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One thing he was absolutely sure of now—whomever the spy or wherever the leak was that betrayed him, the Countess not only knew who it was, but she was active in cultivating them.
What am I saying? Do I think she is complicit in this whole affair or just an unwitting dupe?
His mind went to the Countess’ cold blue eyes and the very sudden death of her husband not even a week after the wedding. No one knew where she’d come from before that. The Earl had tended to keep to himself even before his ill-fated marriage and no one knew much about him. Bertram couldn’t believe it had never occurred to him to find that strange before.
Or perhaps I was taken up with my own grief and had not room in my mind to speculate about others.
He decided that a visit to the Earl of Radnor was called for before he left for the garrison. He was the oldest nobleman in the town and likely to know more than almost anyone thanks to his propensity for mingling with the town’s womenfolk.
Bertram smiled, looking down at his son who was skipping along and singing to himself, quite content to let his father hold his hand as they walked. He sighed, realizing that he might not have this for much longer. George would grow up and grow distant if he was not careful and he would miss out on having a loving relationship with his only kin.
“Have you collected enough insects or should we find a few more before we go home?” he asked affectionately.
“Oh, we should collect more!” George immediately let go of Bertram’s hand and ran into the tall grass by the roadside. Bertram laughed, following closely behind as he elected to get on all fours to search the ground.
“Papa?”
He looked up to see his son watching him solemnly. “Yes, George.”
“I do not like that lady. She is mean.”
“What lady? You mean the Countess of Perrin?”
George nodded solemnly, his lips pursed.
Bertram leaned closer to him. “Shall I tell you a secret?”
George nodded eagerly, his face lightening.
“I don’t like her either,” Bertram whispered.
George giggled, covering his mouth with his dirt-covered hand. Gently, Bertram moved his hand away, brushing away the soil that clung to it before getting to his feet. “Come, let’s go home and see if we can have some of Miss Strange’s delicious cakes.”
George immediately leapt to his feet, offering his father his dirt-spattered hand. “Yes! Lets.” He grinned happily and began pulling his father along, skipping and singing as they headed back. Bertram felt his heart settle with content.
This is what it’s all for. All the war and bloodshed. For this. Just this.
He watched his son’s blond curls bounce up and down, blue eyes looking every which way, still eager to spot more bugs as they walked. He was small for his age, just like Bertram had been. It was not until he was four-and-ten that he’d shot up like a weed, growing both bigger and wider in a very short time. He knew his son would be the same, even though in looks and coloring he was more like Victoria.
Thank you for my son.
He swallowed the lump in his throat before smiling at George.
* * *
Letty lurked around the corridor, waiting for the Duke to come back. Mrs. Haversham had told her that he was on a walk with George. She paced up and down, her mind working at high speed, coming up with conjectures and discarding them.
How can Lady Perrin be a Countess if her brother—if he is her brother—is the Earl?
It’s all very confusing. And what does it have to do with the Duke’s assassination attempt? How did she know those men?
She sat down on the stairs and put her head in her hands, breathing hard with frustration.
“Miss Strange? Are you all right?”
She looked up to see Jenson peering at her curiously and tried to summon a smile from somewhere.
“I’m fine. Everything is fine.”
