“You are in error. I fear it has only begun, if you allow gossiping tongues to go on wagging.”
“Let them say what they want.”
“You are as stubborn as your father.” Sir Walter seized Simon’s arm before he could walk away. “Which is why I have taken the matter into my own hands.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have expressed your deepest regret to Lord Gilchrist over not only your son’s behavior but your own. In the spirit of making amends, I have furthermore invited him, along with his family, to Sowerby House in a sennight for a private dinner party.”
“You had no right.”
“Perhaps not. But if your father were alive, he would expect no less of me, and if it takes meddling into affairs that are none of my concern to gain back your respectability, then so be it.” Sir Walter’s grip lessened on Simon’s arm. “And if you wish to keep that respectability, I suggest you administer a lesson or two in proper conduct to your son.”
“My son did nothing more than I would have done.”
“Meaning you condone fisticuffs?”
“If that’s what it takes.” Simon shrugged out of the hold. “No one shoves Mercy Fancourt off her feet, nor calls her names without her brother doing some shoving of his own. If that puts us on the outs with society, so be it.”
“I did not realize John’s intentions were so noble.”
Simon started for the door—
“Fancourt, just a moment.” Sir Walter followed him to the open stable doors, where misty evening light warmed their faces. “As distasteful as it is to you, I fear youmustentertain the Gilchrists for one evening. That will doubtless cease some of the ill opinions, and everything shall be much fairer for you after this is over. Trust me.” He patted Simon’s back, his eyes softening. “It is what your father would have wanted.”
“What my father wanted for me and what is best for me have not always been the same.”
“Even so”—Sir Walter placed the hat back on his head and marched out the doors, coat tails flying behind him—“make certain you dress the part of a gentleman, and if you decide to disappear during dinnertime, as you did today, I shall hunt after you myself.” Three feet from the stables, he turned back with a wry twist of his lips. “By the way, I forgot to mention Miss Whitmore has also been invited to the dinner party.” He winked. “If you are as much like the late Mr. Fancourt as you seem, you shall not allow one refusal to keep you from an inheritance. You may thank me later, of course.”
As the man disappeared, Simon grabbed the stable door and slammed it shut, the echoing rattle as distinct as the one in his brain. He was not certain if he should despise this figure who so adamantly crusaded Father’s cause.
Or if Simon should be grateful, in a country full of strangers, he had one friend.
Noises.
Georgina bolted upright so fast her head spun. Her skin tingled. Ever since the night a yellow rose had been left on her pillow, she had kept two candlesticks burning until morning, as if something so futile would deter the stranger from entering. Would anything? Who should she tell? Did she trulywantto tell?
More than anything, she desired to face him. She needed to probe him, question the roses, uncover everything he knew about the night that had ruined her life. If he had any part in Papa’s death—
For the second time, the noises stirred. Not in her chamber, as she had imagined, but outside in the hall—rushing footsteps, a muffled sound, almost a cry.
Georgina lunged from bed and tripped her way to the door, then flung it open. The glow within her chamber spilled out into the darkness, illuminating the staircase and three rectangular rugs.
Then a creak.
A door shutting.
Agnes’ door.
Georgina rushed down the hall where light brimmed out from beneath the white-painted door. She slung it open. “Agnes?”
Across the chamber, her cousin whirled. She wore a silk dress, the plum-purple one she often donned for a ball, and a black cloak fell from her trembling shoulders. Her cheeks were ashen. Tearstained.
“Agnes, what is it? Why are you dressed?” Georgina weaved around the bed, stepping over a spilled reticule and thrown glove. “Where were you? What are you doing?”
“Leave me alone.” Agnes doubled over, loose hair cascading around her face. She retched, then smacked the floor with her knees, then seized the window curtain with a gasp. “Get out of here. Now!”
“Dear.” Georgina slid her knees next to Agnes, stroking back hair as more vomit spewed from her lips.
