Chapter 3
Chapter Three
White's Club
George nursed his brandy at his usual table in the corner of White's smoking room, the amber liquid untouched as he stared into the flickering flames of the nearby fireplace.
The club's familiar atmosphere of leather, tobacco, and masculine conversation usually provided comfort after a long day, but tonight it felt oppressive, weighted with the decision he'd been wrestling with since leaving Sarah that afternoon.
The image of her radiant smile when she'd chosen those gold cufflinks played endlessly in his mind, each repetition twisting the knife deeper into his chest. The way she'd looked at him with such trust, such gratitude for his help in pursuing another man—it was exquisite torture of the most refined kind.
“Hampton!”
George looked up to find Lord Pemberton approaching, a glass of port in hand and the slightly flushed complexion that suggested he'd been indulging freely in the club's hospitality.
Behind him trailed young Viscount Ashworth, barely out of university and eager to be included in conversations with his betters.
“Pemberton,” George nodded, gesturing to the empty chairs at his table. “Ashworth. Please, join me.”
“Don't mind if we do,” Pemberton settled his considerable bulk into the leather chair with a grunt of satisfaction. “Haven't seen you about much lately. Been buried in estate business?”
“Something like that,” George replied, taking a sip of his brandy. The burn was welcome, a distraction from the ache in his chest. “The Criminal Libel Act.”
“Well, speaking of scandal. Heard an interesting bit of gossip today,” Pemberton continued, his voice taking on the confidential tone that preceded the most salacious rumors. “About your friend Castleton.”
George's hand tightened imperceptibly around his glass. “Oh?”
“Seems our charming marquess has been quite busy this season,” Ashworth chimed in, clearly thrilled to be sharing club gossip with his elders. “Making the rounds of all the eligible ladies, if you know what I mean.”
“Most unmarried gentlemen do,” George said carefully, though his pulse had quickened. “It's hardly unusual behavior for a man of his position. If he’s looking for a wife.”
Pemberton leaned forward conspiratorially. “Ah, but it's not just innocent social calls we're talking about. Word has it he's been paying particular attention to the ones with the largest dowries. Lady Elizabeth Thornwick, Miss Catherine Fairfax, that wealthy widow Mrs. Morrison...”
George's blood began to run cold. “You're suggesting he's a fortune hunter?”
“Suggesting?” Pemberton laughed, a harsh sound that carried no humor.
“My dear Hampton, the man's practically taking applications. My own goddaughter received his attentions just last month—all charm and pretty speeches until he learned her inheritance was tied up in trust. Suddenly found himself too busy to continue calling.”
Ashworth nodded eagerly. “And there's more. Richardson was telling me just this afternoon that Castleton's been seen quite frequently in the company of Miss Lydia McCorkell. Apparently, her father's shipping fortune has caught his particular interest.”
George felt something cold and sick settle in his stomach. “Miss McCorkell?”
“Rich as Croesus and plain as pudding,” Pemberton confirmed with brutal honesty. “Perfect combination for a man in Castleton's circumstances. Word is he's planning to make an offer before the New Year.”
The brandy glass creaked ominously in George's grip. “Before the New Year? You're certain of this?”
“As certain as one can be about such things,” Pemberton shrugged. “Of course, these arrangements take time to finalize, but I have it on good authority that her father's already given preliminary approval. Makes sense—title for money, the oldest transaction in the ton.”
George's mind raced, pieces of a horrible puzzle clicking into place. Castleton's sudden attention to Sarah, the invitation to join his family for Christmas, her excitement about the expensive gift she'd chosen—all of it took on a sinister new meaning in light of what he'd just learned.
“Has anyone mentioned Lady Sarah Abbottsford in connection with Castleton?” George asked, his voice carefully controlled despite the turmoil in his chest.
Ashworth looked blank, but Pemberton's expression sharpened with interest. “Alice's friend?
The blonde one with the pretty eyes? Can't say I've heard her name specifically, but...” He paused, studying George's face with the calculating gaze of a man who'd spent decades navigating society's undercurrents.
“Ah. I see. Someone's taken a particular interest in Lady Sarah's welfare, have they?”
George felt heat rise in his cheeks but kept his expression neutral. “She's like a sister to me. Naturally, I'm concerned for her reputation.”
“Naturally,” Pemberton agreed, though his knowing smile suggested he wasn't fooled.
“Well, if it helps ease your... brotherly concern, I haven't heard her mentioned in connection with Castleton's more serious pursuits.
Which is fortunate, because if he's already committed to the McCorkell girl, any other attachments would be mere dalliances.”
The word hit George like a physical blow. Dalliances. Sarah, with her romantic dreams and generous heart, being treated as nothing more than a temporary amusement while Castleton negotiated a more profitable match elsewhere.
“You're quite sure about his engagement to Miss McCorkell?” George asked, proud of how steady his voice remained.
“Well, not formally announced yet,” Ashworth interjected. “But these things have their own momentum once they reach a certain point. And from what I hear, they're well past that point.”
George drained his brandy in one burning gulp, his mind churning with the implications.
Sarah was planning to give Castleton an expensive, deeply personal gift at Christmas—a gesture that would reveal the depth of her feelings to a man who was likely already promised to another.
The humiliation she would face, the heartbreak, the damage to her reputation if she made her attachment too obvious. ..
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” George said abruptly, rising from his chair. “I've just remembered an urgent matter I need to attend to.”
“Of course,” Pemberton nodded, but his eyes remained sharp with curiosity. “Do give my regards to your charming sister and her friend when you see them.”
George managed a curt nod before striding from the smoking room, his mind already racing ahead to the impossible choice that lay before him. In the foyer, he paused to collect his coat and hat, his hands shaking slightly as he pulled on his gloves.
He could tell Sarah what he'd learned, warn her about Castleton's true nature and spare her the pain of public humiliation.
But doing so would destroy her happiness, shatter her romantic dreams, and quite possibly earn him her hatred for being the bearer of such devastating news.
She might even think he was lying out of jealousy—and she wouldn't be entirely wrong.
Or he could remain silent, let her discover Castleton's duplicity on her own terms, and be there to pick up the pieces when her heart inevitably broke. But that path meant watching her walk into certain pain, knowing he could have prevented it and choosing not to.
He had a mind to pay Castleton a visit and share his displeasure on his face.
The December air hit him like a slap as he emerged from the club, the cold wind cutting through his greatcoat and clearing his head slightly. Above him, the London sky was dark and starless, heavy with the promise of snow.
George stood on the club's steps for a long moment, wrestling with a decision that felt like choosing between two different kinds of betrayal. Protect Sarah's heart by breaking it himself or protect her illusions and let Castleton destroy her far more thoroughly.
Either way, he would lose her. Either way, he would have to watch the woman he loved suffer.
But perhaps... perhaps there was a third option. Something that would require him to swallow his pride and risk everything but might—just might—offer Sarah a different kind of happiness than the fairy-tale romance she thought she wanted.
George pulled his coat tighter against the wind and set off into the London night, his decision crystallizing with each step. He couldn't control Castleton's actions, and he couldn't force Sarah to return his feelings.
But he could damn well make sure she knew she had other choices.
Even if it meant finally admitting the truth he'd been hiding for years—that he'd been in love with her long before she'd even noticed Castleton existed, but too proud to admit it.
But he'd gladly spend the rest of his life proving that steady devotion could be every bit as powerful as passionate infatuation.
The question was whether he'd have the courage to make that confession before it was too late.