Trusting Lady Hemmingway (The King's League)

Robert nodded and took a small step forward, gathering the attention of the rest of the League. “I should like to lead the investigation,” he said, not quite certain why he was saying such a thing but feeling the urge to do so regardless. “I know that there are others who already have assignments, who have their own matters to deal with as regards the League, and I would not pull them away from such things. I, however, have only just put a matter to rest and as such, find myself quite free and more than able to take something such as this on.”

There was a momentary pause, only for Lord Watt to nod, sharing a glance with Lord Monteforte, whose grim smile confirmed his acceptance.

“We would be glad of your willingness,” said another gentleman, with a small inclination of his head. “It would keep those of us who are busy with other matters free to continue as we are—although we are all at your disposal, of course.” It was clear that the League as a whole all understood the significance and the importance of this.” Another shared look around the room had the rest of the gentlemen nodding. “Your instincts already saved Lord Watt from what could have been a disastrous injury.”

Lord Watt’s eyes flared as Robert looked back at him, as if he only just realized what had occurred.

“That is true indeed,” Lord Watt said, quickly, clearing his throat and making to get to his feet, although Robert immediately waved at him to remain seated. “I thank you for what you did, Lord Franks. If you had not done as you did, then my wife might now find herself a widow.”

A flurry of sensation rushed over Robert as he looked back into his friend’s eyes, realizing just how close they had come to disaster. He said nothing but merely smiled tightly, before looking away. He did not want to claim any sort of favor nor merit from Lord Watt, for it was what the men of the League did. They worked hard for each other, making certain, as best they could, that each remained safe and secure. Yes, they had lost some men to their foes, but they were very few indeed. That was part of the strength of the League: they each sought to keep danger far from one another.

“Then what will you do first?” Lord Monteforte asked, after a few moments of silence had passed. “How will you go about seeking the man who did such a thing?”

Robert hesitated. Now that he came to think of it, he could not quite think of a way forward, for there was nothing for him to use by which he might then consider any person responsible. He had no clues, other than the bullets that were now embedded in the wall and in Lord Millerton’s shoulder.

Before he could give any sort of answer, however, the door opened and first the doctor hurried in, led in by one of the footmen, followed by another gentleman, who was gasping for air and very red in the face indeed. He was a lithe sort of fellow, long and thin, but as Robert looked, he saw the triumphant expression on the gentleman’s face.

“Lord Rushton,” Lord Monteforte said quickly, getting to his feet as Lord Watt hurried towards the doctor and to Lord Millerton. “You have returned.”

“I have something.” This was said in one quick breath, only for Lord Rushton to swallow hard and collapse into a nearby chair, his chest heaving. “The man was quick but I caught him.”

Robert threw himself to his feet and hurried over at once, seeing the rest of the League lean closer, as though desperate not to miss anything that was said.

“He fought me,” Lord Rushton continued, wincing as he turned his head to one side to indicate the slowly darkening bruise that was now creeping along one side of his cheek. “But I have managed to find something of importance, at least.” He pulled a long piece of cloth from his coat pocket, holding it out for all to see. It had clearly been ripped from the assailant’s clothing, but on it was a small emblem, sewn in bright yellow thread. It was not something that Robert had ever seen before, his eyes narrowing as he tried to look at it all the more closely.

“I have no understanding of it,” Lord Rushton said, with a small shrug, “but I am certain that the man I tore it from was the very same man who sought to injure one or more of our party this evening. It came from his cloak, I believe, for that was what he was wearing.” He handed the cloth to Robert. “Attempting to hide himself away, no doubt.”

Robert looked at it carefully. There was a golden circle and within that, a thin line that went from left to right. From the middle of that there came another line, reaching all the way to the bottom of the circle and beyond it, although the symbol itself had no meaning to him.

“Does anyone know what this might signify?” he asked, lifting his head to look around the group, only to see each gentleman peering at the emblem but, soon afterwards, shaking their heads. Sighing inwardly, he scrutinized it again, hoping that it might spark some note of awareness within him, but nothing came to mind. “Then I will make this my first intention,” he said, firmly. “Once I discover the meaning behind this symbol, then I might come to find that there is more significance to it which could then lead me to further examinations.”

“Let us hope so,” Lord Millerton muttered wryly, making the rest of the gentlemen chuckle at his sardonic expression despite the pain the man was in. Lord Caravel cleared his throat.

“I will also seek out one or two men who might know the significance of that mark,” he said, and as Robert straightened, asked if he might keep the piece of cloth, and, upon receiving agreement, folded it carefully and placed it in his breast pocket. “They are not men of the highest repute but I am sure they will give me answers should I ply them with rewards for any words that are spoken.”

“Very good,” Robert answered, appreciating Lord Caravel’s input. “Then let us meet again in a few days, if not before.” He felt filled with purpose now, all thoughts of his previous thoughts on matrimony and the like dispersed completely. He had a job to take on now, a matter to fill his mind entirely. There was to be nothing other than this now, nothing else to capture his thoughts.

“I will set to it at once,” he told the group, his voice filled with purpose. “And when we next meet, I pray that I will have something of use to tell you.”

“I am sure you will,” Lord Monteforte replied, his trust in Robert more than apparent. “But, as always, be on your guard. We are dealing with a threat we know nothing about and—somehow—they seem to be aware of us and our purpose—although I cannot explain why.” His expression tightened, his brows lowering. “Let us pray that you will soon have success, Lord Franks. Else who knows what might befall The King’s League?”

There was a great responsibility being set on his shoulders but Robert accepted it without hesitation and without delay. Nodding, he bowed to the room and took his leave, meaning to make his way to Whites to see what he might discover. Mayhap someone had seen a gentleman with a torn cloak pass by. Mayhap someone might know what the symbol meant. Either way, Robert was determined to make some kind of progress, so that one again, he might prove himself to be worthy of The King’s League.

Chapter Two

Miss Carolyn Hemmingway was more than a little displeased. The gown her mother had purchased for her was not the one she herself had specified. Evidently, her mother, Lady Hamilton, had decided that the color and cut of the gown was not to her own liking and so had changed the order.

“Mama!”

Carolyn placed her hands on her hips, just as her mother walked into Carolyn’s bedchamber, as though she had been waiting just outside the door for Carolyn to call her name.

“Oh!” Lady Hamilton clapped her hands together, the tips pressing against the corner of her lips, her eyes wide and a fond smile curving her lips. “Oh, my dear girl, that is simply beautiful. Look how dainty you appear in such a wonderful gown!”

Carolyn resisted the desire to roll her eyes, kn

owing full well that her mother did not think her dainty in the least. Carolyn was quite tall for a lady and certainly more curvaceous that her mother would have liked. There was a certain stockiness to her build, Lady Hamilton had said on more than one occasion, which let Carolyn know that her figure was not to her mother’s liking.

Hence why, no doubt, Lady Hamilton had decided that this particular gown would be better than the one Carolyn herself had chosen. Carolyn railed against such an imposition, having done so for almost as long as she could remember. Her mother did not like being pushed out of Carolyn’s decisions, thinking that she ought to be making them for Carolyn herself, whilst Carolyn absolutely refused to allow Lady Hamilton to do as she wished. They had spent the last two years pushing against each other and still, neither one of them had completely surrendered—although Lady Hamilton had managed to get her way most of the time thus far.