Lora turned to face her, holding out the letter. “Look at this. Hastings pretends to be my sincere friend, but it feels all wrong.”
Harriet scanned the letter, her expression mirroring Lora’s disdain. “It’s disturbingly convenient, isn’t it? Especially after the accident.”
Lora nodded. “Hastings can’t be trusted, especially where Rockford is concerned. Every moment of kindness, every carefully chosen word, it was all part of his game. And I nearly believed him.”
“Have you heard any news?” Harriet asked gently as she put the letter on the garden bench.
“I went to Rockford Manor as soon as Axbridge gave me the news,” Lora replied, swallowing hard. “The footman, James said he’s resting and that his condition is serious. He asked if I wanted to see him. But I couldn’t, not yet.” She turned to Harriet, not caring about the tears that threatened to run down her face. “I just needed to know he wasn’t…”
Harriet placed a reassuring hand on her arm. “Rockford is strong. Father will not let anything happen to him. He really is an excellent doctor.”
“I want to believe that.” Lora’s voice was a whisper, her gaze drifting back to the ground. “But everything is collapsing around him. Hastings is attacking his reputation and seizing his assets. And now this letter…”
“Then we can’t stand idly by,” Harriet declared, determination lighting her eyes. “We will take action.”
Lora looked at her friend, a spark of hope igniting. “What do you suggest?”
Harriet smiled slyly. “Let’s discuss it over tea. I have some ideas that might just turn the tide. The first thing we need to do is speak to your Mr. Axbridge and the other servants.”
They linked arms and headed toward the house, leaving the crumpled letter on the bench, a discarded ploy of Hastings’ in their renewed commitment against him.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Hastings sat behindthe desk in his room at Stonefield Inn. The brightness of the day contrasted with the darkness of his intentions. Before him lay a spread of forged documents, each a carefully crafted piece in his game of destruction.
A knock at the door interrupted his contemplation. He straightened, calling out, “Enter.”
The door creaked open to reveal his associate, a thin man with a thick, greying beard, calculating eyes, and an air of perpetual alertness. He stepped into the room, the tension between them palpable.
“James? What are you doing here? Where is Greene?” Hastings’ voice was sharp, his eyes narrowing with skepticism.
“Sleeping one off,” the associate replied with a smirk. “We were up late last night enjoying the brandy you sent. But don’t worry. Everything is proceeding as planned. Rockford’s assets are inaccessible by now, and whispers of his ‘fraud’ are spreading like wildfire.”
Hastings leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile curling his lips. “And Lady Lora?”
His associate’s expression turned serious. “She’s received your letter.”
A glint of triumph sparkled in Hastings’ eyes. “Good,” he purred. “She’ll soon realize that I am her only option.”
The associate hesitated. Then leaned closer to Hastings. “You do know there are those close to her who may advise against you.”
“Lady Harriet and her ilk are inconsequential,” Hastings dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Lora is smart, but emotions cloud her judgment. We’ll use that to our advantage.”
Hastings leaned in, his voice low and insidious. “You know, your brother’s situation is more precarious than ever. Those debts won’t just disappear. I’ve been able to keep the wolves at bay.”
James swallowed hard, his eyes flicking nervously to the ground. “I thank you for that, Mr. Hastings.”
Hastings’ smile widened, a cold gleam in his eye. “Remember, his safety is in your hands.”
Rising from his chair, he moved to the window. The mist clung to the landscape, a fitting backdrop to his plans. “By the time they uncover any truth, it will be too late. Their reputations will be shattered, their futures gone. And I will be the one standing amidst the wreckage, victorious.” He glanced over his shoulder. “You best go back before you’re missed.”
The man nodded as he left the room. The door closed with a soft thud, leaving Hastings alone with his thoughts.
Hastings returned to his desk, picking up one of the forged documents. His fingers traced the elegant script, a mockery of the trust and honor he intended to destroy. He relished the sense of control, the power to manipulate and ruin those who stood in his way.
He set the document down with a final, satisfied glance at his handiwork. The path to his enemies’ downfall was clear, and he would walk it with ruthless precision.
*
