Licking his lips, George wanted to say more, wanted to say something that would draw her back to him, but he could not. There was nothing he could add to what had been shared, nothing that he could tell her that would be of any benefit.
“I am sorry for the situation you find yourself in, Surrey.” Miss Williams, opening her eyes, dabbed at them with a handkerchief provided by Lady Norah, who still stood nearby. “I am free to choose my own match, and I do wish so very much that you had been able to do the same.”
Unable to help himself, George caught her hand as she made to walk past him. “As do I,” he said hoarsely, a weight in his chest. “Do not doubt that, Miss Williams. There is nothing I should like more than to make my own choice, but fate has me tied to another.”
Their eyes held for a long time, his hand still holding hers, and a tingling running up his arm towards his heart. Lady Norah murmured something, and Miss Williams, pulled her hand away, walked past George, and back towards the door.
He could not look after her, the sense of loss in him so great that he wanted to lower his head and weep. His throat was sore, aching heavily as he took a few staggered steps forward, reaching the end of the terrace and gripping the rail with both hands. The future before him was dark, his hopes covered in shadows that would never release him. If he could not have Miss Williams, then he would spend the rest of his life regretting hisaction in stepping away – all the while knowing that he had not been given any other choice but to do so.
“My friend?”
Barely able to lift his head, George recognized Lord Dorset’s voice. “Yes?”
“Whisky. Here.”
Slowly, George raised his head and, releasing the railing with one hand, took the glass from him. The fire from the liquid burned him back into some semblance of life, even though a groan of anguish remained trapped against his heart.
“That was not an easy conversation, I think?” Lord Dorset smiled ruefully. “I was not eavesdropping, nor was I watching you.”
“You were watching Norah.”
Lord Dorset nodded. “You still care for Miss Williams, that much is apparent.”
“She overheard a conversation about the documents,” George explained, before taking another mouthful of whisky. “I had to explain a little to her. Needless to say, she now understands that I have no choice but to stay away from her and to marry Miss Burnley.”
A few lines drew themselves across Lord Dorset’s forehead. “Why was someone discussing your documents in a place where they could be overheard?”
It was nearly the same question as Miss Williams had asked herself, but George did not know how to answer.
“I would have thought that anyone with any interest in the matter would have done so discreetly. Where was she when she heard this?”
“In a bookshop.” George ran one hand over his eyes. “I do not want to speak any more of this, Dorset. I have had quite enough of the entire situation, and I must – ”
“There is something about those documents that concerns me.”
George dropped his hand back to his side. “I beg your pardon?”
“There is something about the documents that concerns me, and to be truthful, hearing that Miss Williams has overheard a conversation about them also in a place as strange as a bookshop only adds to my concern.”
This was utterly astonishing, and George, not knowing how to respond, could only look blankly back at Lord Dorset. His friend smiled ruefully, then knocked his whisky glass against George’s, drawing him back to himself a little. “You are surprised to hear me say such a thing.”
“I – I am.” George threw back the rest of his whisky, letting the liquor drip into his veins. “My father made it clear to me that they were all to be honored and even my own solicitors – ”
“I am surprised at that as well,” Lord Dorset told him, as George looked down at his empty glass and wondered silently if he ought to fetch another. “If I saw something of concern after only one perusal – and a brief one at that – then why did your solicitors not see the very same thing?”
“What did you see?” George asked, glancing around to make sure they could not be overheard. “What is it about the documents that troubles you so?”
Lord Dorset’s brow furrowed. “There is something about the seal that appears… incomplete.”
“But of course it is incomplete,” George replied, having seen the seal, cracked and worn as it was. “The documents are old, and the seal will not have withstood the test of time. It sits on the bottom of the third page, revealing an end to the documents and the agreement itself.”
The frown remained on Lord Dorset’s face. “I think it does not appear genuine. It is cracked and worn, and therefore, theseal itself is not particularly clear. It could have been made to look that way.”
George did not know how to respond. He did not want to laugh and state that there was nothing wrong with the seal and that his friend was being quite preposterous, but nor did he want to take what Lord Dorset was suggesting as fact. He had already asked his own solicitors to examine the documents and, given that they had done so and found nothing awry, he could not believe that Lord Dorset had found something they had not.
“And you are sure that the names written in those documents correspond to your family’s names?”
George hesitated, then shrugged. “I have not searched for the names myself. I have left it to – ”
