Trusting Lady Hemmingway: Regency Romance (The King's League Book 4)

by Lucy Adams

  The footman cleared his throat and inclined his head. “The footman I received them from stated that Lord Hamilton instructed that they were to be burned but he instead left them in his carriage, for fear that the gentleman might then go on to change his mind once he had stopped drinking the master’s brandy or the like, and then one of us might be found to be at fault.”

  Carolyn nodded, feeling tears begin to prick at her eyes as she looked down at the gloves again. There was evidence here, she was sure of it.

  “Then I shall tell my brother that I have his gloves and have every intention of repairing them,” she said, with more firmness in her voice than she felt. “I thank you.”

  The footman bowed and turned away, leaving Carolyn and Lady Callander standing alone.

  “Do you mean to say that your brother is dancing, at present, with no gloves?” Lady Callander asked, a mirthful tone in his voice. “Good gracious, I –”

  “This is dreadful,” Carolyn whispered, her heart in her throat and tears already beginning to form. “How could he have done such a thing?” She was quite certain that his gloves proved that he had done something to involve himself in the fire, had done something to set it up or make arrangements for it. “And what will I do?” Her questions remained unanswered as she stared down at the gloves, hardly feeling Lady Callander’s hand on her arm.

  “Whatever is wrong, my dear?” Lady Callander asked, softly. “You appear to be quite horrified about something.

  Tears flooded Carolyn’s eyes and she let them fall without hesitation. Lady Callander said nothing, only taking in a sharp breath at Carolyn’s evident distress, before putting an arm around her shoulders and leading her towards another room. Carolyn went willingly, her heart aching and her sense of loyalty slowly detaching from her. Her brother, if he had truly chosen to do such a thing, could expect none of her support and encouragement now. It was all much too late. She would have to speak to Lord Franks tomorrow, would have to take her brother’s gloves with her and show it to him, so that he might see as she did. What would happen thereafter? Would Lord Franks go to Lord Hamilton and drag him towards the gallows himself? Or would there be a chance for an explanation, an opportunity to state precisely what had occurred and why? She could only pray that it would be the later, already afraid what her brother would say when the time came. Would he see her as the disloyal one? Fickle? Untrustworthy? Or would he understand that she had been trying to help him but had been forced to put the safety of her King and her country ahead of that love?

  Wiping at her eyes, Carolyn let Lady Callander embrace her, feeling tears flowing down her cheeks.

  “It is all quite at an end now,” she whispered, as Lady Callander released her, her expression filled with concern. “And I am going to be the one to bring it.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Robert could still not quite believe it. To know that one of his friends was now gone, taken from this earth having let out his last breath, was almost too difficult to accept. Lord Caravel had succumbed to his many injuries and, just after Robert and the rest of the men from the ‘League’ who had been at the ball had arrived, had let his life drift away from him. He was gone now, gone from this world and never to speak to Robert or any other again.

  Robert could only be grateful that Lord Caravel had no wife nor children to speak of, wondering who the title might go to now that Lord Caravel had passed away. Pacing up and down his drawing room, he let out a long, slow breath, trying to push aside the shock that refused to leave him.

  “My lord?”

  He looked up, irritated. The butler stood by the door, looking somewhat hesitant.

  “I did knock,” he said quietly, perhaps realizing that Robert had not heard it. “My apologies if you…”

  “What is it that you want?” Robert asked, irritated, not by anything the butler himself had done but rather because of his own upset. “Is it a matter of importance?”

  Again, the butler hesitated. “The lady in question states that it is so, yes,” he answered, as Robert turned around sharply, seeing the butler spread his hands. “You have a Miss Hemmingway present, who wishes to speak to you, my lord.” Again, that momentary pause. “She is accompanied by her maid.”

  Robert resisted the urge to look at the clock, aware that it was very early indeed for any sort of visitor. The butler too looked somewhat astonished but clearly had decided that it was important enough for him to disturb Robert at such an early hour.”

  “Send her in at once and have a tray brought up from the kitchens,” he instructed, suddenly feeling a sense of urgency in his heart, as if he could not wait another moment before seeing her. “And have her maid come in also.” He knew it was not proper for a young lady to call on a gentleman entirely on her own, but it was early enough for the ton not to notice her movements and, besides which, the beau monde did not know of the urgency that filled them both at this present time. The butler excused himself, leaving Robert to turn and glance in the mirror, taking in his somewhat haggard appearance and realizing too late that there was very little he could do about it.

  “Miss Hemmingway, my lord.”

  He turned back at once, seeing Miss Hemmingway step through the door, her eyes searching the room for him before she found him. Her eyes were glassy, her skin paler than he had ever seen it before, and a deep sense of sadness seeming to weigh her down.

  “Lord Franks,” Miss Hemmingway murmured, curtsying quickly. “I am sorry for the intrusion, when I know it is much too early and, indeed, something of an imposition to have a young lady call on you at such an early time as this, but I have found something of importance that I feel you must become aware.” Without giving him time to speak, she dug into her pocket and pulled out a brown paper packet, tied with string. It was very flat indeed but she passed it to him with almost reverential care biting her lip as she did so.

  “My brother was not wearing gloves last evening,” she explained, as he set the paper parcel down on the table and began to open it. “What I mean to say is that he was doing so, just as you would expect, at the start of the ball. However, when I came to speak to him after the fire, I realized that he was no longer wearing them.”

  “Then how did you discover them?” he asked, looking down at the gloves and seeing the dark marks on the fingertips. Gingerly, he picked them up and lifted them to his nose. There was a slight odor to them, and something lingered on his fingers after he had set them back down. His stomach tightened. He knew precisely what this meant and, from the look on Miss Hemmingway’s face, she knew it also.

  “I asked my brother why he was not wearing them,” Miss Hemmingway said, softly, looking at him with a wretched expression. “I kept my tone as light as I could, but he responded with both anger and a sense of deep distress which he tried to hide from me.” She shook her head, closed her eyes and turned her head away so that he could not see her expression in its entirety. “His response to me was one of fury,” she continued, her voice breaking with suppressed emotion, blinking rapidly. “I tried my best to convince him to be honest with me, so that I might bring help to him in some way, but he did not respond well to such a thing.” Again, he saw her eyelashes flutter and knew that she was trying to keep the tears at bay. “He told me that he was not at all struggling with any difficulties, that there was nothing that, at present, he was being forced to do.”

  “He may not be telling you the truth,” Robert responded, taking a step closer and feeling himself almost desperate to bring her a little comfort. “Surely you know that?”

  Miss Hemmingway still did not look at him. “I did not want to bring the gloves to you,” she said, honestly. “I wanted to keep such things to myself, wanted to throw them on the fire as my brother himself had requested, but I did not.”

  Robert frowned. “He wanted them burned?”

  Miss Hemmingway finally glanced at him, her lips trembling. “Yes,” she whispered, a single tear tracking down her cheek. “The footman at the ball did not do it, howeve
r, but put them in his carriage. Most likely because he feared that a gentleman in his cups would not be likely to make wise decisions when it came to something such as a smudged glove.”

  “I see,” Robert murmured, the gloves beginning to fade from his thoughts as he took a couple of steps closer to her. He wanted to find a way to comfort her, wanted to bring her relief from her pain and her agony but knew that there was nothing he could do save to offer her his sympathies. “There is great strength in you, Miss Hemmingway, coming to me with this as you have done.”

  This appeared to be the wrong thing to say, for Miss Hemmingway covered her face with her hands and burst into tears, sinking down onto the window seat as her shoulders shook with all the emotion that crashed through her. Robert did not know what to do, looking at her with a mixture of confusion and sympathy, feeling anything he wanted to say die on his lips every time she sobbed.

  In the end, he merely came down to sit beside her. He could not imagine what it was like for her to have a brother in so much trouble. To know that it appeared as though he were involved in something that had injured one of the League’s men, and to have now killed another, must be a very difficult burden to bear indeed. This was her brother, the gentleman who carried the title, the fortune and the well-being of her family. The strength within her was far more than he had ever expected and there was now an admiration for her courage, especially in the face of such a difficult trial.

  “What am I to do?”

  Her despairing question bit at his soul and he could not answer her. She had done her best to give her brother the opportunity to seek her help, to be honest with her about what he was struggling with, but he had evidently thrown back such an offer without hesitation.

  “There is still a part of me that wants to believe he is being pulled into this against his will,” Miss Hemmingway continued, when he said nothing, her tears beginning to abate. “I saw him speaking to another gentleman—a Mr. Ashton?” She frowned, then shook her head, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. “Mr. Astor, in fact,” she said, with a little more certainty. “I watched my brother for a time and saw him shirk away from this fellow.” She swallowed hard, closing her eyes as her chin wobbled. “But then, thereafter, Hamilton spoke to me with such callousness that I believed myself to have been entirely mistaken!”

  Robert frowned, thinking about what she had said. As much as he wanted to encourage her, he did not want to give her any sort of false hope—and yet, there was the fact that her brother might have been putting on a bold, brash presence in order to protect her.

  “Tell me about this Mr. Astor,” he said, softly. “You say you saw him talking to your brother?”

  Miss Hemmingway frowned at him, then nodded. “He appeared to be quite intimidating, given that my brother bent his head away from him,” she said, softly, her cheeks still pale. “And when I went to seek an introduction, my brother seemed to be doing all he could to ensure that I did not linger near to himself and this gentleman.” She shook her head, before throwing a slightly guilty look towards him. “I insisted, of course.”

  He could not help but chuckle. “I am aware of your leaning towards tenacity,” he said, glad that her tears had stopped. “And be aware that I admire it, Miss Hemmingway. Truly, I do.”

  A small smile lifted her lips, sitting back a little more as a long breath escaped her. “You are one of the few who holds that view, Lord Franks,” she told him, honestly. “Regardless, Mr. Astor was introduced but I got to know very little about him.” One shoulder lifted. “My brother insisted that he and I take to the dance floor, which was when I noted the absence of his gloves.”

  Letting out his breath slowly, Robert frowned and tried to think what would be best to do. “I am to speak to the rest of the League this evening,” he said, looking towards her. “I think it would be best if you were able to attend, Miss Hemmingway.”

  Her eyes flared wide.

  “It is best that they hear it all from you,” he told her, firmly. “Before we decide what must be done.”

  Slowly, she began to nod, her eyes darkening with tears once more. “And do you still wish to visit me this afternoon?”

  For a moment, he did not quite understand what she meant, only to recall that he had made arrangements to call upon her and to look through her brother’s study for any places where he might have something hidden.

  “Your brother will be absent?”

  She nodded. “My mother was due to take a walk with Lady Arbuckle but is still troubled with a headache,” she said, with a small shrug. “She will remain abed, I fear. My maid will remain with me but my brother has already stated that he is to go out to Hyde Park this afternoon, for the fashionable hour. Lady Callander is to call to visit me, however, as I believe I mentioned before.”

  “Then I should be glad to keep to my intended visit,” he told her, seeing the grateful expression on her face as he reached out and took her hand. “I am sorry for the difficulties that you have found at present, Miss Hemmingway. Would that I could bring it all to a swift end for you, but I fear that it may be some time yet and that the conclusion itself might be very painful indeed.”

  Her fingers tightened on his, her eyes fixed upon his own. She said nothing for some moments as the air seemed to grow thick about them, his breathing becoming a little ragged. There was something wonderful between them now, something astonishing and glorious that took the sting of his pain away.

  “You have endured a great deal also,” she murmured, no tears lingering in her eyes any longer. “How does Lord Caravel fare?”

  He looked away sharply, feeling a fresh stab of pain.

  “Oh, how dreadful,” Miss Hemmingway whispered, her other hand now atop of their joined ones. “I am truly sorry, Lord Franks.”

  Nodding, he managed to look back at her. “His injuries were very grievous indeed,” he told her, his breathing a little tight. “The horse was spooked by something, according to a street urchin who saw it occur.” Closing his eyes, he fought to keep his emotions under control. “The doctor said his skull had been too badly damaged for him to ever fully recover anyway. He died shortly after I arrived. Lord Millerton has taken it very badly indeed, which has made him step back slightly from his recovery.”

  Miss Hemmingway said nothing but leaned into him, her shoulder pressed against his. Keeping his eyes closed, Robert sat quietly, simply taking in all that had been said between them, all that had been spoken. He felt as though Miss Hemmingway knew the depths of his pain and could offer him the compassion and comfort that he needed. In return, he leaned back into her, knowing just how much she was struggling with her situation also. They rested there together, wrapped in companionable silence, each feeling as though this was precisely where they belonged.

  “Lord Franks, I…..” Miss Hemmingway’s voice was soft, barely loud enough for him to hear. “I want to thank you for your willingness to trust me.”

  His lips curved into a half smile. “Of course, Miss Hemmingway,” he told her, quietly. “It seems my instincts did not let me down on this occasion.” Feeling her lift her head slightly, just so that she could look at him a little more, he turned his head a fraction. “Trusting you appears to be have been a very wise choice, Miss Hemmingway, even if it has brought difficulties to you.”

  She did not smile but rather looked at him with a steady gaze. “I do not fear telling you the truth about what I have discovered,” she answered, blessing him with her words. “For I believe that you are a man worthy of my trust.”

  “That is kind of you to say,” he told her, a little overwhelmed by all that he now felt for the lady. “I have made some grave mistakes these last few weeks, I know. If anything were to happen to Lord Millerton now, after he has already endured so much, I do not know what I should do.” Aware that he was feeling rather sorry for himself, Robert tried to haul himself out of the pit of despair he was beginning to sink into. “But a gentleman of the League always strives for completeness,” he told her, as muc
h as he told himself. “To bring the guilty to justice, to rid the country of the enemies that threaten.” Sighing, he squeezed her hand. “And to find hope in the midst of what can often be an overwhelming darkness.”

  “Your courage and fortitude are more than evident,” she told him, as they remained sitting together, locked in this moment of vulnerability, openness and warmth. “I am grateful to have become acquainted with you, Lord Franks.”

  Quite what might have happened had he and Miss Hemmingway not been interrupted by the maid bringing in a tray of refreshments, Robert was not certain. Miss Hemmingway had left her maid out of the room, meaning that they had been entirely alone—which was a situation of great impropriety, but he had given very little thought to it at the time, given the distress that had been so very apparent on her face as well as his own difficult state of mind. He had never thought even a for a moment that she had come to call on him for anything other than to hand to him the stained gloves of her brother, had never even considered that she might have left her maid out of the room in order to entrap him in some way. There was that trust between them now that he valued very greatly indeed. That trust was here now, as she led him into the study, opening the door into the very ordinary looking room that he had been in once before. Everything was as he remembered it. There were bookshelves lining two walls, with only a small gap at the corner. There were one or two smaller, wooden chairs on either side of the room, with the large desk he had searched in the center of the room.

  “The box you found?” Miss Hemmingway asked, her hand resting on the door for a moment, as he slipped in behind her. “Where was it?”

  Robert looked at the bookshelves. “There,” he said, noting the gap that was between some of the books and the end of the bookshelf. One or two of the books had fallen over now that they did not have the support of the box, making the gap all the more obvious. “It has not been returned.”