“Lord Lancashire?”
Flashing Lady Honora a smile that was, he was sure, more like a snarl than anything else, he lifted both shoulders and then let them fall. “Forgive me. I – I think that I must have –”
“Oh, look! There is my uncle.”
Relief poured into Jonathan’s frame, relief that he did not have to explain to Lady Honora the reason for his groan as well as relief that Lord Blackwood was finally in his sights. Letting Lady Honora lead him, he walked towards the gentleman, recognizing him at once. Lord Blackwood was an older fellow, with keen grey eyes and a thick moustache which he almost continually ran his fingers over. The reputation he had built for himself was impressive, and even now, as they approached, Jonathan’s heart tugged towards worry. He did not want to do anything to upset the gentleman, knowing just how well he was regarded by all those about him – and even by the King!
“Uncle, good evening.” Lady Honora smiled warmly as her uncle turned towards her. “I do hope you are enjoying the ball?”
“Yes, yes.” Lord Blackwood waved one hand, somewhatdismissively. “It is pleasant enough, as such things are.” His eyes shot towards Jonathan. “And you, Lord Lancashire. It has been some time since we have been in company together, is it?”
Jonathan inclined his head, glad that the gentleman remembered him. “Yes, it has been.”
“Brother!” From behind him, Lady Birmingham’s voice flew over Jonathan’s shoulder, only for her to then come around his right-hand side to greet Lord Blackwood. “Is not Honora doing well this evening? She has almost all of her dances filled!”
Lord Blackwood smiled briefly, then took Lady Birmingham’s hand. “You are making certain that all which can be done is being done for her,” he said, as Lady Birmingham smiled. “I am sure Honora is grateful for that.”
“Of course I am.” Honora glanced towards Jonathan, then bit her lip. Jonathan, seeing his opportunity, seized it quickly before Lady Birmingham could say anything more.
“Lord Blackwood, I do not know if you recall, but last Season, I received a letter from you which offered me some advice. I wonder if –”
Lord Blackwood’s eyebrows rose, and he interrupted Jonathan without warning. “Forgive me, Lord Lancashire, but I am quite sure I did not ever write to you.”
Jonathan blinked rapidly. “I beg your pardon?”
“I am a gentleman who prides myself on carefully recording all that I share and the like,” he said, his eyes seeming to hold a sharpness now which had not been there before. “I do not recall ever writing to you, I am afraid.”
“It was not this Season but the last,” Jonathan said again, wondering if the gentleman had misheard him. “I am quite sure it was by your hand, Lord Blackwood.”
The gentleman shook his head. “I am afraidyou must be mistaken, Lord Lancashire. I have not ever written to you, I am quite sure of it.”
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. Hehad 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.
