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“As I said, Mr. Northcott is a traitor and a cheat.”
“It is my understanding that the word traitor means someone who betrays a friend, their country, or their principles. Which one is it you are accusing Mr. Northcott of betraying? You? Someone in my family? Our nation?”
“Our King.”
He stated it baldly and with complete conviction. Vicky stared at him, much struck by how convinced the man sounded. It shook her own convictions a little. How well did she actually know Ashford Northcott? Enough to declare herself convinced he couldn’t possibly be capable of betraying their king and country? Part of her declared itself convinced, but the strength of Bertram’s statement carried some degree of weight. And Vicky felt her lack of ability to even counter his argument. How could she gain the required information without involving the very subject of their conversation? And if there were indeed some threat to her family and Northcott was involved in some way, could she let him know someone was onto his schemes?
“But how does that impact my family?” she finally managed to ask in a low voice with enough control over herself to not shout the question.
“Well, for one thing, your family and friends are close associates of Northcott’s. If he goes down, suspicion will be cast upon them as well.”
“That’s a weak argument, my lord. Everyone knows the House of Sherton has been loyal to the Crown for generations.”
“As I told you, I will tell you more as the week progresses. We cannot speak further this evening. You must find a way to speak with me on the morrow. We cannot be overheard. And you mustn’t tell a soul. Especially not your friend, Lady Crossley. You wouldn’t want word to spread, would you?”
Vicky was torn between fear and suspicion. She was fairly certain the strange man was playing it a trifle too brown. But there was a slim chance he wasn’t full of feathers. Could she take that risk if there truly was a threat to her family? She doubted waiting at least a day or two before acting would make a difference. Vicky knew full well no one in her family could be accused of disloyalty to His Majesty.
“Very well, my lord, I will do my best. But I’m still quite certain that you must be mistaken.”
“I’m not, my lady. I’ll bid you goodnight.”
Vicky’s chin almost dropped open when he walked away just like that. It was the strangest thing she’d ever experienced. She longed to turn to someone for help, but she knew she’d have to keep this to herself. For someone with four sisters and a best friend, she wasn’t familiar with keeping something a total secret. She wondered if the knowledge would eat her alive.
This house party was getting more and more complicated.
Vicky felt a frisson shiver up her spine and quickly scanned the room. Sure enough, Ashford Northcott was watching her. He didn’t even bother to hide it this time. He often shifted his gaze away when hers caught him looking at her, but not this time. His eyebrows lifted as if in question. Vicky felt as though her face had frozen. She wished anew that she had the skill of hiding her emotions like her older sisters had developed, but it wasn’t normally in her sunny disposition to hide anything. She dragged her gaze from its entanglement with Ashford Northcott and turned away with the intention of distracting herself.
Miss Smythe was getting settled at the pianoforte, so Vicky stepped forward, ostensibly to get a better vantage point to best enjoy the performance.
