Seeing he’d been spotted, Lord Asturt waved. Marcus, himself, hurried off, pulling his hat down as he went.
Lord Asturt mounted his horse and trotted over to her. “Miss Wilcox,” he said in a jolly tone. “I often come out at this hour and find myself quite alone, but here I’ve just run into Marcus, and now you. Very charming circumstance.”
“Lord Asturt,” Georgiana said, smiling.
“May I accompany you?” he asked. “We go in the same direction.”
Georgiana nodded, and did her best to ignore the smirks on the grooms’ faces. Only Carstares retained his grim visage.
“Marcus tells me he has become quite determined to stretch his legs after he completes his morning duties, he believes it staves off colds. Have you made a similar resolution to exercise that brings you out so early?”
“I am afraid I am not particularly resolute,” Georgiana said. “It was a bit of a whim.”
“I see Lady Mendleton has indulged that whim by sending you out with a full retinue,” Lord Asturt said.
“Yes, she is very kind and thoughtful.”
“Indeed, and sensible too. These are rather unsettled times.”
“Are they?” Georgiana asked.
“It seems so,” Lord Asturt said. “Marcus tells me there is another report in the papers this morning about our poor king. Things do not appear to go well for him.”
Georgiana only nodded, not caring to comment on the king. For one, she did not much care, as she had her own affairs on her mind. For another, the subject of the king was an uncomfortable one, having been so recently questioned by Lord Langley about her encounter of him and having been graced with favor by the queen. And for another, Lord Asturt took these developments for more seriously that he probably should on account of his research. The king was no longer directing anything other than his disordered thoughts and they should all leave him to it and hope the regent would pull himself together.
“Well, whatever is to be the end of it,” Lord Asturt said, “it is an uncommonly lovely morning.”
Relieved he’d decided to take himself off the subject of the king, Georgiana nodded. They proceeded down the lane and the rest of their conversation was quite ordinary. She bid him goodbye at the gate.
As she dismounted and entered the carriage, she could not help think that Lord Asturt was such a funny gentleman. At once charming and not taking a mistake very seriously, but also fretting about royal inherited madness. What could it matter to him, in the end?
Well, some gentlemen did get excessively enthusiastic in their intellectual pursuits. Her father’s friend, Mr. Handleton, had been trying to convince everybody for years that with the advent of the steam engine they would soon see a carriage with no horses that was propelled forward by such means. All that had to be worked out was how to carry enough coal, steer the thing, and ensure its passengers were not burned to death with hot steam. The very idea that horses would be put out to pasture and people would all race around in carriages without them…it was delightfully absurd.
Lord Asturt would do very well to avoid following Mr. Handleton’s peculiar example.
As the house came into view, all thought of Lord Asturt flew from her. Jasper Stapleton was in there somewhere.
*
Jasper read throughone newspaper after the next. It never ceased to amaze him how many there were to get through, who was reading them all? Aside from himself, as he did not have a choice.
He began with the broadsheets of smaller circulation. It was doubtful that he’d find much of concern in them, but if he did it would only be a matter of time before the bigger concerns circled the story like sharks to a sinking ship so it would be well to know of it.
There was nothing of note this day, and he moved on to the more established papers.
The Star and the Chronicle generally supported the king and so it was unlikely there would be any unfavorable report, and indeed there was not. He left the last of the pile for the ones that always concerned him the most—The Post, The Morning Herald, and The Courier.
He’d made his way through the Herald and the Courier with nothing of alarm and slowly turned the pages of the Post.
On the third turning of pages, he dropped the paper as if he’d been burned by it. He slowly picked it up again. There, right on the page in front of him. What he had feared most.
This paper has it on good authority that the King’s condition continues to deteriorate. It has been told us from a reliable source that the king has become fixated on lamb and venison to the point that he has an unhinged fit if he sees any other meat served. We are most disturbed, as it is said that the REGENT is also strangely particular in his food. Are the two eccentricities connected? Like father like son? One wonders…
Good God, it was not just the report he’d planted, but the suggestion that the king’s malady had beeninheritedby the regent. That meant that whoever had reported the story was determined to undermine the monarchy by proving a succession of family madness. That person could only be the Stuart. And yet, the only person who could have repeated the story of lamb and venison was Miss Wilcox.
How could that be true? Miss Wilcox was in league with the Stuart? She would be guilty of…treason. How would she have even become involved in such a scheme?
His heart railed against the notion, and yet his head could not dismiss the evidence in front of him. He had planted a trap, and she had fallen into it.
