George scoffed at the mention of it, remembering with affection how Elizabeth had assured him at the lake that all was still well between them.
“It wasn’t your best idea, that’s to be sure,” George said.
“It was aterribleidea!” Walter corrected him, and the two friends laughed wholeheartedly as he added, “if the two of you had married, I think you would have been entirely insufferable. I would never have been rid of you.”
George leaned in and nudged Walter in a brotherly manner as he pointed out, “I do not think you shall ever be rid of me. In fact, something tells me we are to be the brothers we were always meant to be very soon.”
At that, Walter’s face grew pale, and he shook his head.
“Do not make me too hopeful, George,” he insisted, “Lady Westmere might have a lot to say of it.”
“Lady Westmere is no fool,” George reassured him. He laid a hand on his friend’s forearm as he added, “She knows a good man when she sees one.”
Walter tapped his hand with gratitude.
“Are you quite certain you do not wish me to come with you?”
“And have you steal away my moment by professing your undying love to Lady Mary?” George chuckled, nudging him again. “I think not.”
***
For the rest of the day, George found himself at odds with everything. No matter how he tried to put the thoughts of Fitzwilliam from his mind, he could not do so.
His drink with his friends, reminiscing on the small things, the minor good details of their time during the war, was not enough to stop his mind from racing.
Nor did throwing himself into his work after their departure do anything to help the situation.
By the time evening came around, he had decided. He must tell Cecelia the truth. Though it had grown late, he considered paying a visit to Fernworth, only to decide it would be best to at least sleep on it, to come up with a way he might broach the subject without Cecelia rejecting his protests once more as jealous interference.
That night, he barely slept, tossing and turning in his bed. And when he did sleep, he found himself in nightmare after nightmare, battling against the forces trying to steal her away from him, hearing Cecelia's screams as all manner of ill things befell her, never quite able to get there in time to rescue her.
Dawn found him at his desk, writing letters to all those he knew to have a connection with Fitzwilliam, hoping he might secure yet further evidence of the man's misdeeds in case the witness testimonies and all else that had already been dredged up weren't quite enough to see the man brought low.
Having given these letters to his manservant to send urgently, he could no longer sit about the house and ponder what to do.
Now was the time for action, and so he called for his horse to be readied. He would reach Fernworth as soon as possible and tell Cecelia the truth.
Yet, when he arrived, he found that the house was quiet. And upon being shown in by the butler, he learned quickly that Cecelia and her mother were not there.
“Where are they?” he demanded, somewhat too sharply. “Tell me!”
He barely managed to stop himself from shaking the butler into telling him the truth.
“George?”
Mary's voice sent a shiver down his spine, and when he turned to find her walking down the stairs, still in her night things, hidden beneath a dressing robe, he almost felt foolish for disturbing the household.
“Where is Cecelia?” he demanded again, this time the question aimed at Mary.
“She and Mama left a short while ago on a morning walk with the viscount,” Mary said, and George's heart stopped.
It was early, too early for a walk, unless Fitzwilliam had some plan he wished to see come to fruition.
“Where were they said to be walking?” he asked, fighting the urge to simply run out, climb back onto his horse, and go in search of them.
“Cecelia mentioned yesterday that she would like to walk along the bridge,” Mary explained. “The last few mornings have been foggy, and she mentioned how she loves to walk the bridge in the fog in the early morning when all is still quiet.”
George's insides twisted. How romantic something like that might he if with the right person. How utterly terrifying it might be were a young woman to be with the kind of man who might blackmail her into something she dreaded.
