“That is a rather tight embrace,” she said softly.
“It is, but it is needed.”
Frederica and Honora held onto each other for some time, the two of them rocking a little, side to side, as they nursed one another through their pain.
When Frederica released Honora, she looked down at the silhouette in front of her, running her fingers over the black paper.
She didn’t think she would be given that chance of true happiness again. Lord Wetherington had put a stop to any chance she had of truly being with Allan. Despite a small voice telling her it was better to crumple up that silhouette and stop recreating tiny images of the man she married, she could not. With great care, she returned to the silhouette and fastened his image to the page.
* * *
“Well, this is a happy image, isn’t it?” Stephen said in a tone that was far too buoyant for Allan’s comfort.
He topped up his brandy glass from where he sat at the head of his empty dining table, knocking back the dark amber liquid as he stared at his guests in the doorway.
Stephen and Gerard were there. Stephen, as ever, was dressed very formally with a long black frock coat over his suit. In contrast, Gerard wore a very informal coat without a tailcoat or even a waistcoat beneath it.
“Who said I was going for happy?” Allan asked, reaching for the carafe again.
“Oh nay, nay more drinking tonight.” Gerard marched around the table. He took the carafe out of Allan’s hand before he could top up the glass anymore. “If ye are going to be of use to yer wife, how will this help?”
Allan paused, looking up with interest at Gerard.
“You have found her?”
“Nay. I have found him.” Gerard smiled. “I ken where Lord Wetherington is going to be tonight. So, shall we?” He waved a hand at the door.
Allan was on his feet so fast, he kicked back the chair and knocked it onto the floor. Stephen hastened to right it, but Gerard had just as much purpose in his step as Allan did and they shot toward the front door together. Allan didn’t even bother to stop and get a coat, but Stephen picked one up off the coat hooks and flung it to him as they reached the awaiting carriage outside.
“You found his home?” Allan asked in expectation as he climbed into the carriage.
“Nay.”
“What!?”
“I said I ken where tae find him.” Gerard waved a hand, clearly asking for patience. He closed the door behind the three of them and leaned out of the window to call to the driver. “Thatcher’s club. Soho.”
“Thatcher’s?” Stephen repeated, leaning around Allan to stare at Gerard. “I’ve never heard of that club.”
“That’s because it is nae in Covent Garden. It is nae a club that gentlemen of the ton commonly frequent,” Gerard said with unease. “Ye might be surprised at what happens in this sort of club.”
Allan decided he didn’t want to know. After all, he’d see everything he’d need to know about the club when they got there.
“How did you find him?” Allan asked as the carriage rolled away down the driveway and took them out into the streets of London.
“Contacts. A particular business associate of mine frequents this club himself. He says that Lord Wetherington is there every Monday, like clockwork, from eight o’clock until the early hours of the morning.” Gerard sighed and shook his head. “He’s learned quite a bit about Lord Wetherington by gamblin’ alongside him. It seems the man’s tongue becomes loose after alcohol.”
“What did he learn?” Allan asked impatiently.
“Did ye ken that Lord Wetherington is the youngest of three sons?”
“The youngest?” Stephen repeated. “How did he get the title of viscount then?”
“That’s just it. They all died.”
“What?” Allan spluttered.
“My friend said he was in the club a few weeks ago when he mentioned to Lord Wetherington that he seemed rather happy to risk losin’ his fortune. Wetherington laughed and said that life had a habit of going his way. He even said he was never supposed to inherit his father’s fortune, but then a sickness came. It took his father and his brothers, leaving him with the money and the title.” Gerard shook his head. “There is an entitled man if there ever was one.”
