Royal Regard

Chapter Twenty-Seven, Part 3

"You may be sure, Wellbridge, my barristers and yours have things well in hand." Firthley tapped his fingers against the desk and sat back in his chair. "It was great good luck I could give an account, and I have already repaid the public funds. For all intents and purposes, I am Bella's closest male relative, and it is what Huntleigh would expect until such time as you have married."

"You need not—"

Cutting him off, Firthley topped up his own glass of brandy, but Nick placed a hand over his when offered. Once Firthley had replaced the crystal stopper, he set the decanter aside, out of Nick's reach.

"Whether or not you appreciate it, His Majesty and Parliament will know you did not act alone, Malbourne posed a more-than-sufficient threat to warrant lethal force, and your heroic actions have earned the deep gratitude of the countess' family. If the ghost of Myron Huntleigh has done his part into the bargain, the matter will be adjudicated with no need for barristers at all."

A tentative knock was followed by the clearing of a throat in the hall.

"Yes, Corbel?"

Without opening the door, the butler said, in a tone low enough for discretion, while still loud enough for the two men to hear, "My lord, the General has arrived."

Nick caught his breath and eyed the decanter. More bad news. He could feel it in his marrow. More information he didn't want to hear, more questions he didn't want to answer, more reminders that his beautiful Bella might soon be gone. If she were to die, Nick wasn't sure he could—

"Send him in, please." Firthley stood and crossed the room to welcome the General, on the way replacing the brandy on the sideboard, presumably to keep Nick from becoming any drunker or more mawkish.

The Major-General of the Royal Horse Guards bowed when he came into the room, his deep blue jacket—for which the regiment had earned the sobriquet 'the Blues'—unusually dusty, his face showing deep lines of apprehension, almost fear. Prinny must have rung a peal over the man's head for taking so long to carry out his orders.

"Your Grace, Your Lordship, His Majesty sends his regards. He wishes me to remind you his staff is at your service." Nick noted it was Prinny's personal household placed at their service, not the House of Hanover. None of the king's siblings had chosen to involve themselves.

Nick waved the man to the second visitor's chair before the desk while Firthley poured a drink.

Mentally, Nick shook himself, concentrating on the General to keep from falling apart. "You may tell His Majesty I thank him for his assistance," he intoned, picking up what remained of the brandy he had been planning not to drink.

"I should have expressed my gratitude before now. And to your men. I will find a better way to convey my appreciation once we are through this muddle." The brandy sloshed in the glass as he waved it toward the soldier.

The General acknowledged Nick with a bob of his head as he was handed his glass, "No need for thanks, Your Grace. It is our pleasure to assist. His Majesty is quite concerned for Lady Huntleigh."

"Most appreciated, you may be sure," Firthley acknowledged. "Might we get to business with no further delay? We would both prefer to be concentrating on other concerns."

"Of course." It gave Nick pause when the man took a long, slow draught from his glass before he began. Whatever was about to be said, Firthley was right: Nick would rather be hiding in Bella's bedchamber with the door locked than listen to another word about the crimes against her.

"You know the identity of the woman identified as Michelle Delacroix, Your Grace?"

"I have made the duke aware, yes."