Chapter Fourteen
10 October 1822
Early Morning
R ockford sat at his desk, the soft scratch of his pen moving across parchment as he finished penning a letter. He paused. His thoughts wandered to the not-so-subtle attack from Hastings at tea with its undercurrents of tension. He dusted and blotted the letter, then put it into his folio.
Hastings sauntered into Rockford’s library, his eyes flitting briefly to Rockford’s before darting away, unable to withstand the force of Rockford’s gaze.
Close behind him, the butler, Mr. Turner, followed, his face flushed with concern. “I apologize for the intrusion, Your Grace,” Mr. Turner began, his voice steady but touched with unease. “Mr. Hastings insisted on speaking with you immediately. I attempted to dissuade him, but he would not be deterred.”
Rockford’s expression hardened, but he maintained his composure. “Thank you, Turner. That will be all.” The butler nodded and retreated from the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
Rockford leaned back in his chair, his eyes boring into Hastings with a steely intensity that spoke of barely contained disdain. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit, Hastings?”
Hastings shifted uncomfortably, his earlier bravado faltering under Rockford’s unyielding stare. He cast a dismissive glance at the bookshelves and maps as if trying to regain his composure. “I find the stillness of night conducive to meaningful conversations. Besides, Your Grace, we seem to have much to discuss.” He attempted to sound nonchalant but failed to conceal the underlying tension in his voice.
Rockford arched an eyebrow. His gaze remained steady. The flickering candlelight cast sharp shadows over the chiseled features of his face, giving him an almost otherworldly presence with eyes that glinted and pinned a man in his place. “A private discussion, indeed? I can hardly imagine what matter could be so urgent that it necessitates barging into my home uninvited.”
The atmosphere grew taut as Rockford waited for Hastings to explain himself, the power dynamic clearly established in the room.
Hastings forced a faint smile, stepping further into the room with deliberate slowness. His fingers brushed the spines of the books, a subtle gesture of disdain. “Come now, we’ve known each other long enough to dispense with formalities. I couldn’t help but notice you’ve settled comfortably here in Sommer-by-the-Sea.” His eyes flickered nervously before locking with Rockford’s steely gaze.
“I wasn’t aware my whereabouts were of interest to you,” Rockford barely glanced up as he returned to reading the document on his desk.
“On the contrary.” Hastings paused to examine the maps on the wall. The too-quick flicker of his gaze betrayed the tension beneath his composed demeanor. “I’m always intrigued by the movements of influential figures, especially those with whom I share a history.”
Rockford didn’t look up from his document. “A history? Our acquaintance has been… peripheral at best.” His tone was as dismissive as a wave of the hand.
“Perhaps.” Hastings turned, stepped toward the desk, and absentmindedly picked up a small nautical compass. “But sometimes paths cross in the most fascinating ways. Take, for instance, our time in France.”
Rockford continued to read the document. “France was a complex time for many of us.” His tone gave nothing away.
“Indeed,” Hastings agreed, setting the compass back in its place. “So many stories left untold. Heroes and villains trading places in the blink of an eye.”
“War has a way of blurring those lines.” Rockford raised his quill and signed, sanded, and blotted the document.
“True,” Hastings replied. “Yet, I recently came across some military records. They were quite fascinating, really, the names of those no longer with us. I found acquaintances and old friends among them. Nasty thing, war.” He paused.
Rockford’s heart skipped a beat, but his impassive expression never faltered.
“Ah, but the names of those brave men who are missing in action.” Hastings’ voice took on a sharp edge. “They conjure up ideas of what could have happened to them.”
An invisible hand clutched Rockford’s heart. Each beat echoed with unspoken fears and buried secrets. But he kept his expression neutral. “War is riddled with unfortunate losses.”
“Unfortunate, yes,” Hastings said, placing the paperweight back down. “But sometimes, one can’t help but wonder about the circumstances. Disappearances without a trace can spark… curiosity.”
Rockford’s fingers drummed lightly on the desk in a steady, controlled rhythm. He let out a sigh. “Curiosity can be dangerous, Hastings. Digging into the past might unearth things best left buried.”
Hastings smiled thinly and stepped closer to the desk. “Perhaps. But secrets have a way of surfacing. It’s interesting how some men go missing while others are unscathed.”
“Spoken like a person who’s never served. War takes its toll on everyone, one way or another. Is there a point to this visit?” His voice edged with a quiet authority. His patience was wearing thin.
“Simply a friendly observation,” Hastings said lightly. “And perhaps a reminder that our actions can have unexpected echoes.”
“I appreciate your concern.” Rockford’s fingers still drumming, then ceased abruptly as he fixed Hastings with a pointed gaze. “Now, if there’s nothing else—”
Hastings inclined his head. “Of course. I won’t keep you any longer. Good evening, Your Grace.”
As Hastings turned to leave, he paused at the door. “Oh, and do give Lady Lora my regards. She’s quite the captivating hostess.”
Rockford’s eyes flickered for the briefest moment, but he held his composure. “I’ll be sure to pass them along.”
Hastings lingered for a moment longer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “And do consider our time in France, Your Grace. I may not have served, but I find the fate of men like Captain Edward Langley to be intriguing.”
With a final, knowing look, Hastings exited the study.
As the door clicked shut, Rockford allowed the mask to slip momentarily, a frown creasing his brow. Rockford recognized the veiled threat, each word from Hastings striking a nerve. The mention of Langley stirred buried guilt and fears he had fought to suppress. If Hastings had unearthed the truth, it could unravel everything he had worked to protect.
He moved to the window, gazing out at the moonlit grounds. There was a possibility that Hastings was bluffing, using whatever scraps of information he could find to unsettle him. After all, the official records only stated that Langley was missing in action, a fate not uncommon in the chaos of war. Yet, the fear remained that Hastings might dig deeper or, worse, fabricate details to serve his own agenda.
He couldn’t allow Hastings to use Langley or Lora as pawns in whatever game he was playing.
Rockford had to uncover Hastings’ true intentions and the depth of his organization and stay one step ahead. The stakes were rising, and he needed to be prepared for whatever moves Hastings would make next. He’d discreetly consult with Barrington. Langley’s name is listed with those missing in action. Moreover, he needed to protect Lora. Hastings’ interest in her could be innocent flirtation, but Rockford couldn’t take any chances given his propensity for manipulation.
Rockford moved away from the window. The flickering firelight cast shadows across the room, mirroring the storm of emotions that raged in his heart. He sank into a nearby chair. The image of Lora’s radiant smile filled his mind, the way her eyes sparkled with warmth and trust when she looked at him.
Protecting Lora was all that mattered now, even if it meant condemning himself to a life without her. He raked his hand through his hair. He needed time to think.
*
Meanwhile, at Fallsmith Hall, the first light of dawn filtered into Lora’s bedroom. Sleep had been elusive, retreating like the ocean’s tide, leaving her adrift in a sea of tangled thoughts. She sat upright in her bed, the crisp linen sheets pooled around her waist, fingers clenched tightly around a book she had long abandoned.
Her mind returned, uninvited, to that moment with Rockford, the warmth of his lips against hers, the unexpected tenderness in his eyes. The memory should have brought a smile to her face, yet frustration simmered beneath the surface. How dare he kiss her so profoundly, declare his feelings, stirring emotions she had carefully guarded, only to vanish without an explanation? For two days, he hadn’t come to call, nor did he send a note, not a whisper from him. Her pride bristled at the thought of being dismissed so casually.
“Am I to be treated as a passing fancy?” she whispered to the empty room, her voice touched with indignation. Rising swiftly, she crossed to the window, pushing it open to let the cool morning air wash over her. The distant cries of gulls and the rhythmic hush of waves did little to soothe the brewing tempest.
Her gaze drifted toward the horizon, where the sky met the sea in a blush of pink and gold. Somewhere out there, perhaps, was an explanation for Rockford’s sudden disappearance. But waiting patiently was not in her nature. He was gravely mistaken if he thought she would accept his silence.
Drawing a deep breath, Lora steadied herself. “I won’t be ignored,” she declared, more determined than ever. She would seek him out and demand the truth.
“Enough,” she declared, straightening her shoulders. It was mid-morning. She would not sit idly by. If Rockford thought he could dismiss her so easily, he was mistaken.
Lora dressed in a deep blue velvet walking gown, instructed Anna, her maid, to ask the groom to bring the carriage around.
She stepped onto the front steps and let the crisp sea air fill her lungs. The footman helped her into the carriage. As the groomsman drove toward Rockford’s estate, she began to have second thoughts. Perhaps he had a reasonable explanation. Her hand went to her stuttering heart. What if he had been injured or was unwell? But why hadn’t he sent word?
The carriage slowed as the groom stopped at Rockford Manor and handed her down. She straightened her skirt, took a deep breath, and marched up to the grand entrance.
“Good morning, Lady Lora,” Turner said with a polite bow. “How may I assist you today?”
“Good morning, Mr. Turner. Is His Grace at home?” Lora asked, striving for a casual tone as she prepared to remove her gloves.
Turner hesitated almost imperceptibly. “His Grace is currently engaged, my lady.”
She stopped fussing with her hands. Lora’s brow furrowed. “Engaged? Might I wait to see him?”
“I’m afraid that may not be possible,” he replied, his expression apologetic. “His Grace has left instructions not to be disturbed.”
A flicker of hurt crossed her face. “I see. Do you know when he might be available?”
“I cannot say with certainty, my lady. Perhaps later in the week,” Turner offered.
Before she could respond, a familiar voice sounded from behind the butler.
“Lady Lora! What a pleasant surprise.”
Hastings stepped into the foyer, a sly smile on his lips.
“Mr. Hastings,” Her tone was cooler. “I wasn’t aware you were acquainted with His Grace.”
“Oh, we have… mutual interests,” Hastings said smoothly. “Are you here to see him as well?”
“I was, but it seems he is unavailable.” She was disappointed that she could not keep the edge from her voice.
“Ah, that’s unfortunate.” Even in her current twist, she was aware that Hastings’ smile didn’t reach his eyes. “He’s been quite preoccupied lately.”
Lora straightened her back, her chin lifting in a subtle display of defiance. “Thank you for your… concern, Mr. Hastings,” she replied, her voice steady but edged with a controlled ire. “With what might His Grace be preoccupied?”
Hastings took a step closer, his presence invasive. “Matters of importance, I’m sure. Though one might wonder what could be more pressing than attending to certain social obligations.”
Lora, her back straight, lifted her chin slightly. “I find it curious that you seem so well-informed about His Grace’s affairs. Can you elaborate?” She kept her voice steady, but it was laced with controlled anger.
He chuckled softly as he played with the brim of his hat in his hands. “I merely find it interesting that His Grace seems to be… otherwise occupied, especially after making certain affections apparent. It would be a shame if his attentions were fickle.”
“Your insights are always… interesting, Mr. Hastings. Though I must admit, I find trust to be a commodity earned through actions rather than words.”
Hastings’ smile faltered for a brief moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed her words. He recovered quickly, though, his tone remaining light but with an edge of mock politeness. “Ah, Lady Lora, your candor is as refreshing as ever. One can only aspire to meet such high standards. I do hope to prove my worth in time.”
“Good day, Mr. Hastings.” Lora turned sharply, signaling the end of the conversation.
He inclined his head slightly, a gesture that was more mocking than respectful. “Until then, Lady Lora. I suspect our paths will cross again soon, perhaps under more… intriguing circumstances.”