but there was nothing he could do that would rid his mind of thoughts of Theo and his own damnable stupidity. When finally Murray appeared to start the day, Hugh practically fell upon his neck in gratitude. With his usual morning routine begun, things grew easier, for Hugh could concentrate on the minutiae, and he knew that at Horse Guards he could lose himself for the day in paperwork.
It was only as he left his lodgings to walk to Horse Guards that it occurred to him to wonder if Theo might be there
today. He missed his step and stumbled. No, of course he would not be—what possible business could he have there now? Even if he were there for some reason, he would not come near their office, that was certain.
Relieved, Hugh continued on his way. After he had gone another twenty paces or so he suddenly realised it was no longer “their” office. He had been so taken up with Theo’s revelation that he had not really thought about Courtenay. He hoped he was caught soon—he would not wish a hanging on any man, but Courtenay’s actions were unpardonable. It might have seemed a game to him, as removed from the war as he was, but his actions had belied that when he murdered Colonel Badham. Then he had tried to frame Theo, who was entirely innocent of murder, if not of other things. And from what Theo had said, Courtenay had not thought twice about pointing the finger of suspicion at Hugh, no matter the sentence that would be passed if he were found guilty. No, Courtenay deserved the fate that would be his.
The office felt different as he entered, and he swiftly realised it was not only due to his knowledge that the other occupant would never be there again, but the fact that every last scrap of paper was missing from both of their desks. He stood for a moment, unsure what to do. The sound of a throat being cleared behind him caused him to turn around. Colonel Dalrymple’s subaltern was standing there, looking distinctly awkward.
“The colonel wishes to see you, Captain Fanshawe,” he said. His message delivered, he scuttled off.
Colonel Dalrymple possessed considerably more ease of address than his junior, but the same air of awkwardness pervaded his office as Hugh entered, closing the door behind him as bidden.
“Take a seat, Fanshawe,” he said somewhat over-heartily. “I take it you’ve heard about Courtenay?”
“Yes, sir,” Hugh said as he carefully lowered himself onto one of the chairs in front of the colonel’s desk.
“Shocking business. He’s one of the Oxford Courtenays, you know.”
“Yes, sir,” Hugh said, although he had no idea what bearing that fact had on anything that had happened.
“Now, I should like you to tell me every person Courtenay has mentioned to you and every place he has mentioned frequenting, even if only once. It appears he has been very careful, but even the most careful man might slip occasionally, especially if, as I suspect to be the case here, he has underestimated his listener.”
“Sir?”
“He’s an arrogant young pup,” the colonel said. “It would not surprise me in the least if he played games to amuse himself with his own intelligence and daring, telling you things that he would not risk mentioning in front of another because he deemed you something of a dullard.”
“Yes, sir,” Hugh said. His cheeks were hot with shame.
“It was his blunder,” Dalrymple said, his eyes very steady on Hugh’s face from beneath bristling eyebrows, “mistaking steadiness of purpose and a sense of duty for dullness. So let us see if we may hoist him with his own petard, Fanshawe. Tell me everything.”
Hugh trawled through his memories, bringing to mind odd snippets—the dark-haired opera dancer, Arabella, the names of the hells Courtenay had said he had frequented and the occasional fellow he had mentioned encountering there, even if only to complain about their bad habits with dice or cards.
“Excellent,” the colonel said when at last Hugh was finished, and he looked with satisfaction at the list of names and places on the paper before him. “That will be of great value, Fanshawe—thank you.”
Hugh nodded and hoped the colonel was right.
Colonel Dalrymple cleared his throat, and suddenly the sense of awkwardness was back. “There is one further thing,” he said, and his voice was gruff. “While there is no question attached to you, not even the merest hint of a stain upon your character, I regret that the generals wish anybody who was associated with Courtenay to be cleared out as a precaution.”
Hugh’s stomach turned, and it was suddenly hard to breathe. The colonel could not mean…
“I’m sorry to say that you’re being moved to half-pay and are no longer required at Horse Guards,” the colonel said quickly, and he was looking at the paper in front of him as he said it.
“Sir,” Hugh said, and then fell silent, for he did not know what to say.
The only sound in the room was the ticking of a clock, and Hugh’s breathing, faster than usual and uneven with panic.
“Look, Fanshawe, it’s a damned mess,” the colonel said suddenly, looking up and straight at Hugh. “They’ve made the wrong decision in this case and so I have informed them, in no uncertain terms. Colonel Lindsay also made most forceful representation, but they refuse to budge.” His shoulders rose briefly in an apologetic shrug. “Perhaps it’s not entirely a bad thing, for you can go to Bath and try the cure for that damned leg of yours. I know it troubles you. And as soon as the frenzy dies down, I will be requesting your return because I have never before had a man as careful in his work as you.”
“Thank you, sir,” Hugh said between numb lips. It was not only his lips—his entire body was numb. He did not know what to do, what to say. He did not know anything except he must get up from this chair and walk out of Horse Guards and away from everything.
The colonel got to his feet and moved around the desk to lay a strong hand on Hugh’s shoulder. “If you should need assistance of any sort, Fanshawe, don’t hesitate to look me up,” he said. “I’m damned angry they’ve done this to you, and so I’ve told them.”
Hugh pushed himself to his feet. “Thank you, sir,” he said again, and then he was out of the room, along the familiar corridor, and stepping into the fresh air and brightness of a day that had no business continuing as if nothing had happened.
He walked along Whitehall, though he had no idea where he was going nor why. He simply knew he had to keep moving because otherwise his emotions would overwhelm him.
He found himself at length standing beside the river, watching the wherries that plied along its waters. There was an ache deep inside him that nothing could ease. For the first time in his life, Hugh didn’t know what to do. All he knew was he couldn’t stay here, not when what had been his life was taken away from him and there were reminders of Theo Lindsay at every turn.
He didn’t know how long he stood there, the tumult in his head so loud he could scarcely think, but he slowly became aware of the steady, soft slap of water against wooden pilings. The sound took him back to spring days splashing in the streams at Carswell. He remembered the way he and James would run home with jars full of tadpoles and Miss Nash would scold them for being muddy and wet and late before providing them with a larger container for their catch. Hugh and James would take turns in feeding them each day, watching them grow and turn into frogs, at which point Miss Nash would insist they returned them to the wild, despite James’s best attempts every year to persuade her to allow them to place some of the frogs in Sophia’s bed. James had not changed all that much. And suddenly Hugh knew what he would do. It would not solve anything, but it was what he needed—a safe place where he could retreat and regroup.
He looked around and found to his surprise that he had almost reached Battersea Bridge. He did not like to think for how long he must have been walking. Turning back, he headed for the Palace of Westminster, because he needed to see George.
It turned out, of course, to be impossible to see George—Lord Fanshawe was a very busy man these days—but his secretary, Mr Charles, graciously allowed Hugh to write George a note on his own stationery. He undertook to ensure George received it and that Hugh would obtain an answer as swiftly as possible. Having impressed upon him the urgency of the matter, Hugh made his way back to Whitehall and found a hack to take him home, for the pain in his leg was becoming unbearable. He had walked too far, and it was letting him know of his dereliction.
Once back in the safety of his lodgings, Hugh warned Murray they might shortly be travelling to Carswell. He coul
d do nothing else to further his plan just in case George refused his permission for Hugh to use the estate as a refuge, so, having spoken to Murray, there was nothing for Hugh to do.
Nothing except realise that this was how the rest of his life would be now. If he could not go to Horse Guards every day, he did not know what he would do with his time, for he couldn’t engage in any physical pursuits. He had never been precisely bookish; he thought now that perhaps that would have to change, else he would run mad. Or perhaps he could breed roses like the Marquess. At that, Hugh found himself laughing, and then the tears came. He ended up with his head in his hands, and wetness on his fingers that he tried to tell himself was due simply to the pain from his leg. Unfortunately, Hugh had never been a convincing liar.
Chapter Twenty-One
Mrs Mason met Hugh at the front door to Carswell, having evidently been drawn out of the house by the sound of the post chaise. It had been an easy journey as the estate was only one stage’s drive away from London, but Hugh’s leg was still protesting the long walk he had taken two days previously, and his dismount from the carriage was awkward. As soon as he was safely established on the ground, he smiled warmly at Mrs Mason—she was part of coming home again, having been a fixture at Carswell for all of Hugh’s life. She looked older and smaller than he had remembered, and his smile dropped when he saw the tears in her eyes as she gazed at him. God, this was going to be no different from London, with the pity and distaste from everyone.
“Oh, Master Hugh,” she burst out, twisting her hands in her skirt. “We thought… When we had the news about that terrible battle and heard you were injured, we thought we might not see you ever again, and yet here you are.” Tears started to spill down her cheeks, and Hugh’s heart squeezed at the mix of distress and happiness on her face.
He walked to her as swiftly as he could, and proffered his arm, drawing her hand inside the slight curve it formed. “I’m perfectly well, Mrs Mason,” he said. “I promise you.”
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