Page 36

T he drawing room held an uneasy calm. Conversations had turned polite but subdued, the usual vibrancy of the house party dulled considerably. The guests might have resumed their usual distractions, but tension simmered beneath the surface.

Barrington, standing near the fireplace, let his gaze sweep the room, ensuring he had everyone’s attention before he spoke.

“I will not keep you long, but there is something you all should be aware of.”

The low murmur of conversation ceased, heads turning toward him in expectation.

“Mr. Townsend has received a request for a meeting and will be leaving the estate briefly.”

A flicker of unease passed through the guests. Lord Davenport leaned forward slightly, his brows drawing together. “A request from whom?”

Barrington’s expression remained carefully neutral. “A party that may have information regarding Lord Alastair’s death.”

Miss Hathaway set down her teacup, fingers tightening around the saucer. “And he’s going alone?”

“He is more than capable,” Barrington assured them. “This is not a reckless decision.”

Blackwood, seated near the window, let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “And we’re simply to accept this without question?”

Barrington met his gaze with practiced patience. “I do not answer to speculation, Lord Blackwood. I am telling you this as a courtesy. You will notice Townsend’s absence, and I would rather not encourage unfounded gossip.”

Lady Worthington’s lips pursed. “If this is connected to Lord Alastair’s death, shouldn’t the magistrate be involved?”

Barrington’s response was measured. “Judge Scofield has already taken steps to ensure this investigation is properly handled. Mr. Townsend’s meeting is part of that effort.”

An unsettled murmur rolled through the guests, but no one dared to challenge him outright.

Blackwood, however, leaned back in his chair, his smirk returning. “Curious, indeed. First, you assume authority over this house, and now, you send men off on mysterious errands. Tell me, Lord Barrington, just how much more do you know than the rest of us?”

Barrington’s jaw tightened slightly, but his voice remained calm. “I am ensuring that order is maintained, Lord Blackwood. Nothing more.”

Blackwood exhaled, his smirk unwavering, but he said nothing further.

Barrington turned back to the room. “I see no need for alarm. Townsend is a cautious man, and this meeting is a necessary step toward understanding what has transpired.”

The guests exchanged uncertain glances, their unease lingering, but there were no more objections. Barrington had given them just enough to satisfy curiosity without feeding panic.

With that, he inclined his head slightly. “I suggest you continue as you see fit.”

The conversation resumed, though with a distinct edge of tension.

By evening, the household was thrown into quiet disarray as Townsend prepared to leave. The staff moved briskly to assist him, gathering what he needed and saddling his horse while the guests whispered among themselves. Everyone sensed the gravity of the moment.

Bridget stood near the entrance, her arms crossed tightly, her face carefully composed. She hadn’t spoken much since the afternoon, since overhearing the truth about Thomas’s father. But even with her thoughts storming inside her, she couldn’t ignore the tension that gripped the house.

Barrington caught Townsend near the stables, his expression tight. “Are you certain about this?”

Townsend nodded, adjusting the strap on his satchel. “If I don’t go, we lose our best chance at uncovering what they’re planning. This might be the only way to stay ahead of the Order.”

Barrington’s jaw clenched. “And if it’s a trap?”

Townsend exhaled, steady as ever. “Then we’ll know just how far they’re willing to go.”

Silence stretched between them before Barrington gave a reluctant nod. “Be careful. If anything feels off, don’t play the hero. Get out.”

Townsend let out a quiet chuckle. “I’ll try to restrain myself.” He clasped Barrington’s shoulder, his expression losing its usual humor. “We’ll see this through. Together.”

Barrington gave a small nod, saying nothing, but his grip tightened briefly on Townsend’s arm before letting go.

*

Across the courtyard, Bridget noticed Thomas stood motionless, his eyes fixed on Townsend. There was something in his stillness, calm on the surface, but a coiled readiness beneath it all. It made something tighten in her chest.

But before she could make sense of it, Townsend swung into the saddle. The gathered household fell silent, as if the unspoken fears held them all. Bridget’s stomach twisted. She told herself it was nothing, but the unease lingered.

The horse’s hooves struck against the damp earth, the sound fading into the night as Townsend disappeared down the road.

Across from her, Thomas didn’t move.

*

Bridget crossed the threshold to find the room already full, though no one truly seemed present. Conversations flickered and faltered, everyone pretending not to feel the tension thickening like mist before a storm.

Bridget sat near the window, her gaze fixed on the garden, though her thoughts were anywhere but the quiet scene beyond the glass. Barrington stood near the mantel, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

The hushed clinking of teacups and the occasional shuffle of playing cards filled the space, a poor attempt at maintaining the appearance of normalcy. Lady Worthington sat primly in her chair, her embroidery hoop resting in her lap, still without her bodkin.

Lady Carlisle, never one to tolerate prolonged silence, set her cards down with a flourish.

“This won’t do at all,” she declared, glancing around the room with an expectant look. “We cannot simply sit here, wringing our hands like nervous schoolchildren. We need a distraction.”

Miss Hathaway hesitated, then offered a tentative smile. “Perhaps a riddle game? Something to keep our minds occupied.”

Lady Carlisle considered this, then shook her head. “Too somber. What we need is something to lift the spirits.” Her gaze flickered to Miss Gray. “A song, perhaps? Music always restores the mood.”

Miss Gray blinked in surprise, glancing around as if hoping someone else would protest first.

Lord Davenport, leaning back in his chair, chuckled softly. “Music or no, I suspect you’ll have trouble rallying enthusiasm for a proper evening of entertainment, my lady.”

Lady Carlisle sighed dramatically. “So we are to sit in silence all evening? How utterly miserable.”

Miss Hathaway smothered a smile. “I think we have little choice.”

Lord Blackwood, seated near the corner with a glass of brandy in hand, watched the exchange with mild amusement. “If you’re set on amusement, Lady Carlisle, might I suggest a wager? Something to make the evening less… tedious.”

Lady Carlisle’s brows lifted with intrigue. “Oh? And what do you propose?”

Before he could answer, the door opened.

The hush was immediate.

Townsend strode into the room, his expression unreadable. Whatever had been said before no longer mattered. The room stilled around him.

Lady Worthington’s fingers stilled on her embroidery, her surprise obvious in the tight grip she had on her needle.

Bridget felt herself tense. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Her gaze swept instinctively across the room, searching for some reason behind his return—some sign of what had changed.

Barrington stood. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be halfway to the meeting by now.”

Townsend shook his head, stepping further into the room. “I was stopped.”

The hush deepened.

“Stopped?” Barrington’s voice was low. “By whom?”

Townsend’s gaze swept the room and, for just a moment, paused on Bridget. Long enough to set her nerves thrumming.

“Grenville,” he said. “He intercepted me on the road.”

The air left Bridget’s lungs.

Barrington’s voice was sharp. “What do you mean he intercepted you?”

Townsend exhaled, setting his satchel down. “Grenville insisted that he take my place. He said it wasn’t the other party’s decision who they dealt with. It was ours. He believed his name and presence would draw out more information than I ever could.”

Barrington’s face darkened. “And you let him go?” His voice was sharp, but it couldn’t mask the flare of alarm in his eyes. For the first time since this began, Barrington looked truly unsettled.

“I didn’t have much of a choice,” Townsend replied, his voice calm but edged with something that sounded like regret. “Grenville made it clear this was his responsibility. Barrington had called him to this, asked him to do what others could not. He wasn’t going to back down.”

Barrington exhaled sharply. “Then at least tell me he had the book.”

Townsend hesitated. “He wouldn’t take it.”

Bridget’s stomach clenched. If Thomas had nothing to bargain with, then what was he walking into?

Townsend turned to her, his expression softening. “He’s capable, Lady Bridget. And he’s determined. I tried to argue, but he wouldn’t hear it.”

Bridget shook her head. “He’s walking into a trap,” she whispered, barely able to force the words past her throat.

Townsend hesitated before nodding. “He knows the risks. But he also knows what’s at stake.”

Barrington’s fingers curled into a fist. “We need to be ready. If this goes wrong, they will have the upper hand.”

But Bridget barely heard him.

Her fingers brushed her arm, finding the place where he had once rested his hand, a touch that had once felt like a promise.

The ache in her chest deepened, twisting into something she couldn’t name.

She had pushed him away. And still, he had chosen to fight.

Now, it was a reminder of everything she might lose.

Bridget’s breath came fast and uneven. She had been so consumed by her own hurt that she hadn’t seen the truth sooner. Thomas was walking into a trap.

The realization slammed into her chest. She could not wait for permission, nor hope someone else would act. She had to be the one.

And she would not stand by and let it happen. Not again. Not to him.

Steeling herself, she turned and slipped out of the room. No one would stop her. By the time they realized she was gone, it would be too late.