by Lucy Adams
Closing his eyes tightly, Robert squeezed the note hard, hearing it crumple and giving way to his anger. This emblem, he was sure, would lead him to answers, but it felt, at present, as though he was stuck hard to the floor, unable to find even a glimmer of light. Why had Lord Caravel been thrown from his horse? He was sure that it was not merely a coincidence, not merely an accident. There had to be something more, something dark and unseemly. This was connected to what he was investigating, he was sure of it, especially given that Lord Caravel had been looking into the emblem also. Whilst Robert knew that, as yet, Lord Caravel had found nothing, that did not mean that, since he had last seen him, Lord Caravel had not found something of note. Mayhap someone had discovered that he knew the truth, knew something of importance, and had attempted to bring him to an untimely end.
He had to pray that it would not be so.
“Lord Franks? You appear to be somewhat distressed.”
Miss Hemmingway was by his side, her eyes fixed on his as he turned to look at her. Her expression was one of concern, her hand reaching out to touch his arm.
He recoiled.
“Where is your brother?”
Miss Hemmingway took a small step back, her heightened color betraying her embarrassment. “He is present this evening,” she said, looking about her as though, in some way, she might be able to find him amongst the crowd. “Do you wish to speak to him?” Her eyes returned to his. “I did not manage to find his handkerchief.”
Robert let out his breath slowly, realizing that he had been sharp with her, lost in his anger and shock. “Forgive me for speaking so harshly,” he said, softly, moving a little closer to her. “I have had some less than helpful news and I allowed my emotions to crash over towards you. You did not find his handkerchief, did you say?”
She nodded. “I looked everywhere,” she answered, her gaze steady and no sign of any distress about her expression. “I searched his rooms and his study, but there was nothing of note there. His handkerchiefs were all laid out for me, for I told the valet that I wanted to purchase another for my brother and was eager to see what colors and the like he had at present.” She lifted her shoulders. “There was none with an emblem upon it.”
“I see.” He had to trust her, had to take her at her word but there was still a hint of suspicion there. Whilst he knew that she could not have been the horse and rider that had practically flung his carriage from the road, knew that she could not have been the person to ensure Lord Caravel had been thrown from his horse, he did not have enough faith in himself to give her his full trust. Not as yet, anyway.
“However,” Miss Hemmingway murmured, her eyes now holding a good deal of confusion, her gaze drifting away from his, “I did realize something, as I came to search my brother’s study.”
“Oh?”
She gave him a small, slightly embarrassed smile. “Pray do not mock my foolishness, but I have wondered how, if you were in my brother’s study and did not see him, he also then came out of the very same door as you some minutes later.” She tilted her head and looked at him. “You could not have entered nor searched that room if he was present, but I am quite certain that he did not enter the study after you had left.”
A deep frown caught Robert’s brow. “That is an excellent question, Miss Hemmingway,” he told her, thinking quickly. “I confess, I had not even allowed myself a moment to consider it.” He chewed his lip for a moment, aware that her eyes were on him and finding himself caught between wanting to return her gaze and wanting to find a suitable answer to the question she had asked.
“I do not think the townhouse has any passages or the like, that I do not know of,” Miss Hemmingway continued, when he said nothing. “I might very well be mistaken, but I do not believe that I am.”
He lifted his brow. “And have you searched the study for such a door?”
Now it was her turn to frown. “No,” she answered, quietly. “No, I have not.”
“Then mayhap we should.”
Her brow lifted and a small smile caught the corner of her mouth. “Indeed?”
It had been a little presumptuous of him, he knew, but there was nothing he could do but press on. “Given the severity of the situation, I do not think it wise for you to search for something alone,” he told her, as Miss Hemmingway lifted her chin a notch, perhaps thinking that he meant to suggest she was not strong enough to do so. “Not because I fear you might be too weak or the like, but rather because my concern for your safety, should there be a such a passage, is very great indeed.” He saw her gaze soften, her shoulders lowering. “After what has happened to Lord Caravel, I must do all I can to protect you.” Without fully intending to do so, he stepped closer and put one hand out to her arm, just his fingertips resting there. “I want to trust you, Miss Hemmingway, and yet I fear for myself if I do so. I have already brought pain to one friend. I do not wish to do so again.”
Miss Hemmingway reached with her free hand and clasped his, sending a sudden shudder all through him—something that felt both strange and welcoming at the same time.
“I have nothing but respect for you, Lord Franks,” she told him, earnestly. “I wish I could prove to you that I have no involvement in this, so that you might see me as an ally rather than a possible enemy. My brother is the one in trouble, I am sure of it, but I would rather help you so that he, in time, might be given the help I am certain he requires.” Her lip trembled and Robert felt the overwhelming urge to crush her in his arms, compelling himself to remain standing by sheer force of will. “I have searched my brother’s house. I have looked high and low for what you require but have found nothing. If I had, I would have brought it to you at once, I swear it to you.”
“I—I can see the earnestness in your eyes,” he said, quietly, feeling her fingers rubbing back and forth gently across his own and wondering why his heart had quickened so. Sighing heavily, he looked down but did not pull his hand away. “Very well, Miss Hemmingway. If it is to my detriment, then so be it. I shall trust that you are as you say.”
Her face split with a smile, her eyes brightening and the sadness being chased away by it. He felt her squeeze his hand wordlessly and, despite his own sense of trepidation, smiled back at her.
“Now,” he said, softly. “I know that your brother has given me his consent for me to call upon you, so he will think nothing of my appearance at his townhouse tomorrow. Indeed, I have also been invited to a small soiree next week at your brother’s townhouse!” He frowned, recalling Lady Hamilton. “But what of your mother?”
Miss Hemmingway released his hand and held her hands in front of her, although her smile still remained. “She will be out with Lady Arbuckle,” she told him. “And I might ask Lady Callander to join me, although she might very well be glad to allow us to speak in private.”
Robert sighed, having forgotten until Miss Hemmingway had mentioned her by name that another young lady also knew of the ‘League’ although certainly not in any great depth.
“It may be that I shall have to speak to her also,” he said, a trifle gloomily. “But mayhap not in any particular detail.”
Miss Hemmingway nodded. “I think she will be glad of that,” she said, softly. “And now, I should return to my mother, I think. I am sure she will be looking –”
“Mayhap you would like to dance?”
The words came from his mouth before he could prevent them and, from the look in Miss Hemmingway’s eyes, she was as stunned as he. It did not mean that he took them back, however, nor made some excuse for what he had said, but rather that he found his heart very eager indeed to have her as his partner for this dance.
“I do not think I am engaged,” she said, slowly, looking down at her dance card and evidently seeing no name written there. “Are you quite certain, Lord Franks?”
He nodded fervently. “Indeed, Miss Hemmingway, I am very certain indeed,” he told her, warmly. “Given that we are meant to be courting, I am sure that your brother and mayhap your mother would
be very pleased indeed to see such a thing.”
Miss Hemmingway laughed softly, although it did not quite reach her eyes. “I fear that you might soon be obliged to do a little more than courtship, Lord Franks,” she told him, as he took her arm. “You must be on your guard!”
He laughed with her, although, much to his surprise, he realized that the idea of courting Miss Hemmingway, with her pale blue eyes and bright smile, brought a sense of satisfaction to him, a sense of contentment. It was as though part of him truly did wish for such a thing, even though he knew there could be nothing of the like between them. He was not the sort to marry—not yet, at least—and he was quite sure that Miss Hemmingway could find someone a good deal better than a mere Baron from Scotland!
And yet, when he took her in his arms and began to twirl around the floor for the waltz, he felt his heart lift to the skies. This was wondrous and joyful. The way she took each step with him, moving without faltering and making certain to allow him to lead, made him feel all the more as though she were meant to be where she was at present; meant to be in his arms and perhaps, in his heart.
“Fire!”
The moment the waltz began to come to an end, a sudden shout ripped across the ballroom. Everyone fell silent, the music fading away and each person looking to the other to see who it was who had screamed such a thing.
“Fire! Outside! In the gardens!”
Robert turned at once, finding Miss Hemmingway’s hand in his. Hurrying towards the French doors that led to Lord and Lady Wiltshire’s rather expansive gardens for what was a townhouse, he tugged her into the darkness, only to find himself staring at a fire that was burning merrily in the middle of the grass.
“Put it out at once!” cried someone—most likely, their host—but it was Miss Hemmingway who stepped forward.
“Look,” she whispered, pointing towards the fire. “The shape of it. It is…..rather odd, is it not?”
Robert looked hard, noticing what she meant. Still holding her hand tightly, he took a few steps forward, just as footmen appeared with buckets of water. His breath caught. He saw precisely what the shape of the fire was. It was a circle, with a cross running through it, reaching all the way through and cutting through the bottom of the circle.
“The emblem,” he whispered, and Miss Hemmingway stepped back. As the footmen threw water onto the fire, the smoke and steam began to pour up towards the sky.
“Lord Franks,” Miss Hemmingway said gently, her hand now on his arm and gently tugging him back. “Lord Franks, do be careful.”
He whirled around, a sudden fierceness catching his spirit as he stared at one face and then another, trying to make out features of those around him, even though the darkness continued to hide their faces from him.
“Lord Franks,” Miss Hemmingway continued gently, still refusing to let him alone. “Come inside, my lord. It is very smoky here and I am sure you will feel better inside.”
“I am not unwell,” he grated, turning around to face her, seeing only her basic features illuminated by the dim light coming from the ballroom. “The fire…..that was for me.”
Her hand stayed on his for a moment, before she resumed gently tugging him towards the French doors.
“Do come inside and explain all to me,” she said, encouragingly. “Staying outside will do you no good.”
Robert felt himself relent, his angst beginning to lessen as he realized the wisdom in her words. He would not be able to find whoever was responsible now, not when it was so dark. And yet, he knew full well that the symbol on the grass, the emblem, had been meant solely for him. It was meant to mock him, to laugh at him, to make him feel as belittled as he did at present. Having just discovered the fate that had befallen Lord Caravel, he was now presented with the emblem he knew so little about now burned on the grass, mocking his lack of success and perhaps suggesting that he might never be able to achieve all that he hoped. Trudging inside, Robert let out a long breath, finding no joy in the music, in the chattering crowd and the glittering ballroom.
“What is wrong, Lord Franks?” Miss Hemmingway was looking directly at him now, having led him to a quiet corner of the ballroom. “You look greatly distressed.”
He shook his head, finding it almost impossible to speak without revealing just how much he was upset by this. “The fire was not merely a fire,” he said, keeping his head low and aware that his voice was barely loud enough for her to hear. “It was set deliberately. The shape of it was the emblem, the one we found on the man who shot through Lord Watt’s window and the one on your brother’s handkerchief.”
She blinked in surprise, her mouth forming a circle but she said nothing. He looked at her with something like disappointment and regret building in his heart, feeling as though he had already failed entirely.
“Someone here set it,” he muttered, pushing one hand through his dark hair and letting it fall untidily to one side.
“How could they have done so with such intricacy?”
A rueful half smile tugged at his mouth. “There are a few ways that it might be done. Some require earlier preparation, some can be done very quickly provided there are others involved. However, at this juncture, I only have one person in my mind to question.”
The swift intake of breath from Miss Hemmingway told him that she knew precisely what she meant.
“I must find my brother at once.”
Robert’s head lifted sharply. This was not what he had expected to hear from her, more than a little astonished that she had been so willing to immediately accept that her brother might have been the one to set the fire.
“If you believe him to be the one to have done so, then surely there will be signs that he is the one to speak to,” Miss Hemmingway continued, perhaps surprised to see his own astonishment and wanting to confirm what she had said. “I have no intention of warning him or chasing him away, if that is what you fear.”
“No, no,” Robert said hurriedly, shaking his head and catching Miss Hemmingway’s hand. “No, I do not think that, Miss Hemmingway, truly.” Letting out a long breath, he looked around the ballroom, knowing that the other gentlemen of the League would be looking to speak to him. “Might you find your brother? And if there is anything of note, anything at all to speak of, then would you write to me? I know it would be very late indeed but I must know the truth.” Recalling Lord Caravel, he closed his eyes for a moment. “I must also go to see how Lord Caravel fares.”
Miss Hemmingway nodded. “But of course,” she answered, her fingers tight in his. “I quite understand. And I thank you for putting your trust in me, I am very grateful. Now, go to your friend, Lord Franks. And I shall write to you just as soon as I am able.”
Chapter Ten
Carolyn watched Lord Franks walk away, her heart filled with all manner of emotions. She was afraid for what the emblem fire meant and whether or not her brother had been the one to set it. There was a compassion there also, sorry for Lord Franks and for all that he was enduring, and horrified to hear that something disastrous had occurred to one of the other gentlemen of this ‘League’. And she was glad that Lord Franks was willing now to trust her, to give her a role in his investigations so that she might be of aid in some way. Despite what she feared, despite her anxiety that her brother might have been the one to set the fire, she told herself that there was nothing she could do but try and discover the truth. There was still something in her that said that Lord Hamilton was not the sort of gentleman to betray his country, not the sort of man to arrange for a man to be knocked from his horse or to shoot a pistol through a window without consideration, but the only way she would be able to prove such a thing would be by finding the answers Lord Franks required.
“And if you are in trouble,” she whispered, pressing herself back against the wall and looking all around the room, “then I want to help you, brother.” She swallowed hard. She and Lord Hamilton had never been bosom companions growing up. There were a good few years between them and he had always consider
ed her to be nothing more than a silly little girl, unworthy of his attentions. Yes, once he had taken the title, he had appeared to act with wisdom and insight—for he sought to find himself a bride the year after his mourning had come to an end and had been more than willing for Carolyn herself to have as many Seasons as she wished. But there was still not that closeness between them that might now have proven useful, should she have had such a thing. Mayhap her brother might have turned to her, might have spoken to her, might have allowed himself to look to her for guidance. They would not be as they were now, with her wondering and questioning what Hamilton was involved in, fearful that he was not the man she thought him.
Had she known Lady Hamilton a little more, Carolyn might have considered writing to her sister-in-law for her advice, but there was not even a friendship between them. Sighing, Carolyn rubbed at her forehead, praying silently that Lord Caravel would not succumb to death, as Lord Franks evidently feared, and that somehow, this terrible mystery would be brought to a swift end.
Lifting her head, Carolyn was surprised to see Lord Franks only a few feet away from her. She had expected him to quit the room, but allowing herself to watch him for a moment or two, she realized that he was deep in earnest conversation with one or two other gentlemen. Gentlemen who must also be bound to The King’s League, she realized. Her eyes lingered on Lord Franks, sending her heart into a quicker rhythm as she took in his frame, recalled the touch of his fingers on her hand, how he had looked so deeply into her eyes.
Of course, she chided herself, this was certainly not the time for her to be thinking such things! And yet, there was an unsettling awareness of him surrounding her, filling her heart, soul and mind. The way his dark hair had brushed untidily to one side of his face, the way his eyes had searched hers, the sigh that had come as he had touched her hand—she could not seem to forget them easily. They aroused something new in her, something that she knew should not even be considered at the present moment, but finding that she could do nothing other but that. She had never felt an attraction to a gentleman before, had never truly enjoyed a close acquaintance with a gentleman but ever since he had come to her rescue from Lord Voxley’s foolishness, she had found herself drawing nearer and nearer to him. The fact that he had stated, outright, that he would allow himself to trust her meant a great deal. Her heart had lifted with joy, with relief, with gladness, and even now, she still felt that swell of emotion.