Fates for Apate (16 page)

Once the Telfords had arrived, the Harringtons received them in the parlor. George tried not to roll her eyes at the formality of the announcement of the Duke and Duchess of Beloin since she knew how much it meant to Sabre. But Lud! George could play the fancy when it suited her, but couldn't imagine wanting to do it every day as a matter of course. Then the small talk began. Weather, bills in Parliament, news from the Congress of Vienna. George couldn't remember ever being this impatient with a group of people. She couldn't contribute much to the conversation for fear she might tip her hand on her knowledge of international news. She was in pain, she was tired, and she didn't know where her husband was. Or even if she still had a husband. She strongly considered excusing herself with a headache before nuncheon was served, then there was a scuffle in the front hall that had everyone rising from their seats.

A figure came stumbling into the room, as though pushed viciously. She recognized that waistcoat.

"Casimir!" She ran to where he had collapsed on the floor. His lip was cut and bleeding, and his arm wrapped his waist as though holding his ribs in pain. But his eyes lit when she crouched over him.

"
Ukochany
," he whispered, his free hand gripping hers. She looked up to see what had brought him here.

Robert loomed in the doorway to the parlor. He looked as though he hadn't slept and his icy eyes bore into her own. He pointed at Casimir, his words slow and deliberate, fury underlying the tone. "Make him talk." There had been a time when George would have done anything to avoid having Robert speak to her with just that tone. That time had apparently passed.

"What did you do to him?" she demanded. Her friends had come up to stand on either side of her and she saw Jack whispering something to the butler.

Robert's gaze never wavered. "Make him answer my questions, George. Otherwise he's worth nothing to me." The threat implicit in Robert's statement made her furious.

The earl stepped forward. "Robert, this is hardly seemly."

"Seemly? Being concerned about the security of the empire doesn't suit your afternoon schedule, my lord?"

"The security of the empire?"

"He knows something about this letter." Robert waved papers he held in his hand. "And I'll know what it is. George dragged the little bastard home with her. If she can't get it out of him I swear to God I'll beat it out."

The earl had taken another step to put himself more firmly between Robert and Casimir. "It looks like you already tried." 

Lord Lucifer, indeed! George would have nominated him for sainthood.

Robert wasn't one to be cowed, though, and stood toe to toe with his larger and higher ranking friend. "You know I will stop at nothing to protect England."

"For God's sake, Robert, this is a wedding nuncheon, not the fields of Waterloo!"

"The location hardly signifies." Robert ducked around the earl. "Dammit, George! I don't have time for a report to arrive from the Continent! Who is he? What does he know?"

George was still hunched protectively over Casimir, even though the pose hurt her side as though a knife were being jabbed there repeatedly. She said the only thing she thought might break the confrontation. "He's my husband! And he doesn't know any more about that bloody letter than you do!"

The silence that enveloped the room was absolute. George could feel everyone's eyes turn to her. So much for not making a dramatic announcement of their marriage. Robert actually looked off balance, his eyes darkening to an inky blackness. She thought he might faint.

"What did you do, Georgie?" he asked softly.

Sabre stepped in front of George. "Robert, you've done enough damage here today."

"Me?" he asked, his voice rising in anger again. "If your idiot husband hadn't let Granby go, I wouldn't be dealing with this letter now!"

The duke finally entered the conversation. "This concerns Granby? Let me see the letter."

Robert didn't resist as the duke plucked the missive from Robert's fingers and began to read it.

Things had obviously happened while George had been gone. Things that Jack hadn't even hinted at in her morning game. "Who is Granby?" she asked. If her husband had been beaten to get more information about the man then she bloody well wanted to know who he was. She felt all the eyes in the room return to her.

Sabre answered briefly. "I'll explain it later."

George was miffed. "Actually, I'd like for it to be explained now."

Sabre's cold expression rivaled her brother's, but when the duke put his hand on her arm she shockingly turned her attention calmly to him rather than snapping a rebuke at George.

"It's complicated," the duke said, "but our fathers were in a Hellfire Club with Baron Granby."

"And somehow you let him go?"

The duke folded the letter and handed it back to Robert. "Yes. He was told not to return to England, not to darken our shores with either his presence or influence. A threat he did not take seriously, it seems, and now he will need to answer for his perfidy."

Robert seemed more himself as he addressed George again. "Which is why I need all the information you two can give me."

Casimir rose unsteadily to his feet, shaking off George's hand as she tried to stop him. "I would thank you to not address my wife in that tone."

The two men stared at one another, the tension in the room rising again.

The butler returned and announced, "Mister Charles Bittlesworth."

As was typical, Charlie entered the room like a beam of sunlight. The tableau he encountered couldn't have been odder or more intense, but his cheer was unabated.

"Hullo, brother," he said, slinging an arm over Robert's shoulders. George gave a sigh of relief. This was what Jack asked the butler to do. Fetch Charlie. Jack was a genius. No one diverted Robert like Charlie did. The younger, fair brother looked over the attendees. "Are we here to celebrate the happy couple?"

Robert raised a brow at his brother. "Obviously," he said dryly.

"Famous! I hardly saw them yesterday."

George remembered why she had fancied herself in love with Charlie. When the situation called for it, he could throw the full weight of his charm against the difficult and complicated personalities of their group. He balanced Robert's intensity, softened Sabre's waspishness, calmed Jack's impulsiveness, and countered George's cynicism with his insistent positivity. And it wasn't as though they didn't all know what he was doing. But it was Charlie. Sweet, well-intentioned Charlie. Who could be mad at him? Who could disappoint him? He hugged his sister and wished her happy again, nearly standing on top of Casimir and George. He turned to George. "Who's this, then?"

Before George could answer, Robert interrupted. "This is George's husband. Casimir Rokiczana."

Charlie's fair brows flew up his head. "Husband? Now all of the Haberdashers are married?"

"So it seems," Robert agreed.

"And none of them to us," Charlie said softly, adding more loudly. "We dodged a bullet, that. You gentlemen may drink on my tab anywhere in London."

With the attitude of the group more settled, Sabre took charge. "Jack, I assume the Rokiczanas will be staying with you? Dibbs, if you could see Mr. Rokiczana upstairs for some repose, please? George, if you could accompany Jack and I to the morning room?"

George said, "I should-"

"You should talk to your sisters," Sabre shot back like a whip crack.

This was the moment that George had been dreading since she started her formal training. But instead of two competing loyalties, now she had three. The Haberdashers, Robert, and Casimir. She wanted to disappear into the floor.

Casimir caught her hand and raised it to his lips. "Go with your sisters. They are why we came in such a rush."

His dark eyes were sincere. Gentle. How could he look at her like that after everything they had been through in the last two days? Everything
he
had been through in the last two days? "But you're hurt," she whispered.

He gave a short laugh and held his ribs more tightly. "I'll still be hurt when you get back. I can guarantee you won't miss anything." 

She was reluctant to leave him to the care of the men, but there most likely couldn't be a good resolution to this conflict. She followed Sabre and Jack to the morning room.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY

Gideon looked at his unexpected guest. "I'll send for the doctor. Dibbs and the footmen can help you to your bedroom."

"There's no need for a doctor," the young man insisted. "I'll be fine."

Pride, Gideon knew, could be a dangerous thing. And right now Mr. Rokiczana looked as though he had gone four unpleasant rounds with Gentleman Jackson.

"It pleases me to be a gracious host," Gideon said. "I know that if I were in your condition I would want to retreat to a quiet bedroom with a bottle of the finest brandy. So let me have the satisfaction of providing that for you."

"Gideon does have some of the finest brandy," Charlie assured him. "I may claim to suffer a complaint just to receive a portion."

"Don't worry for me, gentlemen. I've had worse, I assure you." The look Rokiczana gave Robert was nothing short of challenge. It would be best to head this off before it turned into something ugly.

"Forgive my manners, Mr. Rokiczana, but I don't believe we've been introduced. You already know Robert. That gentleman is his brother Charles Bittlesworth. I am Gideon Wolfe, Earl of Harrington. And this is the Duke of Beloin."

Mr. Rokiczana nodded to each of them in turn, adding murmured honoraries for Gideon and Quince. "My lord. Your grace."

"Now that the pleasantries have been settled, will you go willingly with my butler, or force me to bodily carry you upstairs to ensure that my hospitality is received?"

That served to divert Mr. Rokiczana's attention from Robert. To Gideon's surprise, rather than remain challenging, the young man relaxed into a grin that must have hurt his split lip. "It would never do to stress one's host so horribly. I thank you for your hospitality." He followed Dibbs upstairs as though there had never been a contention.

Without asking, Charlie walked over to the liquor and poured himself two fingers of scotch, which he quickly downed. Gideon knew him well enough to know this meant Charlie was stressed. The younger man poured another before waving his hand at the collection of bottles. "Shouldn't you be offering something to your guests, my lord?"

Charlie drinking and sounding acidic? This could go badly very fast. He would never show his temper in front of the ladies, but with sufficient drink just now he would start a fight, most likely with his brother. Gideon took over the liquor cabinet. He didn't ask for drink orders as he knew each man's preference.

"This has been a more interesting day than expected," the earl ventured, handing Quince his drink first.

Charlie was leaning against the wall, finishing his second drink. "Who in the hell is he?"

Gideon shrugged, "Her husband."

Robert accepted his drink and also remained standing. The tension in the room was still palpable. "Her informant," he said softly. "I'll find out whether the marriage is legal."

Charlie stood up straight again. "George has been working for you?" he hissed.

"She's an excellent agent. Mr. Rokiczana could be an excellent agent, as well."

"Robert!" Charlie looked murderous. Gideon was glad that all the younger man did was throw his glass against the wall and stomp out of the room. Hopefully with a bit of time he would work off his anger.

Robert rubbed his forehead. "He wasn't going to break. After a time you get a sense of that. He wasn't going to break and, if George is to be believed, which after the investment I've made in her she bloody well better be, the only thing he had to hide was his marriage to her."

Quince finally spoke. "What do you know of Mr. Rokiczana?"

"He was a minor figure in the Prussian delegation to the Congress of Vienna. My understanding is that he helped us by revealing the Russian-Prussian plans for central Europe, specifically Poland and Saxon. He had a satchel of papers with him, all pertaining to Poland. He most likely
doesn't
know more about this letter. But someone must."

"Robert," Gideon said soberly, "you need rest."

The sound Robert made was too dry and bitter to be laughter. "On the heels of two wars and the largest diplomatic reorganization of Europe in over two hundred years is no time to be resting. Especially when we now know that what is left of the Four is specifically undermining British shipping safety."

"You're right," Quince said quietly. "I shouldn't have let him go."

Robert closed his eyes as though in pain. "Mercy isn't a sin. But used indiscriminately, it can be bloody inconvenient." 

"It's not a mistake I plan to make again. How can I help?"

"I'm not sure yet, but it's good to know I can call on you if needed."

Quince nodded. "Of course."

Robert and Quince had both been studying their drinks rather than finishing them off.

Gideon had already finished his. "Shall we ask the ladies if they're ready for their repast?"

Quince smiled. "If Sabre were ready she would have already informed us."

"I'm hungry," Gideon grumbled.

* * *

George watched Sabre stride to the middle of the room and spin around, feet braced apart, hands on hips. Oh yes, this would be pleasant. Surprisingly, the young woman didn't immediately start upbraiding George. 

Instead, Jack slipped up and set a gentle hand on George's arm. "Are you all right?" she asked softly.

Oh God, was Jack's missishness going to rule the day? George would rather deal with one of Sabre's indignant tirades. "Of course I'm all right. Why wouldn't I be all right?"

Jack and Sabre exchanged sardonic glances and Sabre finally spoke. "Why are you working for Robert and I'm not?"

"
We're
not," Jack corrected.

George tried to shrug nonchalantly but the effect was ruined when her side flared in pain and she hunched over hissing instead.