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Chapter Twenty-Two
Bertram couldn’t look away from the pain and fear in her eyes. When she said to him that the ground had shifted beneath her feet, he had not really understood what she meant. Now that all her defenses had dropped, it was all there, laid out for him to see, in her eyes.
He dropped his eyes, studying the board in order to avoid looking in hers anymore.
Coward!
His heart palpated as he sought for the right words. What she was offering was a chance for him to reassure her; to let her know she was safe here.
Victoria, help me!
His mouth was dry as he scrambled to come up with the right phrase, the right word, that would appease her pain.
She’s not the only one in unfamiliar territory.
His mouth twisted wryly as he thought about how effortless and easy it had been to slip into a union with Victoria. Everything was quite taken for granted by both themselves and their families.
With Letty, there was always a crossroads to navigate, a choice to be made. He looked up, and opened his mouth, deciding to let out whatever words would come. A knock on the door had him turning towards it instead, in annoyance. The footman, without waiting for permission, barged in, his face alight with excitement. “Your Grace, the Duke of Wellington is here!”
Bertram shot to his feet in some surprise. “I beg your pardon?” he murmured even as he strode towards the door, “Are you sure?”
“Yes, Your Grace! His crest is unmistakable. What do we do?”
“Where is he now?”
“The butler put him in the drawing room and his men are in the dining room. Cook is preparing something for them.”
Bertram sighed in resignation, cast one final glance at Letty who had remained seated, and strode out of the room. He could well imagine what had brought the Duke to his abode and none of it was good. Hurrying as much as he could without breaking into a run, he burst into the drawing room and stopped short. Wellington stood at the window, a glass of sherry in hand as he stared outside.
He turned as he heard Bertram’s steps, his face grim.
“Your Grace.” Bertram murmured automatically, “Your servant. To what do I owe this visit?”
Wellington smiled. “Always to the point Thybaut. That is what I like about you. No need to beat about the bush.”
Bertram frowned, eyes narrowing at the prevarication. “Well, I’d rather know what’s to do sooner rather than later if you will forgive me.”
“Of course. You’re right.” He turned with a sigh, putting down the glass. “I came in response to your letter. This nefarious scheme to do away with you is part of a wider plot to dismantle our plans.” Wellington gave him a significant look so that Bertram would know exactly which plans he was referring to.
“Has something else happened?”
“There have been a few…incidents…in the barracks. Efforts to discover the location of the Third Man.”
“And you think that the plotters are…here?”
Wellington smiled. “You always were quick on the uptake, Thybaut.”
Bertram’s mind was reeling as he tried to assimilate everything he was being told while giving nothing away. He could not be sure that when Wellington referred to plotters, that he was not primarily referring to Letty.
“Shall we take this discussion to my office? My staff can bring us refreshment there.”
Wellington nodded and Bertram gestured towards the door before leading the way to his study. He paused at the door turning his head to the side in search of the footman who usually waited at the bottom of the corridor. “Uh, Jenson? Have the kitchen bring some refreshment for the Duke to my study.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” He bowed and hurried off as Bertram nodded and entered the study. The Duke of Wellington had settled himself on the bench by the window, legs crossed as he looked out. There were a couple of gardeners pruning the bushes but otherwise there really wasn’t much to see.
Bertram walked to his chair behind the desk and sat down, turning it to face the Duke. Wellington pointed with his chin. “Is that the notorious bottom gate from which your assassin came?”
Bertram nodded. “Yes.”
