Chapter Four
R ockford’s gaze shifted from Lady Lora. He spotted Sir Reginald Medburn near the terrace door in a heated discussion with another guest. The flickering light from the terrace torches cast shadows on their faces, accentuating the intensity of their exchange. He made his way over, catching pieces of their conversation about local land disputes. As he approached, the other gentleman excused himself and walked away.
Medburn was a man of average height. His neatly trimmed grey hair and sharp dark eyes suggested a man of authority and wisdom. The lines on his face spoke of years spent in negotiation and leadership, each wrinkle earned with experience and resilience. Rockford knew that behind Medburn’s calm exterior was a man who could be both shrewd and fair. It was a combination that had earned him respect and, at times, fear among his peers.
“Sir Reginald,” Rockford greeted with a polite nod. “It’s been a while.”
Medburn turned, his expression softening as he recognized Rockford. “Rockford, indeed, it has. How have you been?”
“Busy with parliamentary duties,” Rockford replied. “I couldn’t help but overhear your discussion. Land disputes can be quite challenging.”
Medburn sighed. “The proposed expansion of the clinic requires additional land, which the local council plans to acquire through compulsory purchase.”
“No wonder the landowners are upset. They will be forced to sell even if they don’t want to, and without the ability to negotiate the selling price.”
Medburn shook his head. “There is that, but there are concerns that the increased activity and noise will disrupt the quiet nature of the area. But their bigger issue is the potential for lowering the property values.”
Rockford nodded thoughtfully. He understood their concerns. “I see. It’s a delicate balance between public good and private interests. Have there been any proposals to address these concerns?”
Medburn shrugged. “Some have suggested relocating the clinic to a less populated area, but that would defeat the purpose of making it easy for those in need to get to it. Others suggest paying the landowners more money and making improvements to the area to lessen the impact, but it’s a fiercely debated issue.”
As Rockford nodded thoughtfully, he noticed Lord Barrington approaching with Mrs. Bainbridge by his side. Medburn followed Rockford’s gaze and smiled politely.
“Good evening, Barrington, Mrs. Bainbridge,” Medburn greeted them as they came up beside them.
“Good evening, Sir Reginald,” Barrington replied with a nod. “Rockford, Mrs. Bainbridge demanded she greet you.”
“If you’ll excuse me, I must attend to another matter.” Medburn turned to Rockford. “It was good speaking with you.”
“Of course, Sir Reginald,” Rockford replied. “Thank you for the conversation.”
Medburn bowed slightly and stepped away, leaving Rockford, Barrington, and Mrs. Bainbridge to continue their discussion.
“Mrs. Bainbridge, it’s a pleasure to see you.” Rockford inclined his head respectfully.
Mrs. Bainbridge returned the smile, her eyes twinkling. “Your Grace, the pleasure is mine. How have you been?”
“Busy with parliamentary duties, as always,” Rockford replied. “But it’s good to be back in Sommer-by-the-Sea. And you, milady?”
“Quite well, thank you. The community has been busy, as you can see,” Mrs. Bainbridge said, gesturing to the lively ballroom.
Rockford nodded. “Indeed. I was just speaking with some of the guests about the expansion of Dr. Manning’s clinic. It seems to be the topic of the day. What are your thoughts on the project?”
Mrs. Bainbridge’s expression grew thoughtful. “I believe it’s a noble endeavor. Dr. Manning’s work has been invaluable to the community. However, there are concerns.”
Rockford sighed. “Yes, I’ve heard quite a bit tonight. It’s a complex issue, but I’m hopeful a way can be found to address them and support Dr. Manning’s needed work.”
“Honoria, Lord Barrington.” Lady Beatrice glided towards the refreshment table with an effortless grace, her gown sweeping elegantly across the floor. She paused, her smile warm yet composed, as she inclined her head in greeting.
“Lady Beatrice, you know Duke Rockford.” Mrs. Bainbridge motioned toward him with a slight nod.
“Of course.” Lady Beatrice smiled warmly at Rockford. “It’s always a pleasure to see you, although it has been some time.” She glanced at Rockford and Barrington with a coy smile. “Would you gentlemen mind if I stole Mrs. Bainbridge away? Just for a short time.” She pinched her forefinger and thumb together to emphasize the brevity.
Mrs. Bainbridge glanced at him and Barrington. “Excuse me. I shant be long.”
As the ladies took their leave, Barrington leaned toward Rockford. “There’s been an odd fellow around town. Sanderson mentioned noticing him a few times.”
Rockford raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Should we be concerned?”
Barrington shrugged subtly. “That’s difficult to say. He’s been seen at the tavern and around gatherings but keeps to himself. Seems to disappear before anyone gets a good look or has a chance to approach him.”
“Interesting,” Rockford glanced at the empty corner. “He blends into the background?”
“Exactly,” Barrington agreed. “Just something to be aware of. With everything happening around the clinic and the recent rumors, it’s wise to stay cautious.”
Rockford nodded. “Agreed. We’ll keep a wary eye out for him.”
Before the conversation could continue, the soft rustle of silk caught Rockford’s attention. Lady Lora approached, her eyes bright and inquisitive. Rockford turned to her, allowing a warm smile to soften his features. The enigma would have to wait. He welcomed the distraction of her company.
“Lady Lora.” He offered her a warm smile. “Would you care for some punch?”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she replied, accepting the cup he handed her. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Quite.” He gave her his best neutral stare.
“I haven’t noticed you on the dance floor.”
Rockford turned to her, his neutral stare tuning into a playful glint in his eye. “Would you do me the honor of a dance?”
Lora’s eyes sparkled with delight. She put the cup down. “I would be delighted, Your Grace.”
“You’ll excuse us, Barrington.” Rockford didn’t wait for a response. He offered her his arm, and they made their way to the dance floor. The music swelled, and they moved gracefully in time with the melody.
“You dance beautifully,” he said. “You’re no longer stepping on my feet, I see.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. And you’ve finally learned to lead properly,” she replied with a smile.
Rockford chuckled, appreciating the lighthearted banter. It felt natural and easy, a pleasant contrast to the more serious matters occupying his mind. As they danced, he found himself lost in the rhythm. The warmth of Lady Lora’s hand in his and the grace with which she moved made the moment feel almost timeless.
As they glided across the floor, Rockford’s gaze swept briefly over the assembled guests. His eyes met those of Lord Fallsmith, Lady Lora’s father, who stood at the edge of the ballroom. The older gentleman watched them with a discerning eye. When their gazes connected, Lord Fallsmith gave a subtle nod, a hint of approval in his expression.
Rockford felt a surge of satisfaction at the unspoken acknowledgment. This moment was unlike any he had known before, uncomplicated, effortless, right.
Here, with Lady Lora, everything felt right. He was drawn to her not just by her beauty but by her spirit and intelligence. She was a woman who could stand at his side, not behind him. For now, there was only the dance, the music, and the woman in his arms.
He was disappointed when the music ended, the moment slipping away too quickly. They bowed to each other, lingering just a heartbeat longer than propriety dictated before he escorted her back to Barrington. As they approached, he noted Mrs. Bainbridge’s return, her familiar smile suggesting she had been watching with keen interest.
Their conversation was light, but a subtle shift in the air caught Rockford’s attention—an undercurrent of unease threading through the hum of the ballroom. It wasn’t until he noticed the small breaks in conversation around them that he turned.
A figure moved through the crowd with deliberate steps.
Charles Hastings carried himself with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, his sharp gaze sweeping the room with shrewd intensity. The guests seemed to part slightly as he approached, their conversations softening, their glances wary, as if reluctant to draw his notice. He paused briefly at the edge of their group, studying each of them with a calculating gaze before he spoke.
Hastings was a tall, well-dressed gentleman, his self-confidence so polished it bordered on artificial, crafted to conceal a more calculating nature. His dark, neatly styled hair and sharp brown eyes lent him an air of precision, each glance cataloging weaknesses he could use in the future. His strong jawline and easy smile could disarm those around him, but to Rockford, it was merely a mask.
What are you concealing, Hastings? Rockford pondered, his suspicion of the man deepening with each encounter, Paris during the war, twice in London, and now here. As he endeavored to unravel the layers of what he was up to, he was well aware that he had to keep a vigilant eye on him. There was something amiss about the man, something that didn’t tally.
“Good evening,” Hastings greeted, his tone smooth but with an edge that set Rockford on alert.
“I must say,” Hastings continued, “you both make quite the striking pair on the dance floor.”
“Hastings,” Rockford acknowledged with a nod, his expression neutral. “It’s been some time.”
“Indeed, it has,” Hastings replied, his voice carrying a hint of something more. “I’ve been quite busy with various endeavors, but attending such splendid events is always a pleasure.”
Lora smiled warmly. “Mr. Hastings, it’s good to see you. Are you enjoying the gala?”
“Very much so, Lady Lora,” Hastings said, his gaze lingering on her. “Your parents have truly outdone themselves. I’ve had the pleasure of calling on you quite often recently, and their hospitality is always impeccable.”
Rockford’s eyes narrowed slightly as he observed Hasting’s smooth demeanor. The surge of protectiveness for Lora rose coupled with a gnawing suspicion.
Hastings turned to Rockford. “And I must commend you, Your Grace, on your resilience. Not many could handle the pressures of both London and the countryside with such ease.”
Rockford’s jaw tightened slightly, the sharpness of Hastings’ words cutting deeper than he cared to admit. Memories of whispered scandals and sidelong glances within the ton flickered in his mind, rumors of intrigues that kept London’s elite gossips busy for weeks but he forced them aside. He hadn’t realized the gossip had reached Sommer-by-the-Sea. All the better. But Hastings’ attention to Lora? That wasn’t in the report he received, just that he was socializing in circles far above his station. For now, he straightened his posture and met Hastings’ gaze with unwavering calm, determined not to give the man the satisfaction of a reaction. “Adaptation to duty is a necessity that some understand better than others, Mr. Hastings,” he replied smoothly, his gaze steady.
“Quite right,” Hastings agreed, his smile never wavering. “I’ve heard whispers of your recent endeavors in London. Scandals can be so trying, can’t they? But I’m sure a man of your stature knows what to do.”
Rockford regarded him coolly, a faint, mocking smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Whispers are the preoccupation of idle minds,” he said. “I choose not to lend them credence. It’s fortunate that one’s true character isn’t defined by the fleeting amusements of the gossiping crowd.” He paused, allowing his words to settle. “I trust you find more substantial matters to occupy your time?”
“Indeed.” As the music began anew, Hastings turned his attention back to Lora. “Lady Lora, may I have the honor of this dance?”
Lora glanced at Rockford, seeking his silent counsel. He offered a reassuring nod, though a flicker of something unreadable passed over his features. Turning back to Hastings, she mustered a polite smile. “Of course, Mr. Hastings.”
Hastings took Lora’s hand and led her onto the dance floor. They moved gracefully to the lilting melody, their figures weaving among the elegantly dressed couples. Standing at the edge of the ballroom, Rockford watched them intently. The subtle barbs Hastings had delivered echoed in his mind, stirring an irritation he rarely allowed himself to feel. His fingers absently traced the faint scar concealed beneath his sleeve, a relic of battles past, the old wound seeming to throb in tandem with his rising tension.
As he observed Hastings and Lora, the pieces began to fall into place. Someone was stirring people up against the clinic expansion project Lora was involved with, and Hastings’ name had been mentioned in connection with the unrest. And now, here he was, dancing with her, the very source of her troubles.
He fought to maintain his composure. Seeing Lady Lora in Hastings’ arms evoked a mix of protectiveness and an unsettling emotion he was reluctant to name. Hastings’ hand rested on her waist with an ease that bordered on impropriety. His fingers splayed just a fraction too intimately.
A rush of heated anger shot through Rockford, igniting a flame he struggled to quell. He knew all too well that Hastings delighted in provocation. He reveled in any sign of unease. Rockford refused to grant him that satisfaction. Yet, observing Lady Lora smile graciously at Hastings, unaware of the man’s true nature, gnawed at him. The thought that she might be drawn into Hastings’ web unsettled him intensely.
Beside him, Barrington followed his gaze, his expression darkening. “Hastings knows exactly what he’s doing,” he muttered, his tone edged with frustration. “He’s testing your patience. If we’re not careful, he’ll manipulate the situation to his advantage before we realize it.” He fell silent for a moment, then added, “The scandal is spreading faster than we anticipated, just as you hoped. Hastings is taking the bait.”
Rockford gave a terse nod. “Indeed. Hastings revels in sowing discord, a talent he perfected in London. And you’re correct. He aims to provoke me, but I won’t oblige him.”
“Good,” Barrington said firmly. “We need to stay the course. We might not get another chance before the king arrives. The more he spreads the scandal, the more likely the highwayman will contact you, which will bring us closer to exposing the corruption.”
“Absolutely,” Rockford agreed, though his attention drifted to the dance floor. Hastings whispered something to Lady Lora, causing her to laugh softly. The sound, usually so delightful, now struck him as vulnerable. His gaze remained fixed on them, every movement, every gesture under his vigilant scrutiny.
Turning away, Rockford stared into the inky blackness beyond the window, his thoughts unraveling into dangerous territory. Barrington’s words echoed in his mind: We might not get another chance. He had fought countless battles, but this war was different, waged in parlors and ballrooms, where missteps were more lethal than swords. Every decision carried unseen consequences.
Memories of treachery resurfaced, the sting of betrayal still fresh despite the years. It had happened during the war, a trusted ally turning against him in the heat of battle, leading men to their deaths. The irony wasn’t lost on him now. He was contemplating a similar deception, not against an enemy, but against a trusted friend he held in high regard.
Lora.
His grip tightened on the glass in his hand. Duty had always been his compass, but now it pointed directly against the one person who had reignited a light in his life. The thought clawed at him, each step closer to betrayal pressing relentlessly on his conscience. Protecting her meant deceiving her. A cruel irony.
But could he do it?
He swallowed hard, the bitterness of the truth settling in his gut. If Hastings was aware that he was suspicious of him, the man wouldn’t hesitate to use Lora against him. If she remained unaware, she couldn’t be manipulated. If she believed in the ruse, Hastings would have no reason to suspect otherwise. But would she ever forgive him for it? Would he forgive himself?
He exhaled slowly, the weight of the decision pressing against his chest.
“I intend to draw Hastings out, Barrington,” Rockford said at last, his voice low but firm. “He already sees me as a rival, and I’ll use that to uncover his plans. If I court Lady Lora, I can stay close enough to protect her while forcing Hastings to reveal his hand.”
Barrington studied him, concern flickering across his features. “And when she learns the truth?”
Rockford hesitated. He had no answer for that.
“She may never forgive me,” he admitted finally, his voice quieter. “But if it keeps her safe, I’ll endure it.”
Barrington shook his head. “You can’t let Lady Lora or anyone else know about this plan. We have no idea who is betraying us.”
“I know.” Rockford paused, the gravity of his decision settling heavily on his shoulders. More was at stake than the clinic’s expansion or stopping a mere highwayman. Someone had infiltrated the highest levels of government, and he and Barrington were the last line of defense. But Lady Lora… she was fiercely proud. In her eyes, he would become the betrayer, the one who shattered her trust.
Barrington’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Is there no other way? Think of what this will cost her. What will it cost you?”
Rockford clenched his fists. “Do you think I haven’t considered that? Hastings won’t hesitate to use her against me if he suspects the truth. If sacrificing her trust spares her from becoming a pawn in his schemes, then it’s a price I must pay.” He met Barrington’s gaze, desperation flashing before steely determination took over. “If our positions were reversed, you’d tell me we have no choice but to press on.”
Barrington raised his glass, the liquid catching the dim light. “To the journey ahead.”
“To the journey ahead,” Rockford echoed. The words struck like a blow, conjuring unbidden memories of Captain Edward Langley. Langley had spoken that very phrase the night before the ambush, the betrayal that left scars far deeper than the one hidden beneath Rockford’s sleeve.
His gaze drifted to Lady Lora, moving gracefully in Hastings’ arms. The sight twisted something inside him. The memory of Langley’s treachery merged with the looming reality of what he was about to do. Lady Lora glanced his way, her face lighting up with a radiant smile, the kind that had warmed him to his core. It was a silent beacon of her trust, a trust he was about to fracture.
Rockford held her gaze for a fleeting moment, the impact of his decision pressing harder than ever. “I’ll see you at your club tomorrow,” he murmured to Barrington, though his focus was no longer on the conversation. Each word felt like a stone sinking into his chest.
Without waiting for a response, he turned and strode toward the exit. Each step carried him further from her light, plunging him into the darkness of the night beyond. The lively melody of the ballroom faded into the rhythm of his pounding heart.
Stepping into the cool night air, Rockford inhaled deeply, the chill biting through his resolve. The path he had chosen would shield her, yes, but it would also fracture something irreparably. As the shadows of the estate loomed before him, the truth struck like a dagger: in saving her, he was losing himself.