Protecting Lady Esther (The King's League)

And her first step would be to write to her father at home and to wait for his reply, which she was quite certain would not come. If her father had left London on a matter of business, then he certainly would not have left without either speaking to her or writing to her to inform her of his intentions, no matter how urgent the matter was. Her aunt might be fooled by the note, but Esther was not.

“Esther?”

Dragged back to the present, Esther looked up to see her aunt looking at her with confusion in her eyes.

“Yes, Aunt?” Esther replied, smoothing out her skirts and trying her best to look nonchalant. “What is it you were saying?”

Lady Ware let out a long, heavy sigh. “You are distracted this morning, Esther.” She waved a hand. “I suppose that is to be understood, given the ball last evening, but you must not allow your thoughts to linger on what occurred. I am quite certain that Lord Westbrook will do everything he promised, once you have chosen the gown you desire.”

Esther shook her head, having not been thinking on Lord Westbrook or the struggles she had needed to deal with last evening. “I was not thinking on Lord Westbrook,” she said firmly. “I was merely wondering–”

“He must be some sort of ridiculous oaf to have made such a mess of your gown,” Lady Ware continued distractedly. “To stand on the back of a lady’s gown and then not remove his foot when she is pulled back speaks of a lack of awareness and consideration that does not make me think well of him.”

“Yes, Aunt,” Esther murmured, seeing that her aunt had decided that the note she had received from her brother was quite the accepted explanation and realizing that to suggest otherwise would only bring a good deal of difficulty to matters at hand. If she told Lady Ware that she suspected her father was in trouble, then her aunt might either refuse to even consider the idea and demand that Esther focus solely on the Season, or her aunt might believe her and then become greatly distressed, to the point of being quite unable to help Esther at all and perhaps demanding that they return home at once.

Neither scenario was a particularly good one as far as Esther was concerned. As her aunt droned on about the lack of consideration Lord Westbrook had shown towards her, Esther considered what she might do next.

She had to discover the name of the gentleman who had visited her father only yesterday. Absentmindedly, Esther reached up and touched her locket that now hung about her neck, remembering just how her

father had looked when he had given it to her. Had he done so immediately after the scarred gentleman’s visit, for fear that something might occur to him thereafter?

And just how was she to go about seeking out this gentleman when she had no idea where he might be or what his name was? Her jaw clenched, her brows sinking low as she struggled to come up with a sensible suggestion.

Your father’s correspondence.

It was an idea at least. If she looked through her father’s letters and the like, she might then come across something that could inform her as to who that gentleman might have been. Mayhap there would be an address she could visit, where she might make discreet enquiries. And, of course, she would write daily to her father if she had to, although she fully expected not to have a single reply to anything she sent to the estate. If her father was there, as he had said, then he would write back to her almost at once, but if he was not, then her letters would go unanswered. Then she would know for certain that something was gravely wrong.

“Esther! You are not paying attention!”

Esther jumped, visibly startled. “I am sorry, Aunt,” she said quickly, putting on her most innocent expression. “I was merely thinking about what color of gown I might choose for my replacement.” She smiled and saw her aunt’s frustrated expression begin to fade away. “What do you think? And where might we go to select such a gown?”

Her aunt, clearly satisfied by Esther’s apology and now distracted by what they were to do that afternoon in seeking out a replacement gown, began to speak animatedly about what she thought was best. Esther listened with half an ear, trying her best to look as though she were paying attention even though her mind was filled with all other manner of thoughts, specifically trying to work out what she was to do and where she might have to go in order to learn more about her father’s difficulties.

Do not worry, Papa, she said silently, as though he would somehow be able to hear her. You are not going to face this trouble alone. Whatever it is, I am coming in search of you and, together, we shall confront it. Her throat began to ache again with the sorrow and confusion that melded itself to her heart, but with an effort, Esther thrust such feelings aside. She had to find a good deal of courage now; she had to discover a new strength within herself, for if she was to help her father, then she could not allow any sign of weakness.

I will find you, Papa. I am coming.

Chapter Three

“Where are you to go to this evening?”

Charles, who had been enjoying a glass of very fine brandy, sighed and stretched himself out in his chair, feeling as though he did not want to go anywhere in particular, given that Whites was so very comfortable and given that it was not too late in the evening and fairly quiet.

“I was to go to The Shrew,” he said, seeing how Lord Brandley’s eyes lit up. “But I confess I feel much too tired to do so.”

Lord Brandley chuckled. “You cannot escape from your duties however,” he replied with a broad grin. “Besides which, The Shrew is a place where many gentlemen spend many an enjoyable hour. I am certain that many of the gentlemen from the League would be glad to replace you, should you be quite certain that you do not wish to attend.”

Charles chuckled, lifting his brandy glass and throwing back the rest. Letting out a sigh of satisfaction, he set the empty glass down again. “I am well aware of that, but I fear that some could not be trusted to keep their wits about them,” he replied, with a knowing look towards his friend. “Besides which, I have no intention of gambling, which may well be a vice for some of those in the League.” He gave a small sigh, rolling his eyes in self-mockery. “I am rather dull, am I not?”

“Indeed, you are,” Lord Brandley agreed with another grin. “You do not lose yourself in your cups; you do not gamble and certainly have no eagerness to frequent Madame Buxley’s house, which you know must also be done if we are to search all of London.”

Aware that Lord Brandley was referring to one of the less seemly parts of London, where a gentleman might go in secret so as to relieve himself of his pent up desire, Charles shrugged and looked away. He had never had any wish to go to such a place as that, even though it was often the establishment where an enemy of England might go, unable to resist the urge and the pull that dragged him there. Had not the League captured more than a few spies at places similar to Madame Buxley’s?

“I gladly leave that responsibility to others,” he said, pushing himself up out of his chair and seeing Lord Brandley laugh. “I shall, with a good deal of unwillingness, go to The Shrew and see if there is anything to discover there.”

Lord Brandley also rose to his feet, his smile suddenly gone and a new seriousness drawn into his expression. “You seek out the gentlemen that we currently suspect?”

Charles nodded slowly, his jaw tensing. This was when it became a good deal more difficult, for when they were back amongst the ton, the gentlemen in The King’s League were forced to act with a good deal more secrecy than before. What made it all the worse was that there were one or two gentlemen that the League was watching closely, for fear that they might have connections to the French and be actively involved in encouraging and aiding them in their attempt to conquer England. Charles had two names to seek out – one Lord Autry, whose family came from France, and the other, Lord Breton, whose wife had a good many connections within France itself. They might well be innocent entirely, Charles knew, but it was best that he watched them carefully for some time. He would have to introduce himself to them also, and the best place to do that was when a gentleman was off his guard, merry and perhaps a little inebriated. They would think nothing of such a meeting, whereas they might be a little suspicious should they be thinking clearly. Unfortunately for Charles, there were a good many places where such gentlemen might be, although he had been reliably informed that Lord Breton enjoyed gambling at The Shrew, one of London’s infamous gambling hells, and so he intended to go there also in search of the fellow.