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But those lips had. To him and everyone else. She’d played her role as Duchess of Aspen well enough to fool the ton.
He shook his head, thoughts spiralling around and around. He strode purposefully to the entrance to the Muses. The last place she could be, if she’d any intention of leaving for Scotland with him. Anticipation filled him alongside dread. She could be waiting for him, ready to forgive him for standing her up, but if he didn’t find her inside, he must conclude she wasn’t coming.
One of the doormen opened the door and Samuel strode in, instantly soothed by the rows upon rows of books. The familiar curved counter. The smell of pages waiting to be turned.
His shoulders dropped, tension leaving them.
The bookkeeper caught sight of him. Instead of returning Samuel’s smile, he strode out from behind his counter. The man he’d been assisting turned and took Samuel in with a frown.
“Mr. Carmichael,” the bookkeeper greeted, but without any of his usual warmth. “I’m afraid your membership has been revoked.”
Samuel rocked back on his heels. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your membership, sir. It’s been revoked.”
“Is there an issue with my dues?” Samuel always had the money deducted and sent over annually, with nary a trouble. “I assure you, I can have the funds here within the hour.”
The man cleared his throat. “It’s not a question of dues, sir. In fact, the remainder of the year has been refunded to you.”
Samuel pushed his glasses up on his nose. “I don’t understand. If not for lack of payment, then why?”
“It’s a question of, ah, character, sir.”
“My character is impeccable, surely.”
“I’m afraid I cannot agree with that, Mr. Carmichael.”
Samuel shook his head. “When do you expect Mr. Lackington? I will speak with him and sort this out.”
“The order to rescind your membership came directly from Mr. Lackington, Mr. Carmichael.”
Samuel looked about in complete bewilderment. Could Ellie have told someone of their plan? Impugned his good name? Running off with a girl, with the honest intention of wedding her, didn’t seem quite untoward enough to get a man thrown out of the Muses.
“I don’t understand.”
“That the fellow from the paper?” the man at the counter called. “He’s no right to be here. I won’t patronise an establishment that caters to his sort.”
The bookkeeper paled, expression alarmed.
“Mr. Lackington does not cater to his sort. He’s being asked to leave.” He turned back to Samuel. “Immediately.” He cast the doormen a nod.
Samuel held up his hands, palms outward in a show of submission.
“I’m going, but I’ll be back. I’ll clear whatever this is up with Mr. Lackington.”
“And then we’ll welcome you, certainly, Mr. Carmichael.”
More of the patrons had turned to watch by now.
Samuel backed up several paces, looking about his beloved Muses. His aptly named temple.
He swallowed. The doormen moved forward, one on each side of him. Before they decided they needed to toss him out, Samuel left.
He hurried across the square and bought a paper, his eyes already taking in the headline as the boy handed it over - ‘A Traitor in Our Midst?’ Samuel read on, his mouth going dry. ‘Mr. Samuel Carmichael, of Wimpole Street, reported to have stolen the journal of His Majesty’s Esteemed General, George Abernethy, 6th Earl of Safonhouss, and handed over said journal to his French mistress, an agent for Napoleon. Mr. Richard Carmichael, head of the Carmichael household, reported his younger brother’s misdeeds to the watch late last night. According to Mr. R Carmichael, “I could no longer stand by and watch my brother and his French lover destroy England”.’
The article went on, the words blurring before him. Samuel stumbled to the nearest building, bracing a hand against the rough stone. He raised the paper again, trying to focus. Never before had the ability to read failed him, but all he could make out among the remainder of the accusations were the words ‘traitor’ and ‘execution’. And one additional name that stood out in the sea of ink, the Duchess of Aspen.
Samuel’s legs felt weak, his breath ragged. Dear God. What had Richard done?
