Chapter Twenty-Three
15 October 1822
T he carriage wheels clattered over cobblestone, a steady rhythm to Lora’s restless thoughts. The cliffs gave way to the North Sea, its waves painted gold by the setting sun. Autumn leaves swirled in the evening breeze, but the beauty of it all did little to settle the unease coiling in her stomach.
Lora’s fingers traced the intricate embroidery on her sapphire gown—a nervous habit she couldn’t quite stop. She was well aware of how important the night’s events were for the clinic’s funding and was concerned about the subtle shifts she sensed among society’s elite.
Would the whispers she overheard and the glances she felt during the day undermine their efforts? And then there was Rockford. The memory of his warm gaze and reassuring words sent a flutter sweeping through her. She found it both comforting and disconcerting.
The sight of Sommer Castle never failed to stir a sense of wonder in her. Its towering spires reached toward the heavens, silhouetted against lavender and indigo shades that seamlessly blended into the fading azure day. Stone gargoyles gazed ominously from their perches, guardians of centuries past. The ivy clinging to the ancient walls rustled gently, whispering secrets carried on the sea breeze.
As the carriage stopped, the mingled scents of briny air and blooming chrysanthemums swirled around her. The flickering light from the torches danced across the polished carriages. Footmen in navy and white livery with crested buttons assisted guests.
Lora gathered her shawl tightly around her shoulders, the cool air biting softly at her skin. Everything begins this evening , she murmured, summoning courage she wasn’t entirely sure she felt.
“You’re quiet.” Harriet studied Lora’s profile for a moment before they stepped through the sturdy oak doors and into the castle’s vast entrance hall. Though its stone walls bore the marks of centuries, the room conveyed a timeless charm. High ceilings with exposed wooden beams provided a sense of grandeur, while large, arched windows allowed the fading light of dusk to cast a gentle glow inside. The floor was lined with simple flagstones, their cool surface reflecting the soft light of wrought-iron sconces mounted along the walls.
Lora and Harriet decided that to keep the focus on the artwork, the decorations would be limited. They chose a few tapestries and a scattering of potted plants. The results were the correct amount of warmth without overwhelming the space.
Guests mingled quietly, their footsteps echoing softly in the expansive hall as a welcome atmosphere filled the ancient stronghold.
“Are you anxious about the auction? I’m sure Mr. Constable’s landscape will sell for a fine price,” Harriet said as they entered the Great Room.
Lora offered a slight smile. “I am a bit anxious. We’ve planned and prepared every detail. Now, there’s nothing left to do but wait and hope we raise the funds needed.”
Harriet reached over and gently squeezed her hand. “Everything will be splendid. You’ve worked hard and put in so much effort.”
“Thank you,” Lora replied softly. “So have you and Rockford. Having him manage all the financial dealings was a welcome relief. I do hope all goes smoothly.”
Lora smoothed her gown, deep sapphire silk that complemented her eyes, and took a steadying breath. The murmur of conversations and the soft strains of a string quartet drifted into the foyer, mingling with the salty sea breeze.
Her eyes caught sight of Rockford across the room. His presence stood out amid the bustling crowd, a comforting presence in the sea of faces. She watched as he navigated the crowd with unhurried grace, his dark suit impeccably tailored to his strong frame. A silver pocket watch glinted from his waistcoat, and she couldn’t help but notice the hint of a smile playing on his lips.
“Lora,” his baritone voice reached her ears, cutting through the surrounding chatter like a soothing melody.
Her pulse quickened unexpectedly. “Good evening, Your Grace.” She offered a teasing smile, a playful glint in her eyes.
He offered his arm, and she accepted, the simple gesture sending a reassuring warmth sweeping over her. The tension that had coiled inside her began to unravel. How had he come to have such an effect on her?
“They’re staring,” Lora whispered, her gaze fixed ahead even as she felt a dozen pairs of eyes upon them.
Rockford leaned in slightly. “Let them. Their opinions are as fleeting as the fashions they cling to.”
She managed a small chuckle at that. “Ever the optimist.”
They paused before Mr. Constable’s serene landscape painting, Wivenhoe Park at Dusk, with its rambling line of the fence and the balance of trees, meadow, and river, demonstrating Constable’s ability to make the viewer feel as if they were actually in the meadow.
“I prefer this version of Wivenhoe to the one the Major-General chose for his home. Something about the colors of dusk expresses tranquility to me.”
“Do you think so?” she asked Rockford. “The tranquility in this artwork seems at odds with the undercurrents swirling around here this evening. I wish I could step into this scene,” Lora mused. “Leave all the whispers behind.”
Rockford’s gaze softened. “Perhaps someday we can find our own Wivenhoe Park.”
The buzz of the crowd softened to a distant hum as the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them.
Lora’s heart thudded softly as she searched his eyes. There was a vulnerability there she hadn’t noticed before, a mirror to her own guarded hopes. “Sometimes I feel adrift in all of this,” she confessed quietly. “But with you, I find my anchor.”
Rockford’s gaze held hers steadily. “You are far stronger than you realize. But being your anchor is an honor I cherish.”
Her breath caught subtly. Words felt inadequate to express the swirl of emotions in her heart. Instead, she allowed the silence to speak, a gentle smile conveying what she couldn’t yet voice to him.
“Lora, I want you to meet someone who might be able to help with the current situation.” He gestured to a tall, composed man standing nearby. “This is Thomas Greene. He’s Barrington’s associate.”
Greene bowed slightly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Lora.”
Lora nodded, still gathering her composure. “Thank you, Mr. Greene.”
Thomas gave a respectful nod. “I’ll leave you to enjoy the auction.” With that, he excused himself, blending back into the crowd.
A scent curled around her, sharp, intrusive, unmistakable. Lemon, underscored by a smoky musk. The warmth of the gallery vanished, replaced by the cold, damp air of her captivity. The past surged forward, clawing at the present, dragging her back to that dark room.
“No,” she whispered, a wave of nausea threatening. The edges of her vision blurred as snippets of harsh whispers and cold laughter echoed in her mind.
Unconsciously, her fingers dug into Rockford’s sleeve. He turned sharply at her touch, concern etching his brow. “Lora, what’s wrong?”
She forced herself to focus on his eyes, grounding herself in the present. “It’s… the scent… I can’t…”
*
“Hold on,” he urged firmly, steadying her with his grip. He signaled a footman as he headed toward an empty chair.
“My lord—” The man glanced at Lora. No explanation was needed. He retrieved a small vial from his coat pocket and handed it to Rockford.
Rockford quickly opened the vial and passed it under Lora’s nose.
She pulled her head up, her eyes wide.
They moved toward a quieter corner. As they did, Rockford heard a muted cough echo behind them, a rasping sound. He felt Lora tense beside him, and he glanced over his shoulder. A man was speaking to Viscount Montague, who was nearby, but Lora was his primary concern. Rockford watched Lora blink, trying to focus. He tightened his grip on her arm.
“I should go after—” Lora turned to follow the gentleman, but Rockford wouldn’t release his grip.
“Whoa. Go after him? I think not. As brave as you are, here and now is not the place. And certainly not in your condition.” Rockford glanced at Frederic, Viscount Montague.
She looked up at him. “But I’m sure he was one of the men in that lodge.”
“Why would the Deputy Secretary of the Board of Control know one of the accomplices to an abduction?” As he turned to identify the man who had been speaking to Montague, he realized the man was gone. Rockford scanned the crowd. “Did you see who it was?”
“No.” Lora stood. He gave her his full attention.
“Come, I’ll retrieve your wrap and let Lady Harriet know your—”
“You will do no such thing.” Lora handed the vial back to the footman with a sincere thank you. Then, she adjusted her gloves. “I was a bit woozy from all the excitement.” She placed her hand on his arm, tilted her head, and stared at him. “Shall we, my lord?”
“Very well.” He glanced at the Deputy Secretary. “We’ll speak to Montague. He spoke to that man before he disappeared.” He guided her across the floor.
As they approached the viscount and his wife, Montague hailed someone across the room and hurried away. Montague’s departure was too sudden, too precise. A quick glance over his shoulder, the way his steps quickened, it wasn’t the exit of a man politely excusing himself. It was the retreat of someone avoiding confrontation.
Rockford’s suspicions deepened. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down, especially not tonight.
“I do appreciate your concern.” Lora’s soft words reached him, but his mind was elsewhere. “It makes me feel,” She placed her hand on his chest. “Protected.”
He brought his attention back to her, patting her hand and letting his worries momentarily fade. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” He spoke from his heart. His heart. She trusted him. And that was most precious to her and something he didn’t deserve.
The king would be here in six days. The mission would be completed, and he’d go back to London. As they neared another group, uneasy looks were exchanged between them before they dispersed. At first, he dismissed the cold glances as happenstance. But as more guests turned away, their conversations suddenly hushed, the realization settled in. This wasn’t mere indifference, it was calculated exclusion. And it wasn’t just directed at him, but at Lora as well. He had been privy to such slights before, but tonight, they cut deeper.
This second slight only confirmed something was amiss, a shadowy undercurrent he couldn’t yet grasp but knew he must uncover.
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye as they moved around the room. Leaving Sommer-by-the-Sea, no, leaving Lora, would be very difficult. The sooner this mission concluded, the better. If he left, it would separate her from his shadow and allow her to recover from the social consequences of their association.
“Perhaps it’s time.” She tilted his head toward him, “We shared what we’ve discovered with Barrington. Perhaps then we’d be back in their good graces.” She nodded toward the people.
He stared at her, absorbing her insight. She was right. They both were the brunt of the social slights, and it was more than just coincidence.
“Please, don’t be so surprised. We’ve taken a turn around the room, and people have stared and had their quiet little conversation, but no one has stopped to speak to us.”
“I agree…” Had she heard his thoughts, too? Or were things that obvious? “We should speak to Barrington,” he said. “Something has happened that we know nothing about. We cannot raise any alarms. We don’t know who we can trust.”
They stopped at the refreshment table. He handed Lora a cup of punch when Harriet joined them.
“You are most brave, Harriet. It appears no one is willing to spend any time with us.”
Harriet nearly spilled her punch down the front of her dress. She shot Lora a wry smile, dabbing at her dress. “Well, it’s their loss, isn’t it? They don’t know what fascinating company they’re missing.”
Before she could steady herself, a figure slipped through the crowd, calculated, precise. Hastings. His attire was immaculate, but his eyes gleamed with something unreadable. A prickle of unease danced down Lora’s spine as the corners of his mouth curved upward, not quite reaching his eyes.
“Lady Lora, Your Grace,” he intoned with practiced smoothness. “An evening befitting both your reputations.”