Chapter 18
Thwack!
George felt the blow of Walter’s foil strike his side as he barely had the time to react.
It wasn’t the first time he had struck him during their fencing practice, and George was growing more and more certain it wouldn’t be the last.
Ordinarily, there was no way Walter could have even got a lick in, but George’s mind was elsewhere.
Every time he blinked, he could still see Cecelia’s face as she gazed up at him, tears in her eyes. He could still feel her lips pressed against his, and the urge to do so again was almost intolerable.
It had been only the night before, and yet, it felt as if an age had passed since last he had seen her.
Thwack!
Another strike, and though it was not an awfully strong blow, George reeled sideways as he attempted once more to clear his mind.
He cursed under his breath and swung his sword low. “I must have a break.”
Undoing the buckle at the back of his face guard, he removed it and threw it to the ground, utterly frustrated.
“Are you quite well, Georgie?”
Having turned away to the refreshment table that had been positioned at the edge of the patio, George cringed at his old nickname.
Instead of answering, he grabbed a glass of water and drained it, handing his foil to his waiting manservant.
He used his now free hand to wipe the sweat from his brow, panting with the effort it had been to even attempt to avoid Walter’s blows.
His friend appeared at his side, his own headguard gone, offering his foil to his own manservant before he took a drink for himself.
Walter glanced sideways at George as he asked, “Is something troubling you?”
George gritted his teeth against the urge to admit the truth, that he couldn’t get Cecelia out of his head.
He bit down on the words, knowing all too well what had happened the last time he had imparted a secret to one of his friends.
This is Walter, he reminded himself, though he still couldn’t bring himself to admit the truth.
Instead, he shook his head and poured himself another glass of water, wondering whether it might be too early to have something a little stronger to help take the edge off his tattered nerves.
“Come on, I may be her brother, but you can tell me if a certain young lady is occupying your thoughts,” Walter insisted. He jabbed him in the ribs, but George wasn't sure whether it was the gesture or his words that almost made him spill his drink.
“Don't be ridiculous!” George exclaimed. The very notion that he might be thinking of Elizabeth in such a way was laughable. And yet, to think of Cecelia in such a way was no more absurd.
He could understand why his friend might believe it so for he had shared a dance and more than one conversation with Lizzie the evening before.
Walter laughed good-naturedly as if the truth was of no bother to him.
“I don't think I have ever seen you so distracted,” he said, shaking his head. “Whatever the reason, colour me intrigued.”
George shrugged. “There was much business being discussed last evening. It plagues me.”
George was more than a little relieved when his friend seemed to take his answer seriously.
“Speaking of business, I had the pleasure of becoming reacquainted with an old friend some two days ago,” Walter said. He paused to take a drink, his face still quite flushed as George suspected his own was. “You might remember Henry Beaumont?”
George laughed at that.
“How could I not?”
There was no mistaking that he, Walter, Daniel, and Henry had been solid friends during their schooldays.
Yet, in all the turmoil of the last few years, he had not seen hide nor hair of him. “How is he?”
“Well,” Walter nodded, and his expression suddenly became contrite, “though he had a great deal to say about a certain Lord Greystone.”
George's back straightened at the mention of Cecelia's latest suitor.
He gritted his teeth against the urge to demand all Walter had learned. Taking a quick breath, he said, “Well?”
“Apparently, the man is still well acquainted with several unsavoury characters,” Walter said, and George's jaw clenched. “He has been seen at many a disreputable establishment since returning to London.”
Bile rose in the back of George's throat.
“Considering your conversation with him at the club, I decided you ought to know,” Walter said. Struggling to contain his sudden anger, George laid a hand on Walter's shoulder.
“Thank you, Walt, you are a good friend.”
Silently, he cursed himself for not having gone with his gut and investigated the man further.
Walter shrugged.
“I could not forgive myself if anything bad were to befall our Cecelia,” Walter admitted, and the mere mention of her made George's heart skip a beat.
His determination to see her well cared for was immediately renewed. His first order of business once their fencing had finished was made clear to him.
“I shall see the matter investigated,” he assured his friend. Laying his glass back on the table, he asked, “Shall we continue?”
Walter laughed and shook his head. “I fear I shall do you an injury in your current state. Besides, I know you cannot wait to make your enquiries. Your chaperoning duties being your top priority as they are.”
The way Walter looked at him then made George quite uncomfortable. Perhaps the feelings he'd had for Cecelia all of this time were not quite so hidden as he had once believed.