Page 45 of What's an Earl Gotta Do?
They weren’t returning for their dance. Scudamore must have asked her to take a turn about the balcony instead.
Scudamore was going to propose. He was going to propose before Michael got a chance to speak. He was going to lose her again.
“Morsley, stop!” Fauconbridge was clinging to his arm; Michael was startled to realize that he’d been dragging his friend across the ballroom.
“I’ll head out there and play the overprotective big brother.” Fauconbridge said, straightening his coat. “That way if she’s furious with someone, it will be with me.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Ceci said. Michael, Harrington, and Fauconbridge all turned to gape at her. “She’s a widow,” Ceci continued, “she doesn’t need an overprotective big brother. She’ll know at once Morsley put you up to it.” She peered around Harrington’s shoulder toward the balcony doors. “It will be much more convincing if I do it.”
“Hurry,” was as much of a response as Michael could muster.
“I need a knife,” Ceci said.
Harrington produced a pen knife. Michael watched in astonishment as Ceci sliced open the seam connecting her sleeve to her bodice. The cut was only an inch, but had she taken her hand off the seam (which she did not), her bodice would have gaped.
“Ceci,” Fauconbridge hissed.
She gave him a quelling look. “It has to be an emergency.” She thrust the knife back into Harrington’s hand and squared off her shoulders. “Wish me luck.”
Anne and Scudamore had been out there alone for at least five minutes, and with the dancing underway, Ceci had to skirt all the way around the edges of the ballroom. Michael could scarcely breathe as he watched her picking her way through the crowded clusters of matrons and wallflowers ringing the room.
Someone pressed a drink into his hand. It proved to be Harrington. Michael downed it without even looking to see what it was.
Fauconbridge placed a hand on his shoulder, and they stood in silence as Michael steeled himself for the most agonizing minutes of his life.
“And so you see,” Anne said, “the crest on the carriage door points to Lord Gladstone.”
Lord Scudamore squeezed his eyes shut. “I know it looks bad. But a carriage alone isn’t proof. It could be his coachman who’s in league with these villains.”
“There’s more. I was able to track down the officer who brought one of the boys back from the Continent, a Lieutenant Avery. He confirmed that the place he wrote looking for assistance was the R.M.A.”
Lord Scudamore raked a hand through his hair. “The R.M.A. is not yet accepting applications.”
“No,” Anne agreed. “But if someone were to send one, to whom would it go?”
The viscount swallowed. “The secretary. Gladstone.”
Anne nodded. “I thought as much. Lieutenant Avery recalled that the man who answered his letter was a lord. They met at night, and although he could not make out his face in the darkness, he recalled that he wore a gold signet ring with a dark red stone.”
“Bloody—” Lord Scudamore spun away, making a sound of frustration. “I apologize, my lady. I just—Gladstone has been my dearest friend. My dearest friend, ever since our school days. There must be some mistake, because I cannot imagine that he… that he…” He clenched his hands into fists as he stood at the balustrade, looking down.
Anne came to stand beside him. Lord Scudamore seemed sincere in his distress, and of course it would be devastating, to receive such news about one’s dearest friend. “I quite understand. I am so very sorry to have to tell you this.”
He sighed. “It’s better that I know.”
Anne swallowed. “I must now ask something of you, my lord. Something that I know will go against your sense of loyalty to your friend. But I hope that you agree, in light of what I have told you, that there are greater loyalties. To right and wrong and to basic human decency.”
“You are going to ask me to say nothing to Gladstone.” The viscount’s knuckles were white upon the stone railing of the balcony.
“Yes,” Anne said. “Mr. Branton is on his way to Bow Street right now. They will arrest Lord Gladstone tonight.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “I know it’s the right thing. I know it has to be done. It’s just so difficult for me to believe that Gladstone could do such a thing. Surely there must be some mistake.”
“We will know soon enough. If the eyewitness confirms it was him, there will be no doubt.”
“Eyewitness?” Lord Scudamore said slowly, raising his head to meet Anne’s gaze. “I thought you said this Lieutenant Avery didn’t get a look at his face.”
“Lieutenant Avery did not,” Anne said. “But one of the boys I rescued—”
