Lord Millerton managed a small, wheezy laugh which broke the tension in the room completely. “I have only just joined the League and find that it has given me more purpose and intention than anything before,” he told the room. “I will not turn my back on it now.”
“Hear, hear,” Lord Ferguson replied, another gentleman from Scotland whom Robert had known for many years. “And neither must you give up, Lord Franks. Do not let your guilt overwhelm you.” Sharp, dark eyes looked into his own. “There is still much work to do.”
Robert nodded, feeling a little better but still deeply sorrowful over what he had let happen. “I am very aware of that,” he said, as Lord Monteforte handed him another brandy. “And I am grateful to you all for your understanding.”
Swallowing a mouthful of brandy, Robert let out his breath slowly and let the conversation around him simply flow over him. Tomorrow, he would have to speak candidly and perhaps a little forcefully to Miss Hemmingway. It was not something he was relishing but mayhap, if he was lucky, he might begin to discover the truth. He could only pray that it would be so.
Chapter Seven
“You did not do well.”
He turned around but felt the sting of something sharp smash into the side of his face, letting out a yelp of pain as he pressed his hand to his cheek, stumbling to regain his balance. Whatever it was then clouted him sharply on the back of the head, making him cry out again.
“How could you be so foolish?”
“I did not know Lord Franks would come looking!” he protested, wishing he could see the man he was speaking to. “Nor did I think that keeping the notes and the kerchief would cause any difficulty.”
A harsh, cruel laugh wrapped all around him, sending a shiver down his spine.
“It is just as well that I knew of your foolishness,” came the reply, making him frown. “Come now, surely you are not as ridiculous to believe that I have no-one within your own household who is loyal to me?” The laugh came again and he felt his skin crawl. “They informed me that you had kept my notes in a small wooden box, along with the handkerchief that was given you. That is not what you were told to do.”
Swallowing hard, he closed his eyes. “I did not mean to keep the handkerchief there,” he lied, half expecting there to come another burst of pain across his face. “The notes and instructions, yes, but I intended to burn the handkerchief as I was instructed.”
He had been correct. There was another strike against his body, this time to his stomach. Groaning, he doubled over and almost fell.
“Foolishness indeed!” came the voice, angry now. “You are utterly ridiculous! Why I ever thought you would be able to aid me in this way, I do not know!”
“Please,” he groaned, praying that there would come no more punishment. “I am only doing what you asked of me. I showed the handkerchief to Lord Franks, did I not?”
There came a moment of silence. “Yes, you did,” came the answer. “And it has proven that he is as I thought him to be.” Again, the silence lingered, as though waiting for judgment to be pronounced. “You have hidden what was sent to you?”
He nodded, miserably. “I have a small room within my study,” he muttered, finally managing to stand straight. “Everything is kept closeted in there, as you asked.”
“And quite safe and well?”
Swallowing hard and hating that he was forced to do as this voice, this man, this fearful threat demanded, he nodded. “Yes,” he muttered, miserably. “Quite safe.”
“That is a relief, at least,” the voice replied, dismissively. “Then you shall soon receive a note detailing what you are to do next. Make sure to attend Lord Wiltshire’s ball. And this time, you will do as you are instructed and burn the note once you have read it.”
“I will,” he croaked, one hand pressed to his sore stomach as he began to back away. “I will obey.”
“See that you do,” the
voice grated. “For you know what is at stake if you do not.”
Chapter Eight
“Gracious! Whatever have you done to yourself?”
Carolyn rushed a little further into the room, only for her brother to hold up one hand, his eyes fixed on hers and holding a seriousness that she had not often seen before.
“Carolyn, I am quite all right,” he said, firmly, as she stared at the red mark that ran across her brother’s cheek, seeing how it bruised already in the middle. It was very ugly indeed and she was shocked to see her brother in such a condition.
“What did you do?” she asked, her eyes still fixed on the mark. “Did you injure yourself in some way?” Her eyes narrowed as her brother’s gaze slid away. “Pray do not tell me that there was some foolishness on your part that brought this onto yourself?”
Lord Hamilton lifted his head and frowned, his eyes fixed on hers. “Do not think that you can speak to me as though I am your delinquent child, sister,” he said, with so much anger in his voice that Carolyn took a step back. “This is not your business and, as such, I would ask you to end your ridiculous questioning.”
His words hung over her head for a long moment, leaving her feeling upset and angry. She had only been expressing concern, had only been horrified to see the injury to her brother’s face, but had not once expected such a reaction from him. Obediently, she stepped back, turning around and making her way to the dining room table, ready to break her fast. Her brother said nothing, even though she half expected him to apologize, to say that he was sorry for speaking to her in such a harsh manner. But he did not, merely picking up his newspaper and, with a shake, lifting it again so that he might continue to read it.