“I don’t feel like a hero, especially after what I did to Timmy.”
“That was not your fault?—”
Fredrick cut him off. “Whose fault was it?” he demanded. “I took the shot.”
“Yes, but our scout told us that there were enemy soldiers there and we?—”
“Took their word for it,” Fredrick said, finishing his thought. “How could we have been so stupid?”
“Our scouts were not incompetent,” Rickard defended. “They were right more times than not.”
“Well, they were wrong that time.”
Rickard pressed his lips together. “I disagree. Those soldiers were trying to kill us and we were just trying to protect ourselves.”
“We should have tried harder.”
“My lord…”
Fredrick had had enough of this conversation. He refused to sit there and listen to his valet attempt to justify their behavior. What he had done was an atrocity, and he didn’t deserve the medals that he had been awarded by the war office.
Approaching the door, he turned the handle and entered the corridor. He was aware that his valet was attempting to assist him, but the efforts were proving futile. Rickard couldn’t very well rewrite history.
He was a blasted lord and he was expected to carry on with a stiff upper lip. Yet, he was exhausted from pretending that all the grandeur and formality in London held any real significance. What truly mattered was what was transpiring on the Continent.
Fredrick made his way towards the dining room, offering a nod to Carson as he passed through the entry hall. Upon entering the dining room, he saw that Roswell and Anette were enjoying their breakfast and they were engrossed in a conversation.
Roswell looked up and acknowledged him. “Good morning, Brother.”
He responded in kind before he shifted his gaze towards his sister-in-law. “Anette,” he greeted.
Anette smiled. “Our dear Miss Sutherland made the newssheets.”
“Interesting,” Fredrick muttered. “What was said of her?”
Picking up the newssheets, Anette shared, “Miss Sutherland has the voice of an angel and captivated the audience at Lady Shorne’s soiree.” She placed the paper down. “Isn’t that promising?”
“I suppose it is,” Fredrick said.
“There is no ‘suppose’ about it,” Anette declared. “Miss Sutherland is slowly winning over theton, just as I thought she would.”
Fredrick reached for a cup of tea. “She still has a long way to go before thetonwill accept her.”
Anette regarded him with a curious gaze. “You are being a naysayer this morning, especially since last night was such a triumph.”
“I won’t argue with you on that,” Fredrick replied, “but I also don’t want to raise your hopes, or Miss Sutherland’s for that matter.”
Carson stepped into the room with a silver tray in his hand. “A letter was delivered for you,” he said, extending the tray towards Roswell.
Roswell retrieved the letter and unfolded it. His eyes scanned the note before he crumpled it in his hand and tossed it onto the table.
“What did it say?” Anette asked.
“Kendrick wants to see me,” Roswell hesitated, “and Fredrick.”
Fredrick leaned to the side as the footman placed a plate of food in front of him. “Why does Kendrick want to see me?”
“He says that he has some information that you might find interesting,” Roswell shared.
