He wrapped his arms around her and held, not tightly, not with the crushing desperation he felt, but with a steadiness he willed into his muscles, making himself an anchor for her when everything else was adrift. His hand settled between her shoulder blades, and he could feel the fine tremor beneath his palm, the effort it took her to keep from breaking apart.
“It is not your fault,” he said, and his lips were against her temple, close enough that the words vibrated against her skin. “It is Rathbone’s doing. All of it.”
She nodded against his chest. Her fingers tightened on his lapels, and he felt the pull of the fabric against his shoulders, the small violence of her grip. She was holding on. She was letting him hold her. After a year of separation, a year of absence and silence, and the careful, agonizing distance they had maintained since finding each other again — she was in his arms.
The fury came, then — not hot but cold, a winter fury, hard-edged and precise. It settled into his bones alongside the warmth of her body, and he made a vow to himself that he did not speak aloud, because speaking it would have required releasing her, and he was not yet ready for that.
I will not let him harm Frederica. I will not let him take this from us.
He pressed his lips to her hair and felt her exhale — a slow, surrendering breath that loosened her grip and let her lean morefully into him, as if she had been carrying something heavy for a long time and had at last found somewhere to set it down.
Nora’s eyes sought his as she leaned back to look up into his face. “What are you going to do? Will you give him all he desires?”
“I do not know.” His words were heavy, his shoulders shrugging lightly. “I do not know what else there is to be done. I must protect Frederica, I must make sure she is safe.”
A long, thick silence stretched between them both as the weight of his words settled over them like a fog. There was no other clear path forward; he was aware of that. He held Nora’s gaze, seeing the quiet trust in her eyes whilst shame pressed against his ribs like a fist, squeezing until each breath cost him something.
“Frederica’s safety is all that matters,” she said, breaking through the quiet. “It seems strange to me that Rathbone would demand land and coin from you in return for her safety – from what he writes, it is as if he believes he is owed this for some reason.” Stepping right of his arms, she picked up the letter again from where she had set it down. “This line – ‘you will bring me my coin and my land’.”
David turned the letter in his hands, considering. “Indeed, that does seem to be somewhat expectant. Perhaps Lord Cheltenham was intending to bequeath him something but did not write it in his will, as Rathbone had expected.”
“In which case, why not then come to you and speak to you about that, rather than pursue Frederica?” Nora shook her head.
“No, there is deviousness here. I think…” She trailed off, her eyes searching his, a tightness in her jaw. “Hampshire — if your uncle constructed the codicil to protect Frederica from Rathbone, then whatever Rathbone held over your uncle was significant enough to warrant that. Significant enough that your uncle preferred to die with the secret than to expose it. What ifRathbone is not asking for what he believes he is owed? What if he is asking for what he believes he can take, because he knows he could destroy your family by speaking?”
David went still. “Blackmail.”
“Yes.” Her hand tightened on his. “Money and land are only the beginning. A man with that kind of leverage does not stop at one demand. Whatever you give him today, he will be back next month.”
David nodded slowly, his breath rushing out of him as his expression darkened. “Rathbone has threatened first my uncle, then Frederica, and now he thinks to do the same to me,” he said, as Nora took his hand again, the pressure on his fingers steadying him.
“This land and this coin that he believes is his, that he expects to gain from me – there must be a reason for it.”
“And you will find out the reason?”
He bit his lip and then sighed. “The only thing I can do is to speak with my solicitors again. Perhaps there is something more they know but have not yet shared when it comes to Rathbone.”
Her eyebrows lifted, her fingers tightening on his arm. “Would they not know of where he resides?” she asked, putting her other hand on his chest. “There must be some information they could give to you that might alert you as to where Frederica herself now might be?”
He nodded, took her hand, and kissed it, his breath warming the back of her knuckles. “Yes, I am sure they will know something that will be of use.” His chest tight, he held her gaze steadily. “I will inform you of whatever I discover.”
“Would that I could go with you.”
He smiled briefly. “I applaud your desire to be of aid to Frederica,” he said quietly. “But I must keep you safe also. I cannot risk any harm coming to you, not when I know that Rathbone is willing to do such dreadful things as that.”
She pressed his hand. “I would do anything I could to help Frederica,” she said, sincerely. “For her sake, I hope she is discovered soon – and without any harm being done to her.”
“As is my wish,” he swore, as she stepped away from him and made for the door. “Pray for my success, my love. Pray that this will all come to an end – and that we will all find happiness in spite of these troubles.”
“I shall,” she whispered, her eyes glistening with soft tears as she held his gaze, one hand on the door handle. “Farewell, Hampshire.”
“So you have his residence?”
“I do, yes.” David, who had only just finished explaining everything to Lord Broadford at this early hour of the morning, continued to pace up and down his friend’s drawing room. “I confess, I do not know what is to be done. I have his threats and his demands, but at the same time, I have no intention of simply giving him what he wants in the hope that Frederica will be kept safe.” He winced, sensing his own guilt beginning to press into him – guilt that he had not acted more quickly, guilt that he had not pushed Frederica gently to speak of Rathbone rather than permitting her silence.
Lord Broadford exhaled sharply through his teeth, letting out a low exclamation. David had not been able to do anything the previous day, for the solicitors had closed and he had been unable to speak to anyone. He had arrived again this morning, before the sun had fully risen, to discover Mr. Bolton unlocking the door – and had pounced on him like a man half starved.
“That man is nothing but a scoundrel!”
