Page 63 of A Bachelor’s Lessons in Love

Lord Blackstone sat behind his grand desk, his expression unreadable. The usual amusement in his eyes was absent, replaced by something distant. Serious. The taxidermy menagerie loomed from the shelves—the owl with its ridiculous cap, the fox in its spectacles—but today, none of it felt remotely amusing. “If you would sit, Colonel Halstead?”

Edward’s pulse shifted subtly, though outwardly, his remained composed. He lowered himself into the chair across from Blackstone. “Is something amiss, my lord?”

“A troubling matter has come to my attention,” Blackstone said without preamble.

Edward did not move, nor jump to conclusions. He did not need to.

“It concerns your past.”

Still, Edward said nothing as his heart sank.

Blackstone studied him. Weighing. Measuring. “I have heard a rather disappointing account of you,” the viscount continued. “One I cannot ignore.”

Edward’s fingers curled slightly against the arms of the chair. “And what account is that, Lord Blackstone?”

“It is said that, in your youth, you ruined a young woman and immediately afterwards fled all your responsibilities. That you joined the army, rather than face the consequences of your actions.”

A slow, creeping weight settled in Edward’s chest. It was not rage that struck him first; it was resignation. At last, the past had come for him.

His jaw tightened, but his voice remained even, measured. “That is not how any of that happened.”

Blackstone tilted his head, an unimpressed gesture. “No?”

“No.” Edward’s explanation was necessarily brief, his words clipped. He would not reveal all. He would not harm Pamela, not after all these years. “I did not flee—I was sent away. My commission was not of my choosing.”

Blackstone made a noncommittal sound, steepling his fingers. “Perhaps. But intent does not alter the outcome, does it?”

“My only intent was to obey the wishes of my father and the express wishes of the young woman’s parents.” Edward’s spine went rigid. “What outcome do you speak of?”

Blackstone leaned forward, his gaze sharper now. “There is another rumor, Colonel. One more recent.” A pause.

Edward felt as frozen in place as the animals on display, desperate to move but entirely incapable.

Lord Blackstone spoke almost as though the words pained him. “It is said…you have been searching for a child.”

Edward’s breath stilled. For the first time, his control threatened to waver. “And?” he asked, his voice low. “It is no crime to make enquiries.”

Blackstone studied him for a long moment. “I wonder what I am meant to make of it.”

His teeth clenched together, his grip tightening the arms of the chair. “That is a private matter.”

“Perhaps,” Blackstone said quietly. “But reputation is not private, Colonel. It is instead very public—and reputation is what holds this club together. I have made it a point to only offer membership to men of upstanding honor, of high moral fiber. Men I am not ashamed to know.”

Edward’s shoulders locked. He had always known his membership here was tenuous. Probationary. Now Blackstone was making the terms very clear.

“If you cannot satisfy my concerns,” the viscount said smoothly, “I will have no choice but to revoke your membership.”

It was all he could do to exhale slowly through his nose. “You mean to say, I would be expelled.”

“I mean to say,” Blackstone corrected, “that you would no longer be welcome beneath this roof or mine, and that your fellow members would be informed of my decision…and why. They would be free to draw their own conclusions about your character.”

Edward’s pulse pounded, painful and swift. He could endure such a loss. He had endured worse. But this was not only about him.

If Blackstone cast such public doubt on his honor, others would whisper of it—nay, no longer fear to whisper it, but speak openly of their distrust. And if Edward was seen as a man of poor character, what would that mean for Daphne’s standing? For Felicity’s?

If doubt fell upon his name, would invitations to events quietly stop arriving? Would Daphne find herself excluded from certain circles, quietly left behind as others moved forward? Would the friendships of the Normans, the Montagues, all disappear? Would Felicity’s place in his home face greater scrutiny?

The worry churned in his stomach. He lifted his gaze to meet Blackstone’s directly. “I understand.”