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“I’m told they symbolize,”—he angled his head—“admiration, respect, and faithfulness.”
The room around her swerved. She grasped at her stomach.
He caught her elbow. He glanced down at her waist.
His brow furrowed. “Are you unwell?”
She shook her head. “I—I got little sleep.”
“Lenora,” he said under his breath.
Save for Barker’s room, he’d never pronounced her name thus.
“Allow me to escort you back to your seat?”
His eye contact arrived too late and lasted just a touch too long. Hesitantly, she took his arm, barely touching his sleeve.
As she settled herself back next to Emily, William, the porter announced Cassandra, the Duchess of Harbury, and Lady Sarah.
“I am sorry,” Asquith whispered, “but I must go. I have urgent matters to attend. Matters that may take a few days to resolve.”
His glance was significant. Though she did not understand, she nodded. Willard, she surmised.
Would she ever be his chief concern?
His missive tucked beneath her sleeve was yet another secret, and the note burned against her skin like a secret she had not agreed to keep. She was already carrying too many secrets.
***
An hour later, Asquith stood in the entry hall of Hampton House, waiting for Hampton’s servant to return. Ladies Hampton and Amelia were out making calls, perhaps even to Lenora at D’Acre House, but their absence didn’t account for the unusual stillness prickling in Asquith’s ears.
Something in the Hampton household was not right.
Selfishly, he hoped the problem would not interfere with his mission. He’d given himself two days to set Willard’s downfall in motion. Would two days be enough?
To initiate his plan, Preston would have to receive him. Then, he needed to turn the young man against an idolized “friend,” someone Preston attempted to emulate.
He could think of only one way to accomplish his aim—by disclosing the truth.
Not all the truth, of course. The deepest wound he would only share with Lenora. But he would tell Preston what he knew from personal experience—Willard was a scoundrel capable of great harm.
As Lenora had said: keeping a secret did not protect you from the consequences of that secret.
The servant returned. “Preston will be delighted to receive your call,” he said.
Delighted. A bit too strong, especially after the way Preston had scowled at him the night before.
He followed Hampton’s man into a modest lounge toward the back of the house. He found Preston standing by the window, observing the rear garden.
The boy looked ragged. His breath came in irregular spurts. Skin around his lips had grayed, and his fingernails were tinted dark. In hands that looked as if they’d been scrubbed raw, he gripped a cup of brown liquid still full to the brim.
“You must have truly impressed my old papa,” Preston said.
“What makes you think so?” Asquith asked.
“He revoked my visiting privileges. No one else would have gotten past the threshold. A merciless judge, my father. I’m sentenced to indefinite home rustication.”
“Recovering, are you?”
