by Alec, Joyce
“A little too eager in my dancing, I fear,” the gentleman replied with a quick smile, although his eyes lingered over Thomas’s right shoulder. “I am truly sorry.”
Thomas muttered darkly under his breath but saw, much to his relief, that the gentlemen and ladies who had been watching him were now quite taken up with something else.
“And I must apologize to you also,” the gentleman continued, directing his words towards Miss Newton. “Are you all right?”
Miss Newton was red in the face, evidently mortified at what had occurred, but she nodded and looked away. Thomas closed his eyes for a moment, drawing in a long, steadying breath. Miss Newton did not need this sort of attention, not when she was already finding it difficult to traverse through society for what was, really, the first time. It would be better to move on from this incident as quickly as they could.
“Thank you, but I think we are both uninjured,” he said quickly, as the gentleman stuck out a hand. “There is nothing to concern yourself with further.” He shook the gentleman’s hand, as though this was to reassure him that there was truly no injury. “Good evening to you.”
“Good evening,” the gentleman replied, his eyes suddenly fixed on Miss Newton. “I do hope this will not be the last time we shall meet.”
Thomas frowned at those strange words, turning to glance at Miss Newton and wondering if this was what the gentleman was hoping for: an introduction to Miss Newton. He was about to suggest such a thing, given that any gentleman’s acquaintance would be an advantage for Miss Newton, only to turn back to see the bearded fellow walking away from them both, twisting this way and that as he made his way through the throng of guests.
“Are you quite all right, Miss Newton?” Thomas asked, seeing Miss Newton’s cheeks still red with embarrassment. “You are not hurt?”
“Not in the least,” she replied with alacrity. “Shall we continue on?”
Thomas nodded, shrugged, and offered her his arm again, which she took without hesitation. Walking together, Thomas struggled to remove the strange gentleman from his mind, finding something familiar about him that he could not quite place.
“It is very strange, is it not?” Miss Newton commented quietly.
He looked down at her. “What is strange, Miss Newton?”
Her eyes turned towards his, filled with confusion. “It is strange that he said he was too eager in his dancing when, at the time he crashed into you, the dancing had only just come to a close.” A line appeared between her delicate eyebrows as she considered the matter further. “And he did not seem at all eager to go back in search of his partner, to apologize to her.”
Thomas frowned, turning the matter over in his mind. “And we are a good distance away from where they are dancing,” he said softly, feeling Miss Newton’s hand tighten on his arm. “You are quite correct, Miss Newton. There is something a little strange about what has just occurred.” Not that he had any understanding about what such a thing might be, although he was quite certain that if he saw that particular gentleman again – for he would not be hard to miss – Thomas would make sure to greet him and discover his name.
He shrugged one shoulder as they approached some acquaintances of his. “I think it best you push the matter from your mind for the time being, Miss Newton,” he stated firmly. “Here, now, let me introduce you to one or two of my acquaintances and see if we cannot find you a few more dance partners for the evening.”
Miss Newton glanced up at him, a sheen of fear in her eyes although she did not say a word.
“You must be confident and assertive, Miss Newton, and do not let anyone see if you are injured by a harsh word or a snide remark,” he said. “You are as welcome here as I am. Do not let those with long memories and little else to do other than make their mark in society trouble you in any way whatsoever. I shall not abandon you, and nor will Lady Thurston.”
Miss Newton drew in a breath, set her shoulders, and placed a smile on her lips. “Does this suffice?”
He could not help but grin, which in turn let Miss Newton’s smile grow steadily.
“That is it exactly,” he said, seeing a few familiar faces turn towards them. “You shall do very well this evening, Miss Newton, I am sure of it.”
It was not until a good few hours later, when Thomas was more than content with how things had gone for Miss Newton, that he allowed himself to relax just a little. Not only had he danced twice with Miss Newton, finding her to be more than graceful in her steps, but he had managed to secure her three other dance partners, two of which had asked for two separate dances. Of course, she had not had every dance filled, but that was to be expected. There had been a few gentlemen less than inclined to become acquainted with her, but he had not allowed their behavior to affect him. Miss Newton had looked a little hurt upon occasion, but she had done very well to maintain her elegant composure, whilst remaining warm and welcoming to whomever showed her even the smallest bit of interest.
He watched her now as she danced with Lord Borden, who was a tall, thin gentleman with a shock of thick, black hair that seemed to sway in time to the music. Borden was a viscount and had a firm, good-natured character. He would be more than suitable for Miss Newton, Thomas considered, tipping his head. That being said, Lord Borden had been in society for some years now and still had not shown any sign of being particularly interested in securing himself a bride.
“But there is always a first time,” Thomas mumbled to himself, sitting back in his chair with a small smile on his face. If things continued to go as well as they had this evening, then the matter regarding Miss Newton would be over very soon. He would have his freedom back and would be able to enjoy the Season for himself.
Not that he intended to find a bride quite yet. Another year or so and then he might do so, knowing that he required an heir to take on the title when the time came. He did not feel quite settled enough yet, although whether that was to do with Miss Newton, he could not say.
Something crinkled as he adjusted his seat, making him frown. He had nothing in his pockets as far as he knew, but the sound came again as he rose to his feet, his frown deepening as he searched.
A small piece of paper was all he could find; he tugged it out of his pocket the moment he discovered it. He had no recollection of having put something there, and certainly, his valet would not have allowed such a thing to go unnoticed. How very odd.
The paper was small and torn at the edges, as though someone had not had the time to find anything better. Unfolding it, Thomas felt his stomach turn over as he read the few words.
‘Newton was innocent. You must find a way to prove it. There is more at stake than you know.’
Thomas stared blankly at the words, struggling to make sense of them and wondering who had managed to put such a small note into his pocket. What did it mean that there was “more at stake”? Was there to be another murder? And how was he to prove that the late Francis Newton was not the murderous, foul-minded gentleman that most seemed to think he was? As far as Thomas was concerned, it was almost impossible.
“Lord Sharpe!”
Thomas looked up at once, holding the note in his hand as he tucked his arms behind his back. Miss Newton was coming towards him, a brilliant smile on her face. This evening had, at least, gone rather well for her.
“You look quite troubled, my lord,” she said, the smile fading from her face. “I will not trouble you further. I thought to ask if you could accompany me back to Lady Thurston, for I cannot see her.”
“Here.”
He did not know what he intended by giving her the note, but the astonishment on her face as she read it made him glad that he was not the only one entirely at a loss as to what to think.
“Who gave this to you?” she whispered, the smile gone completely from her expression, her eyes filled with wariness. “And why?”
“I do not know.” He shrugged and looked away. “I found it in my pocket.”
Miss Newton’s eyes widened all the m
ore, fixed on him as though he were about to turn around and tell her that he had simply written the note himself and placed it in his own pocket.
“I do not know who put it there,” he insisted, taking her gloved hand in his and feeling her tremble. “Nor do I know what it is I am meant to do with such information.”
“Wait.”
Her hand tightened on his, her breath hitching as she struggled to speak.
“What is it, Miss Newton?” he asked, suddenly filled with a sense of urgency. “What troubles you?”
“That gentleman,” Miss Newton breathed, one hand pressed lightly against her chest. “The bearded gentleman who fell into you.”
It was as though a lightning bolt had struck him, hard.
“Could he not have placed such a thing in your pocket, Lord Sharpe?” Miss Newton asked, her voice barely loud enough for him to hear. “Is there any other explanation?”
He shook his head slowly, his heart beginning to race. “No, I do not think there is.”
“Then who is he?” Miss Newton exclaimed, suddenly looking quite frightened. “And what does he mean by pushing that note into your pocket?”
Thomas could barely think straight, such was the shock of what Miss Newton had just revealed to him. That strange gentleman, the one he had sensed a familiarity about, the one who had seemingly knocked him over simply by accident, had done so deliberately so that he might pass on a message to both Thomas and Miss Newton. The gentleman must have known that Thomas was escorting Miss Newton, which was perhaps why he had ensured to speak to them both.
“What should we do, Lord Sharpe?”
Gathering himself, he looked at Miss Newton sharply, seeing that she was on the brink of tears. “There is nothing we can do for the moment,” he said, as calmly as he could. “That gentleman will be gone from this place by now, I think.”
Miss Newton shook her head, her eyes glassy.
“But let us consider it carefully and come together again, mayhap tomorrow, to discuss things further,” he said, a good deal more gently this time. “It will do no good to consider it now, not at such a late hour.”
Miss Newton swallowed hard and nodded, blinking rapidly so that none of her tears would fall.
“Until tomorrow afternoon then?” Thomas suggested, pushing the note into Miss Newton’s hand. “Here, you may have this. Make of it what you will.”
“Thank you, Lord Sharpe,” Miss Newton whispered, evidently unable to trust her voice. “Until tomorrow.”
3
Being as troubled as she was, Julianna had not allowed herself to sleep until the first rays of the sun crept in through her bedroom drapes, finally finding some peace with the assurance of a new day. She was then awoken by her maid at around noon, ate a late breakfast, and was now dressed and ready for Lord Sharpe’s arrival.
Safely in the depths of her pocket, she kept the note that Lord Sharpe had discovered late last evening. It felt as though it continued to weigh her down, the sheer significance of it reminding her constantly of its presence.
She could not remove from her thoughts the sight of that bearded gentleman, having realized that it had to be him that had placed the note in Lord Sharpe’s pocket. There was no other explanation, and given just how strange the gentleman’s explanation had been for knocking into Lord Sharpe in the first place, she had no doubt that it had been his doing. Although who he was and why he was so eager to seek their help in effectively clearing Francis’s good name of all wrongdoing, she could not quite understand.
“Must you always be seated in here, Julianna?”
Starting in surprise at the sound of her brother’s voice, for she had not seen him enter the room such was the weight of her thoughts, Julianna turned her head towards him and attempted to put a bright smile on her face.
“Whatever is the matter, Henry dear?” she asked gently, aware that her elder brother had been in a perpetually dark mood for a good many months. “You do not wish me to sit in the drawing room?” She let a small laugh escape her. “Am I truly such poor company?” She took in her brother’s surly face, his coloring so like Francis’s, with his thick mop of brown hair, his hazel eyes and square jaw. But as far as their similarities went, that was all there was. Francis had always had a grin on his face, his eyes almost always alight with good humor, whereas Henry seemed to constantly be in the depths of sorrow, his brow furrowed and his eyes lowered to the ground. No matter what she tried, she could not get him to smile even once. He was entirely wrapped up in his own life and did not care for her in the slightest, but yet her heart ached for him, knowing that he must be suffering the loss of his brother in his own way.
“I just wish to be alone!” Henry barked, folding his arms across his chest as though she were merely some sort of servant that ought to do precisely as he asked. “Can I have no peace in this house?”
Julianna stiffened, her smile fixed to her face. “That is not at all fair, Henry,” she said, refusing to allow his sharp tone to affect her in any way. “You have the study, the library, and even the dining room should you wish to be entirely alone. I am expecting a caller this afternoon and therefore—”
“It is a fine day, is it not?” Henry interrupted gruffly. “Can he not court you outside as well as within?”
A faint heat came into Julianna’s cheeks, but she kept her temper with an effort. “Lord Sharpe is not courting me, Henry, as you ought to know.” She arched an eyebrow, as he narrowed his eyes at her, refusing to be cowed. “You were meant to be present when he first called, but you were still abed. If you recall, you have had ample opportunity to understand what is going on, but you have never once given me a single minute of your time.” She had wondered, albeit briefly, whether or not to tell Henry about the note, but given the mood, he was in at this present time, as well as his continued lack of interest in her wellbeing, Julianna chose not to say a single word.
Henry made an impatient noise in the back of his throat, but Julianna remained unmoved.
“Can you not just do as I ask?” Henry exclaimed, his face suddenly turning quite red. “I do have my own responsibilities and such, as you might be aware.”
“No, I am not aware,” Julianna replied coolly. “The last I heard, you were to ensure that you met my sponsor and Lord Sharpe. You were to ensure that I was being well taken care of, for obviously, Hollard knows full well that you could not be trusted to accompany me around London yourself!” She did not regret the sharpness of her tone, even though she saw Henry’s eyes flash. “When it comes to it, Henry, it is quite apparent that both Francis and Hollard knew you well enough to put others in place to ensure I was not left entirely alone this Season.”
Her brother’s eyes flared. “What do you mean—Francis?”
She lifted one shoulder, her stomach tightening just a little. “I mean that Francis asked Lord Sharpe to step into the role that you ought to be taking, Henry,” she said plainly, wondering if some harsh truths would allow Henry to see just how difficult he was being. “You speak of responsibilities and duties and the like, but I can see none.”
Henry’s eyes glared at her. “You have very little idea about what you speak, sister dear,” he replied cruelly, his overly caring tone biting at her harshly. “You think that your future is all that matters—when I have my own future to consider.”
Julianna rose to her feet, a ball of anger settling in her chest. “In case you are unaware of societal dictates, Henry, may I remind you that a gentleman may marry whenever he wishes, regardless of his age, whereas young ladies are considered spinsters by the time they are four and twenty.” She narrowed her eyes at him, refusing to let his harsh and angry words work their way into her heart. Henry had become a good deal more self-centered and arrogant these last few months, and she was beginning to become rather weary of it. To have him speak to her so cruelly and without justification rankled her. “If you do not wish me to become a permanent burden upon your life, Henry, then I would suggest that you do all you can to ensure I
find a suitable husband this Season. Else I may have to fall upon your mercies in the years to come.”
“And you will get nothing from me,” Henry hissed, stepping closer to her. “I do not care for you, as I do not care for our brother nor did I care for Francis.”
Julianna fell back as though he had slapped her, hard.
“I am the last of the three sons,” Henry continued, his face contorted with anger. “I have the smallest fortune; I have no house to call my own; and, until Francis’s foolish demise, no hope of the title falling to me.” A small, dark smile crossed his features but was gone before Julianna could even really see it. “I will live my life as I please, in my own way and with my own choice of responsibilities. And know this, Julianna, I would rather see you in the poorhouse than offer you any sort of consideration.”
A flood of hot, angry tears burned in Julianna’s eyes, her breath ripped from her body at the horror of what her brother had said. She did not know what to think nor what to say, staring at him as though she were seeing him for the very first time. This could not be Henry, could it? Henry, who had grown up with her, who had been given as much as their father could allow? Julianna knew that her father, God rest him, had been a shrewd and careful man, making sure to grow his fortune as best he could and to make his lands as profitable as they could be, all so that he could leave a decent inheritance to his sons. Julianna, of course, had a dowry but no particular fortune, but she had always been more than grateful for her father’s shrewd manner and his generosity in what he had left her. She had always believed that her brothers felt much the same way, for not one of them had ever complained. Even Henry, with his sullen mood and dark expression, had more than enough to live on for the rest of his life if he was careful, she was quite sure. What more could he want?
“I do not understand you, Henry,” she said. “You had a father who gave all he could to ensure we were well provided for. You have a kind brother, who has taken on the title. Should not our family be binding itself together to ensure that we share our wounds and our griefs with one another?” She took a step forward, but Henry did not move, his expression never changing. “You have never told a soul about your pain over Francis’s death,” she continued, trying to reach her brother through sympathy and compassion instead of giving in to the anger and distress that was circling all around her. “It is as though it has not affected you, other than to make you even more inward-looking than before.” A small, sad smile touched her lips, but Henry merely lowered his gaze to the floor, his jaw set. “Do you not think that if you shared your pain over what occurred and over what we have been left behind to deal with, that it might aid your own suffering?”