“True,” Hastings replied. “Yet, I recently came across some military records. They were quite fascinating, really, the names of those no longer with us. I found acquaintances and old friends among them. Nasty thing, war.” He paused.
Rockford’s heart skipped a beat, but his impassive expression never faltered.
“Ah, but the names of those brave men who are missing in action.” Hastings’ voice took on a sharp edge. “They conjure up ideas of what could have happened to them.”
An invisible hand clutched Rockford’s heart. Each beat echoed with unspoken fears and buried secrets. But he kept his expression neutral. “War is riddled with unfortunate losses.”
“Unfortunate, yes,” Hastings said, placing the paperweight back down. “But sometimes, one can’t help but wonder about the circumstances. Disappearances without a trace can spark… curiosity.”
Rockford’s fingers drummed lightly on the desk in a steady, controlled rhythm. He let out a sigh. “Curiosity can bedangerous, Hastings. Digging into the past might unearth things best left buried.”
Hastings smiled thinly and stepped closer to the desk. “Perhaps. But secrets have a way of surfacing. It’s interesting how some men go missing while others are unscathed.”
“Spoken like a person who’s never served. War takes its toll on everyone, one way or another. Is there a point to this visit?” His voice edged with a quiet authority. His patience was wearing thin.
“Simply a friendly observation,” Hastings said lightly. “And perhaps a reminder that our actions can have unexpected echoes.”
“I appreciate your concern.” Rockford’s fingers still drumming, then ceased abruptly as he fixed Hastings with a pointed gaze. “Now, if there’s nothing else—”
Hastings inclined his head. “Of course. I won’t keep you any longer. Good evening, Your Grace.”
As Hastings turned to leave, he paused at the door. “Oh, and do give Lady Lora my regards. She’s quite the captivating hostess.”
Rockford’s eyes flickered for the briefest moment, but he held his composure. “I’ll be sure to pass them along.”
Hastings lingered for a moment longer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “And do consider our time in France, Your Grace. I may not have served, but I find the fate of men like Captain Edward Langley to be intriguing.”
With a final, knowing look, Hastings exited the study.
As the door clicked shut, Rockford allowed the mask to slip momentarily, a frown creasing his brow. Rockford recognized the veiled threat, each word from Hastings striking a nerve. The mention of Langley stirred buried guilt and fears he had fought to suppress. If Hastings had unearthed the truth, it could unravel everything he had worked to protect.
He moved to the window, gazing out at the moonlit grounds. There was a possibility that Hastings was bluffing, using whatever scraps of information he could find to unsettle him. After all, the official records only stated that Langley was missing in action, a fate not uncommon in the chaos of war. Yet, the fear remained that Hastings might dig deeper or, worse, fabricate details to serve his own agenda.
He couldn’t allow Hastings to use Langley or Lora as pawns in whatever game he was playing.
Rockford had to uncover Hastings’ true intentions and the depth of his organization and stay one step ahead. The stakes were rising, and he needed to be prepared for whatever moves Hastings would make next. He’d discreetly consult with Barrington. Langley’s name is listed with those missing in action. Moreover, he needed to protect Lora. Hastings’ interest in her could be innocent flirtation, but Rockford couldn’t take any chances given his propensity for manipulation.
Rockford moved away from the window. The flickering firelight cast shadows across the room, mirroring the storm of emotions that raged in his heart. He sank into a nearby chair. The image of Lora’s radiant smile filled his mind, the way her eyes sparkled with warmth and trust when she looked at him.
Protecting Lora was all that mattered now, even if it meant condemning himself to a life without her. He raked his hand through his hair. He needed time to think.
*
Meanwhile, at FallsmithHall, the first light of dawn filtered into Lora’s bedroom. Sleep had been elusive, retreating like the ocean’s tide, leaving her adrift in a sea of tangled thoughts. She sat upright in her bed, the crisp linen sheets pooled aroundher waist, fingers clenched tightly around a book she had long abandoned.
Her mind returned, uninvited, to that moment with Rockford, the warmth of his lips against hers, the unexpected tenderness in his eyes. The memory should have brought a smile to her face, yet frustration simmered beneath the surface. How dare he kiss her so profoundly, declare his feelings, stirring emotions she had carefully guarded, only to vanish without an explanation? For two days, he hadn’t come to call, nor did he send a note, not a whisper from him. Her pride bristled at the thought of being dismissed so casually.
“Am I to be treated as a passing fancy?” she whispered to the empty room, her voice touched with indignation. Rising swiftly, she crossed to the window, pushing it open to let the cool morning air wash over her. The distant cries of gulls and the rhythmic hush of waves did little to soothe the brewing tempest.
Her gaze drifted toward the horizon, where the sky met the sea in a blush of pink and gold. Somewhere out there, perhaps, was an explanation for Rockford’s sudden disappearance. But waiting patiently was not in her nature. He was gravely mistaken if he thought she would accept his silence.
Drawing a deep breath, Lora steadied herself. “I won’t be ignored,” she declared, more determined than ever. She would seek him out and demand the truth.
“Enough,” she declared, straightening her shoulders. It was mid-morning. She would not sit idly by. If Rockford thought he could dismiss her so easily, he was mistaken.
Lora dressed in a deep blue velvet walking gown, instructed Anna, her maid, to ask the groom to bring the carriage around.
She stepped onto the front steps and let the crisp sea air fill her lungs. The footman helped her into the carriage. As the groomsman drove toward Rockford’s estate, she began to have second thoughts. Perhaps he had a reasonable explanation. Herhand went to her stuttering heart. What if he had been injured or was unwell? But why hadn’t he sent word?
