by Sue London
George threw her arms in the air. “When would I have talked to Sabre? Especially about your marriage?”
“Well, I wasn’t sure if she might have written or…” Jack trailed off, biting her bottom lip.
“What difference would it have made anyway?”
“She doesn’t like Gideon. Or, well, that’s not exactly true. She doesn’t approve of our relationship.”
Jack looked miserable. Sweet, defiant Jacqueline. “And you assume I’ll be the same way?” George asked.
Her friend took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders, finally showing the resilience that George expected. “It stands to reason.”
George shrugged, even though the motion made her side burn all the worse. “I barely know the man. I don’t know the duke either.” She leaned forward and said conspiratorially. “Shall we gang up on Sabre and disapprove of her husband?”
Finally Jack laughed easily. “Of course not! I adore Quince.”
“Oh?” George said, her eyebrows rising. “It’s Quince, is it?”
“Yes, it’s Quince. I’ve known him longer than Sabre has, actually.”
“How long was I gone? You make me feel like it must have been ages!”
“It has been ages! I’ve known Quince since February.”
George knew that she had been quiet too long, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak and keep the conversation at a pace of friendly banter. She had been gone for a long time. It had been a time out of time for her. She hadn’t realized it then, but now she could see that being at the Congress of Vienna had felt like a game. An idyll from her normal life. It was odd to think that time had passed here in London as well. That Jack and Sabre had met their husbands. That so much living had occurred while she wasn’t even aware. It made her feel off-balance.
Jack finally broke the silence. “I’m sorry that you missed so much.”
It worried George that her disappointment was easy to read. Perhaps the pain and emotional conflict of the last day made her weaker than she had realized. “Consider the wonderful adventure I have ahead of me now, uncovering the mystery of all that transpired in my absence.”
The worry in Jack’s expression eased a bit. “You did always love a mystery.” She sat back, a playful smile on her lips. “In fact, this could be great fun. We will play a little game where you can guess at what everyone’s been doing in your absence.”
“Do I win a prize?”
“Of course! What boon would you prefer?”
George mulled it over. “Hmm. First, the grand prize. If I guess everything absolutely correctly… you will have to kiss Lord Lucifer.”
Jack sat up and blushed bright red. Blushed, searched George’s gaze, but did not demur. “All right.”
Interesting. Had marriage made Jack less of a prude? Or was she that desperate to humor her friend? The friend that had missed her wedding. The friend who was lying to her even now, if only by not admitting what she had been up to in those intervening months. But first, the game. “How many things will you have me guess at?”
“Perhaps ten?”
“Very well. If I guess at least seven correctly then my boon should be a new dress. You’re a countess now, you can afford to indulge your friends in such a way.” Warming to her rules, she began ticking them off her fingers. “At least five correct answers earns me an indulgent turn about the portrait gallery of the museum. And you must act as though you really want to be there, none of that vapid staring off into space. With no less than three correct answers I have earned the right to dictate the dinner menu one night that I am here. And with only one correct answer you will still buy me a pot of tea at Twinings the next time we go. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” Jack answered firmly.
And so they passed an agreeable morning, sipping tea, eating biscuits, and catching George up on the news from their circles. Reaching the last question of the game, George had been right six times thus far. One more question and she would have a new dress. Honestly, she had done better than she had expected, only missing Justin’s news of now working in Parliament for the earl, Charlie’s news of breeding the stockings out of Bitterroot’s line, and the fact that Viscountess Bittlesworth had almost been abducted by her own husband. Abducted! George had never thought much of Sabre’s father, but it felt like there were details missing from Jack’s brief sketch of what had gone on last month.
“Are you ready for your last question?” Jack asked, her face bright with enthusiasm.
“Yes. I quake in fear of what you might have left for the last.”
“Are you sure you’re ready?”
“Yes! Dammit, woman, spit it out!” George tossed a pillow at her friend.
Jack caught the pillow and then clutched it to her belly, grinning like a loon. “Guess which Haberdasher married Lord Lucifer?”
George felt her jaw drop open. Her mind churned furiously, but she could think of nothing to say for a solid minute. Jack looked inordinately pleased with herself. Once George could finally find her thoughts, and voice, she said, “You’re joking.”
Jack shook her head vigorously.
Still not quite sure what to say she started with, “Well, it’s not me.”
Jack laughed. “That’s true.”
Work the clues you know, she admonished herself. Sabre had been just as intrigued by Lord Lucifer as George herself had been. Perhaps more so, since George had eventually been most interested in teasing Jack. Could that sweet-faced man their friend married yesterday be Lord Lucifer? Certainly that was part and parcel of the devil’s disguise, to be fair of face and form? But this wasn’t the devil they were speaking of. This was Lord Lucifer. A friend of the Bittlesworth boys. The information chased ‘round in George’s head while Jack continued to stare at her with a silly grin. That was the question, really. What did Jack’s reaction mean? Was this how she would react if Sabre had married Lord Lucifer? Or if Jack herself had married him? Now the answer was obvious. George pushed out of her chair, invigorated by the chase. “Where is he? I want to see him again. This is all too much.”
“See who again?” Jack called from behind as George made her way to the front hall.
“Your husband, of course.” George began opening random doors and peeking inside until the butler materialized at her elbow and politely indicated that she should continue through the hallway further. He opened double doors for her and announced, “Miss Lockheart and the Countess, my lord.”
George stopped in the doorway. The room was all dark paneling and dominated by a large desk. That desk, in turn, was dominated by the man who sat behind it. He rose politely at her entrance.
“Miss Lockhart. I hope you are feeling better today.”
She stepped closer, looking him up and down. Dark hair that was a shade too long for fashion. A fit form, from broad shoulders down to muscled thighs. It was testament to her own distraction that she hadn’t noticed it before. He indeed looked like several sins had come together to make a man. “Oh my God. You are Lord Lucifer, aren’t you?”
His gaze shifted to his wife for a moment and then he smiled at George self-deprecatingly. “So they say in some circles.”
George finally turned back to Jack. “You know what this means, don’t you?”
Jack rolled her eyes. “Oh yes, it means I’ll never hear the end of it.”
George hugged her friend tightly. “It means that next winter I’ll paint you in the snow. With Lord Lucifer.”
*
Jack felt tears spring to her eyes. She hadn’t expected easy acceptance to come from George. Not dry, sarcastic George. The same George that she now owed a dress.
“You’re still going to make me sit in the snow,” she complained, wiping at her cheeks.
“Don’t you remember? It means I have to sit in the snow, too. So I’ll paint as quickly as possible.”
“I missed you, Georgie.”
“I know.”
Jack sniffled. “Brat.”
“Wiseacre.”
<
br /> “Now that you’ve satisfied your curiosity, I’m sure Gideon will want to get some work done before our guests arrive.” Sabre and Quince were due to enjoy a nuncheon with them before leaving on their honeymoon. Sabre had been delighted to think that the Haberdashers would be together again so soon. Quince was, perhaps, less enthusiastic about the plan but wise enough to know that Sabre wasn’t easily thwarted. Jack ushered her friend from the room.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
George followed her friend around the townhouse, quite surprised at how easily Jack had taken to her duties. Sabre as a duchess was no stretch of the imagination, but Jack as a countess? Not quite so easy to fathom. At least she seemed comfortable in her new house, chatting easily with the servants, which was a wonder in and off itself. In the next few weeks George would be able to see how her friend did in Society. She paused for a moment, considering. Would she be here for the next few weeks? She had been shying away from thinking about Casimir, but had he really left her? She hadn’t seen him in a full day. She stubbornly turned her mind from that line of thought, it would only lead to further weakness. She had to accept that her likelihood of seeing him again was slim. She turned her attention instead to watching Jack coo over the elaborate sweets being prepared for the nuncheon dessert. Sabre had a famous sweet tooth, so nothing was likelier to please her.
One of the servants surreptitiously slid a biscuit off the tray and winked at George when he realized she’d noticed him. Cheeky. She was considering whether or not to tell her friend about the servant’s behavior when Jack noted the time and swept George into action. The Telfords were expected imminently. George was regretting running around the house with Jack. After an hour or two of relative ease with her wound, the burning was back with intensity. But if there were ever a time to put in her best performance it was when sharp-eyed Sabre had come to show off her new husband for the collective envy of the other Haberdashers. Sabre could say what she liked about her desire to reunite her friends, if the girl didn’t mention the fact that she was a duchess every five minutes then George might jolly well eat her hat.
Once the Telfords had arrived, the Harringtons received them in the parlor. George tried not to roll her eyes at the formality of the announcement of the Duke and Duchess of Beloin since she knew how much it meant to Sabre. But Lud! George could play the fancy when it suited her, but couldn’t imagine wanting to do it every day as a matter of course. Then the small talk began. Weather, bills in Parliament, news from the Congress of Vienna. George couldn’t remember ever being this impatient with a group of people. She couldn’t contribute much to the conversation for fear she might tip her hand on her knowledge of international news. She was in pain, she was tired, and she didn’t know where her husband was. Or even if she still had a husband. She strongly considered excusing herself with a headache before nuncheon was served, then there was a scuffle in the front hall that had everyone rising from their seats.
A figure came stumbling into the room, as though pushed viciously. She recognized that waistcoat.
“Casimir!” She ran to where he had collapsed on the floor. His lip was cut and bleeding, and his arm wrapped his waist as though holding his ribs in pain. But his eyes lit when she crouched over him.
“Ukochany,” he whispered, his free hand gripping hers. She looked up to see what had brought him here.
Robert loomed in the doorway to the parlor. He looked as though he hadn’t slept and his icy eyes bore into her own. He pointed at Casimir, his words slow and deliberate, fury underlying the tone. “Make him talk.” There had been a time when George would have done anything to avoid having Robert speak to her with just that tone. That time had apparently passed.
“What did you do to him?” she demanded. Her friends had come up to stand on either side of her and she saw Jack whispering something to the butler.
Robert’s gaze never wavered. “Make him answer my questions, George. Otherwise he’s worth nothing to me.” The threat implicit in Robert’s statement made her furious.
The earl stepped forward. “Robert, this is hardly seemly.”
“Seemly? Being concerned about the security of the empire doesn’t suit your afternoon schedule, my lord?”
“The security of the empire?”
“He knows something about this letter.” Robert waved papers he held in his hand. “And I’ll know what it is. George dragged the little bastard home with her. If she can’t get it out of him I swear to God I’ll beat it out.”
The earl had taken another step to put himself more firmly between Robert and Casimir. “It looks like you already tried.”
Lord Lucifer, indeed! George would have nominated him for sainthood.
Robert wasn’t one to be cowed, though, and stood toe to toe with his larger and higher ranking friend. “You know I will stop at nothing to protect England.”
“For God’s sake, Robert, this is a wedding nuncheon, not the fields of Waterloo!”
“The location hardly signifies.” Robert ducked around the earl. “Dammit, George! I don’t have time for a report to arrive from the Continent! Who is he? What does he know?”
George was still hunched protectively over Casimir, even though the pose hurt her side as though a knife were being jabbed there repeatedly. She said the only thing she thought might break the confrontation. “He’s my husband! And he doesn’t know any more about that bloody letter than you do!”
The silence that enveloped the room was absolute. George could feel everyone’s eyes turn to her. So much for not making a dramatic announcement of their marriage. Robert actually looked off balance, his eyes darkening to an inky blackness. She thought he might faint.
“What did you do, Georgie?” he asked softly.
Sabre stepped in front of George. “Robert, you’ve done enough damage here today.”
“Me?” he asked, his voice rising in anger again. “If your idiot husband hadn’t let Granby go, I wouldn’t be dealing with this letter now!”
The duke finally entered the conversation. “This concerns Granby? Let me see the letter.”
Robert didn’t resist as the duke plucked the missive from Robert’s fingers and began to read it.
Things had obviously happened while George had been gone. Things that Jack hadn’t even hinted at in her morning game. “Who is Granby?” she asked. If her husband had been beaten to get more information about the man then she bloody well wanted to know who he was. She felt all the eyes in the room return to her.
Sabre answered briefly. “I’ll explain it later.”
George was miffed. “Actually, I’d like for it to be explained now.”
Sabre’s cold expression rivaled her brother’s, but when the duke put his hand on her arm she shockingly turned her attention calmly to him rather than snapping a rebuke at George.
“It’s complicated,” the duke said, “but our fathers were in a Hellfire Club with Baron Granby.”
“And somehow you let him go?”
The duke folded the letter and handed it back to Robert. “Yes. He was told not to return to England, not to darken our shores with either his presence or influence. A threat he did not take seriously, it seems, and now he will need to answer for his perfidy.”
Robert seemed more himself as he addressed George again. “Which is why I need all the information you two can give me.”
Casimir rose unsteadily to his feet, shaking off George’s hand as she tried to stop him. “I would thank you to not address my wife in that tone.”
The two men stared at one another, the tension in the room rising again.
The butler returned and announced, “Mister Charles Bittlesworth.”
As was typical, Charlie entered the room like a beam of sunlight. The tableau he encountered couldn’t have been odder or more intense, but his cheer was unabated.
“Hullo, brother,” he said, slinging an arm over Robert’s shoulders. George gave a sigh of relief. This was what Jack asked the butler to do. Fetch Charlie. Jack was a geni
us. No one diverted Robert like Charlie did. The younger, fair brother looked over the attendees. “Are we here to celebrate the happy couple?”
Robert raised a brow at his brother. “Obviously,” he said dryly.
“Famous! I hardly saw them yesterday.”
George remembered why she had fancied herself in love with Charlie. When the situation called for it, he could throw the full weight of his charm against the difficult and complicated personalities of their group. He balanced Robert’s intensity, softened Sabre’s waspishness, calmed Jack’s impulsiveness, and countered George’s cynicism with his insistent positivity. And it wasn’t as though they didn’t all know what he was doing. But it was Charlie. Sweet, well-intentioned Charlie. Who could be mad at him? Who could disappoint him? He hugged his sister and wished her happy again, nearly standing on top of Casimir and George. He turned to George. “Who’s this, then?”
Before George could answer, Robert interrupted. “This is George’s husband. Casimir Rokiczana.”
Charlie’s fair brows flew up his head. “Husband? Now all of the Haberdashers are married?”
“So it seems,” Robert agreed.
“And none of them to us,” Charlie said softly, adding more loudly. “We dodged a bullet, that. You gentlemen may drink on my tab anywhere in London.”
With the attitude of the group more settled, Sabre took charge. “Jack, I assume the Rokiczanas will be staying with you? Dibbs, if you could see Mr. Rokiczana upstairs for some repose, please? George, if you could accompany Jack and I to the morning room?”
George said, “I should-”
“You should talk to your sisters,” Sabre shot back like a whip crack.
This was the moment that George had been dreading since she started her formal training. But instead of two competing loyalties, now she had three. The Haberdashers, Robert, and Casimir. She wanted to disappear into the floor.
Casimir caught her hand and raised it to his lips. “Go with your sisters. They are why we came in such a rush.”
His dark eyes were sincere. Gentle. How could he look at her like that after everything they had been through in the last two days? Everything he had been through in the last two days? “But you’re hurt,” she whispered.
