Chapter 26 #2
Henry glanced at Walter who nodded, and he looked back at George as he explained, “After I ran into Walter, and we discussed him, after I heard he had been rumoured to be courting Lady Cecelia Flannery – I recognized her name from some of your stories as we were growing up.” He glanced between George and Walter.
“I started to gather information from other men who had been in the tent that day—”
He looked to Mr Browning then, and the solicitor was quick to action, opening his pocketbook to pull out several pieces of paper.
“Handwritten statements, transcribed by me and signed by the witnesses themselves, all corroborating Mr Beaumont's story, Your Grace,” Mr Browning said, rising to his seat and holding out the papers as if looking for permission to approach.
Unsure what to say, George gestured him forward and took the papers somewhat roughly from him. He was in no mood for pleasantries right now and instead, silently flipped through the papers.
When he had looked, each one reading much the same way, he did not voice his opinion.
Instead, he looked to Walter, giving nothing away as he asked, “What of the rest of the allegations?” He looked to Henry then and added, “Do you have evidence of his criminal activities? Of his blackmailing and his extortion?”
Henry simply nodded while Walter said, “We have heard several men, once respectable men who have been brought low, and every person connected to each that we have managed to talk to – servants, maids, butlers, and such – can all confirm the stories these men tell.
These are not the ravings of men driven mad by drink and gambling, but men who were so frightened to talk to us about it that they almost didn't.”
“We had to do a lot of back and forth, getting snippets from servants’ stories to draw the full truth out of them, but the moment I mentioned your name,” Walter added, looking pointedly at George, “they began to loosen up and several of them even agreed to testify if anything comes to it.”
George slammed the witness papers down on the table suddenly, cursing loudly. “I knew the man was untrustworthy, that something was amiss, but all of this—” he ran his fingers through his hair, slumping back in his seat, “—I can hardly believe it.”
He heard Henry gulp loud enough that it made him cringe. “But you do believe us, don't you?”
George didn't answer right away. Instead, he looked to Mr Browning. “Do you believe all of this evidence would stand up in a courtroom?”
Mr Browning pushed his spectacles up his nose, pursed his lips, and gave a firm nod. “I do, Your Grace, no doubt in my mind whatsoever.”
George sighed once more and turned back to Henry. He allowed his gaze to soften as he assured his friend, “Of course, I believe you.”
The relief that spread over his friend's face was enough to draw him from his seat.
He skirted around his desk and opened his arms.
Henry rose to his feet as if pulled by a puppeteer's string, and George embraced him once more. “Thank you for being brave enough to tell me all of this, brother.”
As he released him, Henry almost whispered, “What will you do?”
George forced a smile and clapped his friend's shoulder. “For now, I shall have a drink with my oldest and dearest friends.” He gestured to Walter, who stood and joined them, then turned to Mr Browning and added, “Come, join us.”
Mr Browning rose to his feet, shaking his head. “I would, Your Grace, but unfortunately, I have other business to attend to.”
“Of course,” George said, stepping away from his friends. “Allow me to see you out.”
After instructing his friends to meet him in the drawing room for that drink, he showed the solicitor to the front door before he said, “Mr Browning, are you quite certain we have enough evidence?”
The man nodded again. “Quite certain.”
“You must be one hundred per cent certain, sir, for there are many who could be harmed if not,” George said, his gut churning as he imagined what might become of Cecelia.
What if she and her family were just Fitzwilliam's latest targets?
What if he married her and used her family's fortune to cause yet more damage?
What if he brought violence and pain to their door?
George would never be able to live with himself should anything happen to any one of the Flannerys.
“I think with the evidence gathered and your good name, Your Grace, anything is possible.”
Those words ought to have given George hope, but somehow, he couldn't bring himself to believe it would be enough.
Yet, he had to do something. He had to do all he could to protect the Flannerys from whatever Fitzwilliam might have up his sleeve. If not for his love for Cecelia, nor his affection for her sisters and mother, then for the promise he had once made to Mary to fulfil her father's last wish.
There was just one question now: where to begin?
***
Sitting in the drawing room, George mulled over the drink in his hand, twisting the glass this way and that to watch the golden-brown liquid move as he thought.
All Fitzwilliam's wrongdoings, all his crimes and lies, swam in George's mind until he felt as if he might drown. But there was one thought that kept him from submitting to the feeling: Cecelia.
“George?” He barely heard Walter's return from seeing Henry to his carriage. “Georgie?”
Slowly, George raised his head. “Yes?”
“Henry is gone,” Walter said, “it is only us now.”
His words suggested that they might speak candidly as he came to sit down beside George.
When he said nothing, Walter asked, “What are you thinking about?”
“I think that a foolish question,” George scoffed, taking a sip of his drink.
Walter gave an almost sad half-smile.
“Fitzwilliam or Cecelia?”
George cringed at the mention of one whilst his heart skipped a beat at the name of the other.
“Both,” he admitted.
“What will you do?”
George leaned forward in his seat and placed his glass on a nearby table before leaning back once more with a huge exhale.
“I must tell her all I know,” he admitted, staring at the glass before him.
“If that is your plan, why do you look so miserable?”
George did not answer right away.
“Surely she will thank you for protecting her from such a lying, conniving, coward.”
George huffed a laugh at that.
“You and I both know Cecelia,” George said, finally daring to look at Walter.
The way he returned his gaze suggested he knew well what the meaning behind his words was.
“Surely you cannot believe she would think you a liar,” Walter protested, his face growing pale.
“I have tried to warn her of him once,” George admitted, remembering the day when Cecelia had accused him of jealous interference in all her prospects.
“You did not have then what you have now,” Walter pointed out. “Mr Browning has all the evidence filed. There are witnesses and testimonies and all other manner of things to stand behind your word.”
George looked at Walter, wishing he might share the same hopefulness.
“I shall go with you,” Walter offered.
George shook his head.
“This matter concerns me too,” Walter pointed out, “Cecelia is Mary's sister, and any problem that may befall one befalls the other.”
“You are truly set upon her then?” George asked, smiling a little at the thought of his friend's happiness.
Walter pursed his lips and nodded.
George leaned over and tapped his friend affectionately on the shoulder. “I am happy for you.”
“As I shall be when you put all of these matters to bed and finally tell Cecelia the truth of your affections,” Walter said, and George tensed at his words. “You will tell her, will you not?”
“I suppose that shall all depend on whether or not she believes my tales of Fitzwilliam.”
“She must,” Walter insisted.
Again, George laughed. “You and I both know that Cecelia rarely does the things that she is told she must do.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the beautiful, remarkable, rebellious young lady Cecelia had been when they were children.
That she had now fallen into the trap of adhering to the ton’s wishes for marriage made him feel quite sick.
It was this life, forced upon so many young women, that had led to Cecelia's encountering Fitzwilliam in the first place.
“Perhaps I ought to have denied her father's wish to be her chaperone,” he sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “Perhaps if she had been forced to wait another year, things might have been different—”
“As you say, you and I know Cece far too well to believe she would have waited,” Walter said, his tone sad. “She would have found a way around such things.”
George nodded slowly.
“You know, in a way, she reminds me of that stubborn old mare you had when we were growing up,” Walter said, and George couldn't help laughing at that. “Your father wished to be rid of the blasted thing after she threw you off multiple times, but you were adamant that you could break her.”
George remembered the old mare fondly, though in truth, he never had really wished to break her. He had loved her spirit, just as he loved Cecelia's, and the thought of losing her had been a burden upon his heart. The thought of losing Cecelia now was even more so.
“I shan't tell her you likened her to a mare,” George said, pursing his lips against more amusement. This was truly no time for laughter.
“I am quite certain Mary would be ever more eager to marry me if you did,” Walter said, his own tone quite amused.
“The two of you have spoken of marriage, then?” George asked, raising a brow.
Walter's face spread in a beaming smile.
“Quietly, yes,” Walter said, his cheeks turning somewhat red. “Unofficially, of course. There is the matter of Cecelia's own marriage to come beforehand.”
George flinched at that. Yet, another reason why Cecelia would be so adamant to see herself married off. She had always been one for putting her sisters before herself, and if marrying well, marrying a viscount, would unlock the happiness of one of her dear sisters, he knew she would do it.