Chapter 11 #2
Jonathan did not know what to say. He demanded a smile land on his lips as he inclined his head, feeling unease begin to crawl up his spine.
“It is as you say,” he responded, sensing not one but three pairs of eyes upon him as both Lady Honora and her mother studied his response.
“I must have been mistaken. Either that, or I am forgetting who it was that wrote to me and, for some inexplicable reason, now believe it to have been yourself.”
Lord Blackwood nodded, his eyebrows heavy over his eyes. “I am sorry to have caused you any sort of frustration, Lord Lancashire.”
““You have not done, I assure you.” Making sure that there was no such thing upon his expression, Jonathan was about to excuse himself when Lord Blackwood lifted one hand, his keen grey eyes suddenly very sharp indeed.
“Lord Lancashire.” His voice dropped, and the genial, somewhat distracted manner fell away like a cloak removed.
Beneath it was a man accustomed to moving through corridors of power, to weighing words as carefully as coin.
“But allow me to say this. My name carries weight with the Crown. That weight is built on trust — trust that what bears my seal is genuine. If it were to become known that letters carrying my seal contained falsehoods…” He let the sentence hang, his fingers moving over his moustache in that habitual gesture.
“The damage would not be confined to me alone. Whoever received such a letter — whoever acted upon it — would also be called into question. The ton would wonder why you did not verify the letter’s authenticity before making choices that affected the lives of others. ”
A cold understanding settled in Jonathan’s stomach.
He had not considered this. He had been so consumed with the personal consequences — the loss of Susanna, the pain he had caused — that he had not once thought about what it meant in the wider world.
If this conspiracy became public, it would not simply be a tale of crossed lovers.
It would be a matter touching the King’s own trusted adviser, a scandal involving forged documents and stolen authority.
Careers could be ruined. Standing could be lost. His family name — already vulnerable because of Tunbridge — would be dragged through drawing rooms and clubs and whispered about in Parliament itself.
“I understand you, my lord,” Jonathan managed, his voice steady despite the weight pressing down on him.
“I hope that you do.” Blackwood’s gaze held his for a long, measured moment.
“Find who did this, Lord Lancashire. Find them quietly. And when you do, bring the matter to me before you bring it to anyone else. I will not have my seal weaponized without consequence — but I will also not have the resolution of this matter create a scandal larger than the offense itself.”
Jonathan inclined his head, feeling the gravity of the man’s words settle onto his shoulders like a second load added to an already straining back. “You have my word.”
“Good.” The sharpness faded as quickly as it had come, and Blackwood was once again the avuncular, moustache-stroking gentleman of before. “Enjoy the rest of the evening, Lord Lancashire.”
Jonathan looked to Lady Honora. “I should take my leave now. The next dance is soon to be upon us, and I am to stand up with Lady Jemima. Good evening, Lady Honora.” He looked back at Lord Blackwood, feeling the weight of their exchange still pressing upon him.
“And to you, Lord Blackwood, Lady Birmingham. Good evening.”
They both murmured the very same thing to him, and Jonathan stepped away quickly. Rubbing one hand over his forehead, he tried to make sense of what he had just learned.
But I did receive a letter from Lord Blackwood, he thought to himself, meandering through the crowd but not looking into a single face. It had his seal upon it. I am quite sure of that.
So what did that mean? How could it be that he had received a letter from Lord Blackwood, yet the gentleman stated he had not written a single word to Jonathan? That made very little sense.
He stopped suddenly, a heavy weight coming to sink into his soul.
If the letter had not been from Lord Blackwood, then the warnings and concerns contained within it were also, most likely, without foundation.
Someone had been seeking to take him back from Lady Susanna – and they had succeeded.
He had been foolish enough not to make quite certain that the letter had been penned by Lord Blackwood, and yes, whilst he had made a few enquiries, there had not been a vast amount of evidence that all that had been written in the letter was true.
Closing his eyes, Jonathan dropped his head and shoved both hands through his hair, caring nothing for those around him who now gawped at such a display in the middle of the ballroom.
He had given up his connection to Lady Susanna, had given up on the love they had only just confessed to each other, and all because of the belief he had held in that letter.
If it was not true, if the words contained within it were nothing but falsehoods, then it seemed he had been taken in by it – and had given her up for nothing.
Now, he feared, he might never get her back, and it would all be his own fault.
The ballroom carried on around him — music and laughter and the clinking of glasses — but Jonathan heard none of it.
He stood perfectly still in the midst of the swirling crowd and felt, with a clarity that was almost violent in its force, the full weight of what he had done.
He had broken her heart. He had broken his own.
And the instrument of that destruction might have been nothing more than a lie.