Chapter Thirteen #2
“I’m sure she has contrived an escape plan for herself,” he said more gently. Florence was too softhearted for this line of work.
“Do you think so?” She regarded him hopefully.
“Yes, I am certain of it.” In truth, he did believe Lady Frampton had prepared for this eventuality.
“Being married to Frampton cannot be easy for her. She may have devised a plan to leave him long before the letters became an issue. And do not forget, she was clever enough to steal them in the first place. And clever enough to pass them back to you.”
This heartened Florence. “That’s true.”
He grunted in agreement. “So, let’s worry about you. I want those letters out of your hands as fast as possible.”
“We could leave for London tonight. Within the hour, if you prefer,” Florence suggested.
“No, just be ready tomorrow morning. Traveling at night is never safe with all the highwaymen lying in wait to rob the unsuspecting citizenry.” He strode to Hermia’s side.
“The doctor will be here shortly and expects to find an elderly woman recovering from a fit of vapors. I do not want him reporting back to Frampton that you are right as rain and he came upon you dancing a jig.”
Hermia nodded. “You make a valid point, dear boy. Let me scoot upstairs and change into my nightclothes. Have a posset brought up to me, and some tea and biscuits. Also, one of the maids should be sitting by my side looking worried. Do you have someone who can be trusted to lie convincingly to the doctor?”
“Right,” he muttered. “This is what my household has descended to, liars and frauds.”
Hermia took herself off to prepare for the doctor’s visit. After a brief discussion of the next steps to be taken, particularly in the running of the Weymouth holdings in Trajan’s absence, the rest of them disbanded.
Florence returned to her bedchamber to pack her essentials for tomorrow’s journey.
He and his cousins retired to his study to review impending matters and decide which cousin was to take over whatever tasks that normally would have fallen upon Trajan were he still here.
“Plan on these added duties for about ten days, perhaps a fortnight,” he told Andrew.
“Delegate to your brothers as needed. I don’t think it will take us very long to hand over the letters and return to Gull Hall. ”
Andrew nodded. “Will you marry Florence in London? Or wait until you return here?”
Trajan winced, for he had been giving thought to the matter and wanted Florence to have the protection of his name as soon as possible.
“I don’t know that she would consider marrying me in London, since Hermia would not be there with her.
Nor would I like to wed without you or my mother and sister present.
But I don’t know that we have the luxury of waiting. ”
“Do what you must,” Andrew said, “and that means getting her to the altar immediately. We can always have a family celebration afterward. After all, a party is a party, and we’ll happily overindulge no matter the reason.”
Trajan laughed. “Then we are all squared away?”
His cousins nodded.
Trajan was about to go upstairs to look in on Florence when Dr. Pritchard arrived. He escorted the earnest-looking man to Hermia’s bedchamber, not surprised when Florence darted out of her quarters with her worried mask in place and sat beside her aunt while the doctor examined her.
Knowing he was not needed, Trajan returned downstairs and strode into his library, no longer musty from being cleaned after the hot cocoa spillage. The carpet was still out for drying, but the rest of the room was basically restored.
He searched for a book to read while this latest charade was playing out upstairs. After choosing one, he settled in a soft leather chair and opened to the first chapter.
Well, he attempted to read. It was impossible while his head was filled with thoughts of Florence and what had transpired today. Not to mention all the lies they had been spouting.
He was a fighter, and had done his military service without rancor or complaint. In battle, you knew your enemy, and the object was to shoot him before he shot you. He was not cut out for clandestine operations and the lies and subterfuge that went along with these assignments.
It rankled him to lie to the doctor. He knew it was necessary, because Frampton would be quizzing the man about Hermia’s condition, and his answers had to be genuine.
Trajan gave up on the first book he had grabbed and tried to read another, this time settling in with a brandy in hand.
It still did not work. He hardly read a word because he remained too riled to concentrate.
Finally, he gave up, set aside his drink that he had not touched, and walked out of the library just as the doctor came downstairs.
Since it was time for supper, Trajan invited him to join them. “You are welcome to stay, Dr. Pritchard.”
“It is most generous of you, Your Grace. But I am a family man and my wife will expect me home. Besides, I prefer not to travel at night if I can help it.”
Trajan did not press him, for he understood the man’s concerns. He walked the doctor out. “Thank you. Will Hermia be all right?”
“Yes, I think it was nothing more serious than too many strawberry scones.”
Trajan managed a smile. “Good to know that’s all it was. We were afraid it was something more serious. I am relieved.”
Hermia, as a precaution, continued the charade and took her supper in bed.
With the doctor now gone, Florence and his cousins joined him in the dining room. However, none of them were particularly hungry or in any humor to chatter. They ate mostly in silence, something he knew Florence hated.
But it could not be helped. How were they to discuss the letters while servants were bustling in and out to serve them the courses that Florence barely touched?
He and his cousins ate, but not nearly as heartily as they would have done under normal circumstances.
Nor did he wish to talk about their London trip.
He thought it safest to make no announcement of their departure until tomorrow morning, just before they were on their way.
Servants chatted, especially between neighboring estates, and he did not want word getting back to Frampton tonight and him realizing the letters had been switched.
After supper, his cousins decided to play billiards. Their granduncle had enjoyed the game and installed a magnificent table in Gull Hall.
“Will you join us, Trajan?” Andrew asked.
“Later,” Trajan said. “I need a moment with Florence.”
He knew he ought to have taken it easier on her, but he was still mad with worry about what she had done. Not so much what she had done, but to whom she had done it…Frampton.
She had gone up to her bedchamber immediately after supper, so he went up there now.
“If all you wish to do is stare at me in silence, frowning for the next half-hour, then let us skip our quiet moment,” Florence said, noticing him standing in the doorway. “I am exhausted and could do with a good night’s sleep.”
“We need to talk.” But Mrs. Albright was with her, neatly folding the few gowns and other garments and necessities into Florence’s travel pouch for tomorrow’s journey. “Come downstairs with me, Florence. Just for a moment.”
“All right.”
He ordered Timmons to bring hot cocoa for them in the library.
“We’ll try this again, hopefully without mishap,” he said, leading her in. “We need to clear the air.”
“Between us? Oh, so you do intend to end our betrothal.” She looked utterly stricken, as though he had just stabbed her through the heart.
“I am not ending our betrothal. Why do you think I would?”
“Are you not sick of me yet? You certainly seem to be. You have hardly spoken to me other than to admonish me. And you could not look at me at supper. Do not bother to deny it. I am quite familiar with that look of disgust.”
His heart twisted in a knot. She was referring to the looks her mother had given her throughout her life.
“I warned you this would happen,” she said, her words tight and pained.
“Florence, stop. It isn’t you with whom I am angry.”
“Then who?”
“Me. Have I not made that clear? I am still unsettled and cannot seem to shake off this feeling of danger. It isn’t you. This is why I wanted us to speak. You are the best thing to come out of all this.”
“Oh.”
“I don’t regret a moment of being with you. But the little hairs on the back of my neck feel like knife points, and I do not know why.”
Her expression softened. “You are a worrier. That’s why you are always two steps ahead of the rest of us. But we got the letters back and no one was hurt. We completely fooled Frampton. Is this not cause for celebration?”
“Yes, it should be. Perhaps I will breathe easier once you turn them over to the princess. But you still have them in your hands, so this is not over yet.”
“I know. I suppose this is why you still have your footmen on night patrol.” They would come on duty soon, although there were several more hours of daylight remaining.
Timmons brought in the pot of hot cocoa and then left him and Florence to their privacy in the library.
Florence had been perusing the shelves of books and now walked over to sit beside Trajan on the settee while he poured cups for each of them.
“Last time we were in here, you pounced on me and spilled the cocoa all over us and the furniture.”
He grunted. “You Newtons seem to attract this sort of thing. Oversetting tea carts. Hermia was brilliant today, wasn’t she?”
Florence smiled as she nodded. “She’s little and frail, but she took Rutledge down with the skill of a Roman gladiator.”
“My staff has just put this place to rights. Hopefully, we can keep it pristine for more than a day.”
She smiled again. “I’ll try my best.”
“Florence, you needn’t ever worry about my feelings for you.” He took her hand, surprised to find it cold. “I want you to know that I desired this betrothal and wanted it to be real from the start. My desire has not changed. Whatever happens, we are in this together. Start to finish.”
“But you had such a look in your eyes throughout supper. And why the silence?” She let out a breath.
“I know you are a man of honor and will keep to your word. But you are struggling with your feelings. More to the point, you struggle with your feelings toward me. I rile you and upset you. Did I not warn you this betrothal would not last? Why should you be any different from my family?”
He handed her a cup. She warmed her hands around it, although the weather was mild and her hands should not have been so cold.
“I am not your parents. Nor am I your worthless brother. It is my cowardice in all of this that infuriates and frustrates me.”
The remark genuinely surprised her. “You are no coward! Far from it!”
“I let you take all the risk while I sat up in a damn tree and watched from a distance with my binoculars.”
“But this was our plan all along. It was the only way it could have worked.”
“I know—doesn’t mean I liked it. What if Frampton had shot you? I would have been helpless to prevent it. Do you see now why I have yet to calm down?”
“No, I still cannot understand why you are flagellating yourself. I was the only one who could have pulled off the switch. I was the one Sylvia trusted. You could not have marched in and pretended a fascination with embroidery.”
He grunted in acknowledgment, for that much was true.
“Nor could you have stopped me from going into Frampton’s home. I am very stubborn when I have a mind to be.”
“I know,” he said with a mirthless grin, and suddenly wondered whether the glint of metal that flickered across the window just now was his mind playing tricks on him again.
Where were his footmen? Was it one of them who had passed by the window while on patrol?
“The hardest part is over and we are safely back home,” Florence continued, but he listened with half an ear. “It isn’t as though—Ack!”
He shoved Florence down and covered her with his body just as a shot rang out and shattered the pot of cocoa before tearing through his arm.
He cursed as a stinging burn coursed through him.
“Bloody bastard,” he muttered, wincing as he reached for the weapon kept in the lip of his boot while at the same time holding Florence down.
And bloody blazes! Cocoa had spilled all over them and the settee yet again. His granduncle must be rolling in his grave.
“Are you all right?” Trajan asked.
“Never mind about me! Are you all right?” She tried to struggle to her feet, but he would not allow her up yet.
“Stay down,” he growled.
“I will not! Trajan! You’re hurt!”
He attempted to deny it.
“Then whose blood is that dripping onto me?”