It was then that she realized her brother was no longer wearing his gloves.
Her heart thumped loudly for a moment as she cast her mind back to their arrival at the ball. From what she remembered, he had been wearing gloves when he had arrived, and should have put them back on for dancing also. Where were they? It was considered poor form to be dancing without wearing gloves and whilst her brother was not always careful about his behavior, there was more to this than merely forgetting them, she was sure.
“Where are your gloves, Hamilton?”
Her question was asked innocently enough, but her brother jerked violently, stumbled and hauled her to one side before managing to regain his footing. Carolyn slipped and stumbled, holding tightly onto her brother and feeling embarrassment shooting up into her face, certain that many people had seen them make such a misstep. Most likely, they would think that her brother had drunk a little too much and had stumbled due to the sheer amount of liquor within him.
“What is wrong, Hamilton?” she asked, softly, as he began to spin around the floor again. “Where are your gloves? Why did you not wish me to speak to Mr. Astor?” Looking up into his eyes, she tried her best to keep a hold of his gaze but Lord Hamilton doggedly looked over her shoulder and did not even glance in her direction. “Is there something troubling you, Hamilton? I would like to know.”
“Why?” His voice was harsh, his eyes narrowing now as he practically glared at her. “Why should you wish to know such a thing?”
She was a little taken aback by his tone, pressing her lips together and taking a beat to let her breath settle before she answered. “Because, Hamilton, I want to be able to help you, if I can.”
“You cannot.” His tone remained angry, his upset still clear for her to see. “Leave matters well alone, Carolyn. They are nothing to do with you.”
Not certain what she ought to say, Carolyn held Hamilton’s gaze, feeling her heart ache for him, seeing the flickering fear just behind his eyes and in deep agony wondering what he was doing, wondering what he was lost in, wondering how she might help him when he clearly wanted her to stay as far away as possible.
“Now, go and find Lady Callander,” he instructed, as the dance came to an end, “and enjoy the rest of the evening. Do not come to seek me out again, Carolyn, else I will be greatly displeased.”
She shook her head, her hand tight on his still, even though the other couples were bowing and curtsying towards each other. “You are pushing me away when I might be able to help you remove yourself from whatever it is that entangles you.”
A harsh, wry laugh had her dropping her hand, suddenly sickened by the look on her brother’s face, the grin that told her he thought her quite foolish.
“What makes you think that I am in any way trapped?” he asked her, making her stomach roil. “All I want is for you to remain entirely absent from me when I am attempting to make some sort of business endeavors, Carolyn. Does that make sense to you?”
Her stomach dropped to the floor. Perhaps her brother was as Lord Franks had suggested: a willing partner in all of this. Lord Hamilton did not know that she was aware of the emblem, of the handkerchief, of the shots sent through Lord Watt’s windows. He did not know that she was attempting to aid Lord Franks in his investigation, was entirely unaware that she was struggling with the apparent connection between him and all that had happened to The King’s League.
“Do you understand me, Carolyn?”
Lord Hamilton was leaning closer to her now, his voice grating and his brows low over his eyes.
“Yes,” she murmured, feeling herself trapped. “Yes, I understand, Hamilton.”
“Good.” He grasped her arm and practically marched her from the floor, his head held high and an angry gleam in his eye. Carolyn went with him, seemingly willing to obey but, inwardly, letting her mind run through all manner of thoughts. Her brother’s attitude had frightened her, his hard words both upsetting and angering her, but she was still quite certain that his main motivation was fear. Hamilton let her go without either a word or a bow in her direction, muttering something indistinct under his breath before turning aside. Carolyn was left to wander through the crowd in an attempt to find Lady Callander, her heart still racing and her brow still furrowed.
“Ho, there!”
Catching a footman’s attention, she beckoned him towards her.
“My brother, Lord Hamilton, would like me to look at his gloves to see if they can be repaired,” she told him, seeing not even a flicker of understanding on the footman’s face. “Might you bring them to me at once? I intend to go to the powder room where i might look at them in more detail.”
The footman bowed. “But of course,” he said, leaving her with a sense of satisfaction as she watched him move away. The footman in question might know nothing of what she spoke but there was a chance that another footman might have taken her brother’s gloves and set them somewhere safe, so that Lord Hamilton would not have to be embarrassed by such a pair. Pressing her lips together, she quickened her steps in order to hurry from the room and make her way to the other rooms, waiting for the footman there.
“Carolyn! There are you. Where have you been this evening? I have been looking for yo
u, especially when your brother insisted that I come and find you!” Lady Callander laughed and came to stand beside Carolyn. “He was quite insistent!”
“I am sure he was,” Carolyn answered carefully, not wanting to tell her friend too much. “He does not want me to be anywhere near his companions or acquaintances at this present moment.” Seeing how Lady Callander shrugged, Carolyn chose not to say any more, feeling no need to divulge everything to her friend. “Have you had an enjoyable evening?”
“I have,” Lady Callander answered, with a warm smile. “There are still many things I do not understand about this ‘League’ however, and it has often been occupying my thoughts but tonight, I am glad to say that my mind has been entirely occupied in finding good company and excellent conversation.” She smiled at Carolyn, only for her smile to fade as a footman returned to her side, carrying a pair of stained white gloves in his hand.
“Lord Hamilton’s gloves, my lady,” he said, with a quick bow. “Is there anything else that you require?”
Carolyn took the gloves from him, her heart in her throat as she saw the dark stains on the fingertips, her fingers brushing over them and, as she lifted her hands, seeing the slightly oily residue resting there.
“Did Lord Hamilton instruct for these to be set aside?” she asked, trying not to let her fears take a tight hold of her. “Or where exactly did he want them to be set?”
The footman cleared his throat and inclined his head. “The footman I received them from stated that Lord Hamilton instructed that they were to be burned but he instead left them in his carriage, for fear that the gentleman might then go on to change his mind once he had stopped drinking the master’s brandy or the like, and then one of us might be found to be at fault.”