twenty-two
The thought of talking with Effie again didn’t help Tristan relax. And that day, he would rather be in The Octagon than in a carriage with George, as nervous energy had tormented him since the incident. But George wanted to confront Winchester, convinced the earl was involved with the anarchists.
“Honestly,” Tristan said as they drove to Archer Hall. “I think you’re exaggerating. Winchester can’t be involved in a conspiracy with the anarchists.”
“Just because the police haven’t found any evidence yet, it doesn’t mean he’s innocent.”
“It certainly means he’s more likely to be.”
“I spent the last week searching for evidence,” George said with the intensity he reserved for important business deals. “And I got confirmation of Winchester meeting the Russians often. I must talk to him.”
“Winchester is a pain in the arse. But a murderer? No.”
“I spotted him close to the anarchists’ seat. I saw him talking with them.” George raised a finger for each of his points. “He earned thousands of pounds after the bombing. What furtherproof do you need? What does an earl have to do with those people and their extreme political ideas?”
“Fine. Let’s say you’re right,” he said. “How do you plan to make him tell the truth without any evidence?”
George didn’t flinch. “I simply want to confront him, one gentleman to another.”
“Is that your plan? Great. That will do the trick.”
“Let me lead the meeting.”
Tristan didn’t add anything else. He had enough problems to deal with between the reconstruction of his locomotive, his feelings for Effie, and Rowan’s recovery. Winchester could wait, but if talking with him helped George drop the subject and focus on more urgent problems, then so be it.
Effie was another matter. She’d rejected him twice, but he wasn’t too proud to try a third time. If he could talk to her without hiding his feelings, she would listen to him.
“I hope you’ll support me,” George said when the carriage stopped.
“I always support you.” His voice softened.
George smiled fondly at him. “You know, when I play Ludo with Rowan, I feel sorry that you and I didn’t have the opportunity to share the same experience, playing together and laughing at silly things.”
“We were too busy surviving.” But he would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about that either.
“Yes, but…” George gazed around as if searching for inspiration. “Having fun with Rowan is so easy. When I’m with you, we discuss money and business deals, and it’s always been that way. Perhaps we should change.”
He shifted on the seat, not sure he wanted to remember those dark days and how things had been different. “You helped Father and me get back our fortune.”
“Is it that important, though?”
Tristan didn’t answer. Because if the answer was ‘no’, his whole life would unravel like a threadbare hessian carpet. They couldn’t change the past. And that was it.
George exhaled. “You always clam up when we discuss something deeper than money, and they say I’m the grumpy one.”
“Let’s focus on Winchester, shall we?”
An uneasy silence settled between them, and he did nothing to break it.
The butler let them inside and showed them into the drawing room. He fought a smile at the books on veterinary medicine scattered on the table and a rubber ball under a chair. There were plants everywhere, the portrait of a setter hung askew, and the scent of cinnamon lingered. Despite Winchester’s cold hospitality, the room was warm and cosy.
If anything, Tristan found odd the fact Winchester had agreed to see them.
“Montcrest.” Winchester gave a stiff nod of his head. “Fleet.”
“My lord.” George’s tone sounded strained. “Thank you for seeing us.”
“You didn’t give me much choice.” Winchester gestured at the armchairs. “You said it was a matter of the utmost urgency. Take a seat. If this visit is about Easthollow, I’m afraid you’re wasting your time. I haven’t changed my mind about selling it.”
