It was almost as if Jonathan had never fallen from grace in the eyes of society to begin with.
It made Jonathan happy. It shouldn’t have. He adored his freedom and prided himself on not falling prey to the stifling whims of society. But even he couldn’t deny that it felt good to be accepted and treated as though he belonged for once.
A feeling which, of course, his father sought to crush as soon as he noticed Jonathan’s happiness.
“Do not think I believe you have turned over a new leaf yet,” his father said when the two of them met near a small table containing decanters of port and brandy, as well as a box of cigars.
“I beg your pardon?” Jonathan blinked at the man with pretend innocence.
His father scoffed. “Dressing a pig in fine clothing and teaching him to dance does not make him any less of a pig.”
The pleased feelings that had sprouted in Jonathan’s chest immediately wilted under the bitterness his father threw at him.
“I only wish to be good company for Lord Frome’s guests,” he said quietly.
He didn’t know whether to be angry or forlorn over his father’s stingy disapproval. All he wanted was to be liked. Was that too much to ask?
His father humphed and busied himself pouring a snifter of brandy, as if he was unwilling to give Jonathan his approval, despite the company seeming to like him.
Jonathan opened his mouth to ask his father to reserve his judgement, but his words died on his lips when a distressed and panting Charlie appeared in the parlor doorway.
His father and the entire company were instantly forgotten.
“Charlie?” Jonathan asked, breaking away from his father and striding across the room to his friend. “Is something the matter?”
“It appears there is some sort of photographic emergency,” a gentleman named Planchet laughed near the billiard table.
Several other guests laughed with them.
Jonathan’s face pinched in momentary annoyance, but even that was forgotten when he reached Charlie’s side.
“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” Jonathan said, resting a hand on one of Charlie’s shoulders. His friend was cold, as if he’d been outside. “Have you not been taking supper in our rooms?”
Charlie swallowed, desperation painting his flushed face. He worked his mouth in the way he did when he had something to say but couldn’t get the words out. A quick peek past Jonathan into the room explained why.
“I will return as soon as I see to my assistant,” Jonathan told everyone and no one in particular before resting his hand on the small of Charlie’s back and escorting him out into the hallway.
He walked Charlie all the way down to one of the side corridors that must have led off into parts of the house frequented only by the servants before turning Charlie to face him.
“What is the matter?” he asked, barely above a whisper. Without really thinking about it, he cupped the side of Charlie’s hot face with one hand.
Charlie’s eyes went watery. He gulped a few times before saying, “There’s a prisoner. In the cottage beyond the orangery.”
“A prisoner?” Jonathan frowned, uncertain what Charlie could mean.
“The servants are forbidden from going there,” Charlie went on.
Jonathan shook his head, still in the dark.
“He’s drugged and chained to the bed,” Charlie tried again.
The uneasy feeling Jonathan had had when he’d left his and Charlie’s room earlier returned in full force. He wanted to avoid it or run away from it, but it clung to him, feeling like a rock in his gut or a wind that instantly chilled him to the bone.
“I do not think I understand,” Jonathan said. “Drugged and chained to a bed?”
Charlie tried to speak, but he grew more upset by the second and was unable to. Jonathan did his best to wait patiently for his friend to find his voice, but his own sense of fear and danger made him increasingly restless.
Finally, Charlie blurted out the word, “Fabian!”
