A Season for Treason

by Golden Angel

“Time off from what?” Josie murmured at Evie’s back as their friend hurried away. Pursing her lips, Josie turned to look at Mary and Lily. “What do you think she is not telling us?”

  “I am certain there is a whole host of things she is not telling us,” Mary admitted.

  “I think she must be working in a household somewhere in London,” Lily said, still watching Evie’s form disappear down the length of the river. When no one responded, she finally turned to look at the other two, surprise tingeing her expression when they stared back at her in bewilderment. “It makes sense. We know she is not going about in Society, she is only able to get away on Sundays, and her hands appeared chapped.”

  “You would make a good detective.” Mary had not noticed Evie’s hands, nor had she made that conjecture. Lily was right; it did make sense, though astounding. She thought Evie was likely the only one of them who could manage such a disguise, especially for such a long period of time. It had been weeks since the Season had started. How had Evie gone about attaining employment? She would have needed references, a wardrobe, and all sorts of things.

  “Look out, here comes trouble,” Josie said suddenly, sitting bolt upright. Lily and Mary’s heads came up, turning to see where she was looking. A rider on a fine horse was approaching, but it took a few more long seconds before Mary recognized Evie’s cousin, Elijah.

  “How did you know…” Lily’s muttered.

  “Recognized the horse, of course.” Only Josie.

  Mary turned her smile at Josie’s confession into a smile for Elijah as he rode close to the edges of the tree branches, his piercing blue eyes full of suspicion.

  “What are you three doing here?” he barked out, and Mary almost jumped. Elijah could be abrupt, but he was rarely rude. “Where are your chaperones?”

  “My maid is on that bench, just beyond you,” Mary said, nodding her head in the direction.

  “And mine is over there.”

  “My groom is walking our horses about,” Josie said airily, waving her hand. Mary did not believe for one moment Josie did not know exactly where her horse was being walked, but Josie did love to get under Elijah’s skin when he was bossy.

  Elijah’s mouth tightened, the suspicion not dropping one iota from his expression. For once, though, he did not rise to Josie’s bait.

  “Evie is missing.” He watched them carefully as he made the pronouncement. All three of them gasped. Josie put her hand over her heart.

  “Missing?” Mary asked, stepping forward and drawing his attention, giving Lily and Josie a moment to catch up. Out of the three of them, she was the best liar. “You mean she’s not back home? I thought she wanted to spend this Season on the estate.”

  “That is what she said, but my father sent Adam back home to… pick up something for him, and Evie was not there. Mrs. Jamison told him Evie told her she was bored and had decided to spend the Season in London after all. Apparently, she left weeks ago, even sent Mrs. Jamison a letter telling her she had arrived safely, but she is not here.” His agitation was so great, the large bay horse he was sitting upon danced beneath him for a moment.

  “I am sure she is fine,” Josie announced from behind Mary, and Mary barely bit back a groan. Elijah refocused his attention, eyes narrowing. Even when Josie was telling the truth, the two of them got along like cats and dogs.

  “You are not worried?” he asked, the question coming out as a challenge.

  “You must admit, Elijah,” Mary hastily interjected before Josie could respond. “Evie often disappears to do… things. We have become rather used to it. The last we spoke to her, she said she thought you and your father were keeping something from her. Is it possible she has decided to act on her own?”

  Relief suffused her when Elijah frowned, his gaze turning inward. “She… dammit.”

  Without another word, he turned his horse’s head and nudged it into a canter, taking him swiftly away from them. Worry rose in Mary’s chest, sharp and sweeping. She had only meant to prick Elijah, seeing as he, his father, and brothers often left Evie out in an effort to protect her, but he would not behave so boorishly if he were not truly distressed.

  “Perfect, now he is going to think Evie is hiding from them as retribution,” Josie said, cackling. Mary turned back to face her. Josie stopped laughing when she saw the expression on Mary’s face, her own smile turning to a frown. “What is it?”

  “He might think that, but more likely, he will think she is doing exactly what she is doing—investigating on her own.” It would hardly be the first time.

  “Which begs the question, why did he react that way?” Lily said, concern filling her voice as well. “What does he know that we do not?”

  “More importantly, does he know something Evie does not?” Mary bit her lip, but there was nothing they could do. They did not even know where Evie was staying or how to contact her other than these weekly meetings.

  A pall hung over them. Evie was so confident, so determined, not a one of them had questioned her. How could they when it came to protecting their country? The situation had not seemed personally dangerous to anything other than her reputation until this very moment—Elijah would not be acting that way unless he felt it was his cousin’s life in danger.

  “We will ask her next week,” Josie said stoutly, a little paler. “Until then, we will have to do as she asked.”

  “And be very careful about what we are doing.” Lily exchanged a worried glance with each of them. They parted much more somberly than they had come together, each hurrying homeward, lost in her own thoughts.

  Rex

  The pounding on his front door drew Rex to the foyer before Cormack could fetch him. It was the middle of the afternoon on a Sunday in Mayfair—no one would be hammering at his door like that unless it was an emergency.

  “Let me in!” Lucas’ familiar voice rang through the room just as Rex reached it, his friend pushing past Cormack. Turning, Cormack’s confliction was clear, although it slid away from his expression, turning to relief as soon as he saw Rex.

  “The Earl of Devon has come calling, m’lord.” Cormack’s censorious tone made it clear he would be happy to remove Lucas if Rex so desired, forcibly if necessary. One look at Lucas’ sweaty, flushed face and any small temptation Rex had to accept Cormack’s inclination melted away.

  Lucas was deep in his cups again. Throwing him out would likely end in him, causing a scene and disturbing Rex’s neighbors, two things he had no wish to do. While he was rapidly tiring of Lucas’ vices and growing selfishness, he knew anything Lucas did outside of Hartford House would reflect just as badly on Rex. They’d been friends for too long, often paired in people’s minds, and if Lucas was three sheets to the wind on Rex’s own lawn… With how drunk he was, Lucas would not care. Hell, he might not care even if he was sober.

  Bone-deep tiredness flowed through Rex. When had their friendship turned to this? When had Lucas become this kind of man? He had not always been this way. It used to be that Rex depended on Lucas even more than the other way round. He supposed he’d always felt in debt to the man because of that. Lucas was the one who had encouraged Rex to embrace himself as he was, the one he had turned to whenever he needed a shoulder or a helping hand. Now the roles had not only changed, but Lucas asked far more of Rex than Rex ever had of him.

  Rex was uncomfortably aware he shouldered some of the blame in enabling Lucas’ slow slide into dissolution. While he had only meant to help by paying Lucas’ debts and smoothing his paths, he had shielded Lucas from the consequences of his own actions. Unfortunately, the guilt of knowing he’d enabled Lucas had pushed him to do so even more.

  That had to end now. Lucas was no longer a callow youth, responsibility thrust upon him at too young an age, and Rex had his own responsibilities now.

  “Come in,” Rex said, turning to lead Lucas back to his study.

  “No.” Lucas swayed toward Rex, eyes bright with some kind of emotion, making him appear almost manic. “I need… I need… I jus
t need some money from you.”

  Of course, he did. When was the last time Lucas had not needed money from him?

  Rex shook his head, half in denial and half in disgust at himself for letting this situation endure for so long. To his surprise, Lucas grabbed him by the arms, fingers digging in.

  “You have to, Rex! You have to help me!” Spittle flew from Lucas’ mouth, and Rex jerked back, throwing Lucas off balance. He fell to his knees at Rex’s feet, but it barely slowed him. Throwing his head back, he stared up at Rex, eyes wild. “Please, Rex… I owe… I owe…”

  “How much?” Rex’s voice was heavy, stern, and he backed away another step from his friend. “How much do you owe this time, Lucas? And how much do you owe me by now?”

  Anger flashed across Lucas’ face, followed by a sneer. He pushed himself to his feet, still swaying.

  “You are not going to help, are you? You do not care at all.”

  “I have always cared, Lucas.” Rex kept his voice low, fierce. He would not allow Lucas to pretend Rex had done nothing for him. “I have always helped in the past. That is the problem. You have become reliant on my help, and you need to stand on your own two feet.” He held out his hands in supplication. “Let me actually help you. We can go over your books, find ways you can save some money, and if you just stay away from the card table—”

  “Go to hell, Rex!” Lucas whirled around, shouting over his shoulder as he stumbled to the door. “You and your bloody judgment, always thinking you know what is right. I don’ need you, anyway!”

  His words slurred, then he was out the door, slamming it behind him, and stumbling down the street. Pressing his lips together, Rex watched him go from the window, already wondering if he was doing the right thing.

  Considering Rex had recently paid off Lucas’ debts only a few weeks ago, how much trouble could he really be in?

  Chapter 12

  Rex

  The quiet of Rex’s house no longer seemed like a peaceful sanctuary after Lucas left. He could still hear his friend’s voice ringing in his head, accusing him. Even though he felt he had done the right thing, finally cutting Lucas off, it did not sit well.

  Rather than stew at home by himself, he decided to take himself off to White’s, the exclusive gentlemen’s club, where there would be other distractions, and Lucas was unlikely to show his face. While Lucas had a membership, he preferred less gentile surrounds for his gaming and had no patience for the kind of wagers that made their way into White’s infamous betting book.

  Rex did not have any interest in the gaming there, either, but a place where he would not be entirely on his own appealed.

  He had cause to regret that decision the moment he was escorted into the main room of the club. There were several gentlemen seated at tables around the room, but the one who caught Rex’s eye was Warwick, sitting with another man Rex did not recognize. Straightening in his seat, Warwick gestured to Rex, clearly wanting him to join them.

  Compared to Warwick’s pompous conversation, he suddenly wished he had just tolerated his own thoughts, but it was too late. Everyone in the room had observed Warwick’s gesture. Rejecting the invitation would not only be rude, it would be seen as an insult. At the very least, Rex needed to stop by his table and exchange a few pleasantries. If he was lucky, he would be able to quickly excuse himself.

  The majordomo turned to him.

  “Would you like to join Lord Warwick, my lord?”

  “For now.” Rex would remain hopeful it was not a lasting placement.

  Warwick and his friend stood as Rex approached, and Warwick looked almost nervous.

  “Hartford, this is the Honorable Captain Nathan Jones. Captain, the Marquess of Hartford.”

  “Call me Rex.”

  He studied the man across from him, keeping his expression even. The Honorable, likely a second or third son of a family, choosing to join the Army and make his own way in the world—Rex could respect that. Jones had a military bearing, even though he was not in uniform. His dark hair was pulled back in a tail at the back of his head, hazel eyes sharp with intellect, and his bow was practiced.

  Not at all the usual kind of company Warwick kept.

  “This is fortuitous,” Warwick said, grinning widely, catching Rex off guard. The earl was behaving oddly. Was he trying to impress Captain Jones? Why? He never put on such amiable airs for Rex. “Captain Jones is just returned from the Continent. We met over there, in France, due to… mutual interests.” Warwick slid his gaze Rex’s way, widening his eyes and giving him a significant look.

  “Indeed.” Rex kept his expression impassive. He could read between the lines easily enough. Despite the abysmal failure Julian Mitchell had been after being introduced to the Society, Warwick wanted to sponsor Captain Jones. Turning to the waiter who had come to his side, Rex put in his drink order, playing for time.

  He did not want to turn down someone just because Warwick was the one introducing them, but after Mitchell, he was far more wary of any recommendation Warwick made.

  “Do you plan to spend much time in England?” he asked Captain Jones. The other man nodded. He sat quietly, not drawing attention to himself, his gaze switching back and forth between Rex and Warwick, detecting the undercurrents. Sharp man. With his quiet confidence and stern façade, Rex could imagine him fitting very well into the Society.

  Still…

  “I requested to be sent home. My father recently passed, and my older brother needed my assistance.”

  “My condolences on the loss of your father,” Rex murmured, mentally rifling through the recent deaths of noblemen until he found one that fit. “Talbot?”

  Captain Jones nodded, sorrow crossing his face for only a moment before he covered it again.

  “I am in London as my brother’s proxy. I was at Gentleman Jim’s when I happened to run into Warwick.” He met Rex’s gaze. “To be honest, I could do with some… less violent distraction.”

  Slowly, Rex nodded. Pugilism had never been his favored method of working out his emotions, either, although he could certainly hold his own. He could understand why Warwick wanted to sponsor him, despite the ultimate failure of his last initiate.

  The first few encounters with a new applicant to the Society were always a test, one they did not even know they were undergoing. It began with a sponsor who took them for an interview with Rex. After his appraisal, if he approved, he would invite them to an event where he could see them in action.

  While it would be a touch unusual to hold another masquerade so soon, no one would protest. Perhaps… Miss Wilson’s face flashed through his mind. Perhaps he could take advantage of such an event as well.

  “I believe that can be arranged.”

  Mary

  Hemmed in by her new court, Lords Shrove, Sinclair, and Wintershorne standing the closest to her, Mary did her best not to scowl.

  Not only had Rex not arrived yet, she did not even know if he would. For someone who was supposedly courting her, he seemed to be taking her very much for granted. The bouquet of flowers that had arrived that afternoon was lovely but not a replacement for the actual man, as far as she was concerned.

  The slightly sick feeling in her stomach, wondering just what—or who—he might be occupied with, did her mood no favors either.

  If this was how she felt before the wedding, it did nothing to recommend the state of marriage to her. At least, not to him. If she did not care for him… but she did. She could not deny the churning of her stomach was due to jealousy or that the ache in her chest was hurt.

  Rex had made her feel special, as though he truly noticed her as if he cared. That was how rakes comported themselves, was it not? She needed to distance herself again, start thinking of him as Hartford, be more suspicious of his flattery and flirtation. Yet she could not reject him out of hand—not when she was the only one of her friends who had any connection to his Society.

  “Mary… Devon, he’s here,” Lily hissed in Mary’s ear. Mary jerked her head u
p, trying to see. The Earl of Devon was here? Taller, Lily did not have the same difficulty. “Across the ballroom by the hallway. Alone.”

  A few notes of music screeched through the air—the violins tuning.

  “Ah, Miss Wilson.” Wintershorne held out his hand. “My dance, I believe?”

  Yes, a waltz—one she had wanted to share with Hartford, but the bounder hadn’t appeared. Wintershorne it would be, and she would use the dance to keep an eye on the earl. Devon had not shown his face in days at any events. If he was here and looking for someone… Evie’s words ran through her mind. Mary did not like to think one of Hartford’s friends might be a traitor, and she could tell Hartford cared about him.

  Perhaps he was looking for Hartford.

  Perhaps not.

  She barely paid attention to Wintershorne as he blathered on, escorting her onto the dance floor and taking her in his arms. Waltzing with him was pleasant, but it was hardly the heart-pounding indulgence she had experienced with Hartford. They moved around the ballroom, the rotations almost lazy, and she caught glimpses of Devon through the crowd.

  The earl appeared anxious, his head jerking back and forth, searching for someone. He looked different from the last time Mary had seen him—rumpled, more dissolute. There were bags under his eyes. Several people walked by him, giving him a wide berth, whispering to each other.

  “Would you agree, Miss Wilson?”

  “I… ah, yes, yes, of course.” She smiled up at Wintershorne, trying to remember what he had been saying, something about the countryside and his dogs… Whatever it was, he puffed up at her agreement.

  “I thought so. You are a woman of rare intellect and taste. Why, did you know some ladies have not the faintest interest in hounds…”

  He was off again, and Mary kept smiling and nodding her head, watching as Devon suddenly perked up. Another man walked by him into the darkness of the hall beyond. A few moments later, Devon did as well. They had not acknowledged each other, not even exchanged a nod, but Mary was convinced that was who Devon had been waiting for.