“Not when it sends you to the gallows.”
For the first time, a pinch of unease tightened Mr. Oswald’s face. He thumped his glass on the top of the cellarette with force. “As entertaining as this little exchange has been, Mr. Fancourt, you must excuse me. I must depart for Sir Walter’s office within a couple of hours, though I imagine I need not expound the nature of such a visit to you. Shall I call for a servant to escort you out?”
“Miss Whitmore is coming with me.”
“She is free to come and go as she pleases.”
“This is not over.”
“I did not expect it was.”
“A little more time and I shall gather the evidence I need. Your game is almost over.”
“I rarely play games, Mr. Fancourt.” Mr. Oswald walked to the door and swung it open for Simon. He cocked his head. “But when I do, I always win.”
“We are leaving.” Those are the words Simon had spoken to her, after striding into a parlor full of ladies busy with their needlework and gossip.
Georgina had not known what to say, but she trusted him enough to excuse herself from the room, hurry upstairs to pack her things, and meet him back at the entrance door moments later. They climbed into a carriage together.
Apprehension bristled her. Perhaps it was being in a carriage again, knowing someone had no qualms about ending their lives.
Or perhaps it was only the look on Simon’s face. The fact that he still had not explained. Just when she thought he never would, he glanced from the window to her face. “I wish to take you to the hunting lodge.”
“But I—”
“Mother is there, and you shall be safe. You cannot return to your town house when there are so many unknowns concerning your mother’s husband, and you cannot remain with me because…”
She expected him to mention the danger, but he hesitated, as if it was something else. “Because what?”
“Because I lost Sowerby.”
Weight settled over her. “When?”
“It is official today. I am returning home to pack my things.”
“Where will you—”
“I’ve a couple days at the most. Perhaps longer. I shall make arrangements in the meantime.”
How unfair for him. That he should have traveled this far, that he should return home, only to have his last security ripped from him. How could the late Mr. Fancourt do such a thing?
Guilt climbed her throat. She had no room to cast judgment when she was as blameworthy herself. “If I had accepted your proposal of marriage, this would not have happened.”
“I was wrong to ask it of you. As wrong as Father was in expecting me to.”
“Would we have been so very unhappy?” She clenched her hands and stared at them in her lap, the carriage rocking her back and forth. “If we had…I mean, if I had said…yes.”
“No one is ever happy until they make their own decisions.”
“Yes.” She nodded too assuredly. “You are right of course.”
Silence weaved between them, the carriage rumbled on across rutted roads, and the late morning sun warmed her already-flustered cheeks. Several moments passed before she gained courage to speak again. “As much as I am grateful for your kindness in sending me to the hunting lodge, I fear I must decline such an offer.”
“Georgina—”
“I must return home. I have run from what is difficult to face for too long, and I must have answers if I am ever to be at peace.” She straightened her back. “I need to face him. I have to.”
Simon did not say anything, but he did not have to.
