“I think with the evidence gathered and your good name, Your Grace, anything is possible.”
Those words ought to have given George hope, but somehow, he couldn't bring himself to believe it would be enough.
Yet, he had to do something. He had to do all he could to protect the Flannerys from whatever Fitzwilliam might have up his sleeve. If not for his love for Cecelia, nor his affection for her sisters and mother, then for the promise he had once made to Mary to fulfil her father's last wish.
There was just one question now: where to begin?
***
Sitting in the drawing room, George mulled over the drink in his hand, twisting the glass this way and that to watch the golden-brown liquid move as he thought.
All Fitzwilliam's wrongdoings, all his crimes and lies, swam in George's mind until he felt as if he might drown. But there was one thought that kept him from submitting to the feeling: Cecelia.
“George?” He barely heard Walter's return from seeing Henry to his carriage. “Georgie?”
Slowly, George raised his head. “Yes?”
“Henry is gone,” Walter said, “it is only us now.”
His words suggested that they might speak candidly as he came to sit down beside George.
When he said nothing, Walter asked, “What are you thinking about?”
“I think that a foolish question,” George scoffed, taking a sip of his drink.
Walter gave an almost sad half-smile.
“Fitzwilliam or Cecelia?”
George cringed at the mention of one whilst his heart skipped a beat at the name of the other.
“Both,” he admitted.
“What will you do?”
George leaned forward in his seat and placed his glass on a nearby table before leaning back once more with a huge exhale.
“I must tell her all I know,” he admitted, staring at the glass before him.
“If that is your plan, why do you look so miserable?”
George did not answer right away.
“Surely she will thank you for protecting her from such a lying, conniving, coward.”
George huffed a laugh at that.
“You and I both know Cecelia,” George said, finally daring to look at Walter.
The way he returned his gaze suggested he knew well what the meaning behind his words was.
“Surely you cannot believe she would think you a liar,” Walter protested, his face growing pale.
“I have tried to warn her of him once,” George admitted, remembering the day when Cecelia had accused him of jealous interference in all her prospects.
“You did not have then what you have now,” Walter pointed out. “Mr Browning has all the evidence filed. There are witnesses and testimonies and all other manner of things to stand behind your word.”
George looked at Walter, wishing he might share the same hopefulness.
