The other women in the group were not so easily swayed. One of the older ladies, Lady Withersby, shook her head sharply, glaring at Lady Fairchild. “I daresay nothing untoward has occurred. Itisrather warm today. I should think Miss Fairchild merely wished to enjoy the breeze if she feels unwell. And really, Mary.” Lady Withersby sniffed disapprovingly. “You should notbe so remiss as to allow her to wander around willy-nilly, unaccompanied.”
Lady Fairchild opened and closed her mouth like a fish. The Withersbys were above her in the social pecking order—third cousins to the royal family—and there was little she could say.
Henry silently thanked the older lady for rescuing him.
Another woman, no doubt eager to keep her own daughters in the running, nodded. “Indeed. Lady Withersby is right. Besides, His Grace has confirmed that he only just came across Miss Fairchild. They are scarcely alone with us here in attendance.”
For a moment, a silent battle waged in the air, but eventually, Lady Fairchild relented. “Yes…. Yes, of course. Apologies, Your Grace. I am glad no misunderstanding has arisen.”
Henry resisted the urge to sigh in relief, instead nodding curtly at the Fairchild women. “If you will excuse me, ladies,” he said, inclining his head, “I have an appointment I must keep.” He risked a glance at Charlotte, but she had already turned her back and was walking briskly away.
There was no choice but to try to speak to her another time. Right now he had more pressing business.
He turned and walked quickly toward the grotto, hoping desperately that he had not missed his chance. But when he reached the designated spot, there was, as he expected, no one waiting. No shadowed figure lurked in the alcove. There was no whisper of movement among the trees.
If the blackmailer had ever been here, they weren’t now.
Henry cursed under his breath. Once again he had missed his chance to unravel this mystery.
His pulse hammered as he scanned the area, but it was clear that whoever had called him here was gone. Assuming they had ever intended to appear at all. He had to face the possibility thatthe author of the anonymous notes was simply playing with him, toying with him as a cat would a mouse.
Dread settled deep in his chest at the thought. If this was part of some wider plan to torment him, then what would they do next?
CHAPTER 18
Henry was again pacingin his oak-paneled office, each measured step echoing softly on the polished floor as he tried to determine who the hell was behind the strange notes.
The room was dimly lit by the evening sun streaming through the tall windows, and the quiet was broken only by the rustle of papers and the occasional tick of the mantel clock. His mind, however, was anything but calm. He kept replaying the events of the day—the arrival of Leonard, the new note, Lady Fairchild’s plan, and Charlotte’s obvious distress.
Who among his guests or staff could have learned his secret?
He stopped before his desk, glancing at the note lying there. He had no need to unfold it again. Its words were still etched in his mind:
Be at the secluded alcove of the grotto at 4:30?p.m., or suffer the consequences of your secret being made public.
Henry frowned and ran a hand through his dark hair as he made a mental list of the house’s current residents. He did his best to recall every furtive look exchanged between certain servants and each whispered remark among guests.
For a fleeting moment, a disquieting thought crossed his mind: Might his own mother be behind this? Some kind ofconvoluted plan to blackmail him into a marriage? But he quickly dismissed it. The dowager duchess was as prudent as she was fierce. She would never commit to paper something that might provoke unwanted inquiry—especially not when she faced dangers of her own.
A gentle knock sounded at the door. Henry paused, but he didn’t answer immediately. His mind was too absorbed, and he wanted to be alone with his thoughts. Another, more insistent knock resounded, and finally, with a reluctant sigh, he set aside his thoughts and opened the door.
There, framed in the doorway with concern etched on his face, stood William.
“Henry, you look absolutely dreadful,” William said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. “I could see you weren’t yourself at dinner. Is something disturbing you?”
Henry attempted a strained smile as he leaned against the desk. “I’m fine, Will. Merely preoccupied,” he lied, though his hand automatically swept down across his face, a gesture that betrayed his distress to the man who knew him better than any other.
William said nothing but raised a knowing eyebrow.
After a moment, Henry slumped into one of the high-backed chairs. “In truth, I am far from well.”
William’s forehead furrowed as he pulled a chair closer and sat opposite him, leaning forward. “I thought as much. Tell me what troubles you so. I could hear you pacing the room like a caged animal as I was walking up the corridor.”
Henry hesitated, then slowly retrieved a decanter and two glasses from a side table. “I received a note today,” he said as he began pouring. “An anonymous letter threatening to make public a secret that, if revealed, would ruin everything.” Hepaused, letting the gravity of his words sink in. “It demanded that I appear at a secluded alcove in the grotto at 4:30?p.m.”
William’s eyes widened, and he sat back in his chair as the news sank in. “Blackmail, then? They wish to force you to pay up, I suspect, or at least to compel some concession. This is the secret you were referring to that day at the club, I take it?”
Henry passed one glass to William and swirled the brandy in his own as if seeking clarity in its amber depths. “Exactly so. I’ve been trying to think who might have known. Could it be one of our guests, a servant, or even someone from another household entirely, paying someone else?” He let out a heavy sigh and collapsed onto his chair. “I’ve reviewed every face, each whisper from this morning, yet I can’t pinpoint the culprit. Or how they could possibly know… the things I need to keep hidden.”
