Hide And Seek

As luck would have it, that very afternoon, Drew entered the library where Jordan had closeted himself, mainly to avoid any of the other occupants of the house. Many of the guests had left earlier that morning, though some still remained and seemed to spill into all the rooms in which he had sought solitude. Clearly, their houseguests had little inclination to things literary, to his enormous relief.

After a brief exchange which might be called ‘catching up’ in any normal family, Jordan wasted no time in raising his dilemma. “The question remains, however, what I would do should I decide to resign my commission. Edward is full of vague promises, but—”

“I would not count on our oldest brother.” Drew interrupted Jordan’s statement with a swiftness that spoke volumes. “We both know the extent to which he would go to avoid meeting his obligations, family be damned.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Jordan responded, thankful that his brother wasted no unnecessary time on platitudes or pretence. “Which still leaves the matter of life after the army. I am quite resigned to the simple truth that I shall have to make my own way. The question remains: what and where?”

Drew drew a breath and fixed his gaze on his glass as if it could somehow provide the answers. His thoughtful expression suggested he had something on his mind, but aside from that, there were no clues as to what that might be. Jordan, long since accustomed to the reality that his brother gave nothing away until he had sifted the facts very carefully, took a slow sip of his brandy and resigned himself to what could be a lengthy wait.

Surprisingly, he had only swirled the amber liquid in his glass a few times before Drew took a breath and cleared his throat. “What are your thoughts on the Cape?” he asked, the apparent deviation from their previous discussion catching Jordan unprepared.

“The Cape?” He set his glass down carefully. “What about it?”

“Have you considered settling there?” The question seemed simple enough. On the surface, Drew’s interest in the answer seemed merely cursory, but Jordan knew better. The family politician was adept at hiding his true feelings, but it was unlikely that he asked out of simple curiosity. There had to be a very good reason behind the seemingly innocuous enquiry. Jordan’s mind raced through various possibilities, discarding them all as unlikely. Still, he couldn’t move beyond the obvious conclusion that his brother had knowledge of something that might make the Cape worth thinking about.

“Not in any definite way,” he hedged, conscious of the lengthening silence and vexed beyond measure at the unreadability of his sibling.

“Well, you might want to change your mind.” Drew made a movement as if to stand, and Jordan knew the moment was all but past. Any aid he might receive from his brother was rapidly sliding beyond his grasp. Inwardly cursing the sense of need that compelled him to speak, he plunged in and hoped his tone did not reflect his sudden desperation.

“What do you know that I don’t? Come, Drew, don’t be vague. I’m an officer, so you can trust me not to blab what I hear in this room. But if you know something worth knowing…”

He let his statement trail into nothing. Somehow, he simply couldn’t bring himself to beg. That was not how they did things in his family. True, they never asked for help, either. He’d learned the stupidity of that particular trait, but still, a man had his pride. Asking was one thing, but the manner of it didn’t have to diminish one in the process. This was the crucial moment. He recognised that as he watched Drew’s carefully blank expression for clues he knew would not be forthcoming.

Jordan held his breath, waiting—hoping—to hear something that would alter the direction of his life.

Intrigue Most Unbecoming...

"Well?" Annette settled herself comfortably in the brocade chair opposite Hebble and arranged her gown carefully. Edward sighed and regarded his wife with a mixture of disapproval and what might be pride. Their guest, however, now wore a shuttered look, his thick-set features unreadable but for a certain avarice which

Of Scandals, Schemes And Subterfuge...

The Countess of Walmer slammed the door behind her with a vicious resentment that she did not bother to hide. It made a most satisfying sound, but the effect was a little wasted, for Selby was her only audience. His customary dignified and impassive demeanor remained unruffled. Even a single eyebrow raised in disapprobation might have provided some measure of assurance that her distress had at least been noticed by someone.

She swept into the library only because she noticed the movement on the first floor landing, a sign that one of their guests was no doubt making their way downstairs for breakfast.Annette had no desire for breakfast, nor for the onerous company of anyone at that present moment in time. Being dismissed, especially by a gentleman and in such cruelly

A Twist In The Tale

From the comfortable chair behind his desk, Edward, the current Earl of Walmer, watched the tense scene in the garden with one ear tuned to the droning complaints of his unwelcome companion. He knew he should focus more on his guest rather than the tableau outdoors - the man was arrogant, to be sure, but he did hold the aces - but one could forgive a husband's natural concern over his wife's previous romantic attachments.

The silence intruded into his contemplation, and he felt compelled to drag his attention back to the matter at hand. Joseph Hebble had ceased speaking, and his gaze had now fixed on the couple on the bench sitting too close than propriety allowed.

Down The Garden Path

Dawn mirrored the cold that still clamped itself around his heart. Jordan borrowed a hack from the stables - one of the best, of course, though the groom seemed a little put out by his effrontery - and allowed Rogue to have a well-earned rest. The gelding nickered a welcome in passing but seemed content to remain stabled while his master took to the fields.

The snow had stopped for now, but drifts lay deep and deceptive and a good gallop seemed unwise though he was sorely tempted. Instead, he let the mare pick her own course for most of circuitous ride, content to breath deep and

Seventh Son Rebellion Part 2

A groom, unsmiling and taciturn, ran up to snatch the bridle as Jordan stopped alongside the sweeping stone stairs which led up to the heavy front doors. Though a stranger, the man's grim expression was coldly familiar. Clearly little had changed with the demise of the old Earl - Cliffside was still managed with the iron hand that left little room for cheer or any display of human warmth.

Jordan shrugged, as if the gesture could somehow dislodge the chill that settled around him, a cold that had little to do with the snow falling softly into the gathering darkness.

The doors swung open even as he approached.

"Selby. Good to see you." Jordan forced a lightness into his tone as he shrugged out of his greatcoat and handed it to the butler.

"And you, Mister Jordan, Sir." The old face, lined with the tales of many years, managed a broad smile for just a moment before it settled once again into the imperturbability of long practice. Yet... Jordan caught an odd look, a quick expression of disquiet.

"Is something wrong, Selby?"

"Oh no, Sir. Not all all." Selby turned quickly to close the doors with a quiet thud, and when he turned back he had his butler mask firmly in place. Only his eyes darted away, then back, and fixed themselves firmly on a spot somewhere beyond Jordan's shoulders. A sense of disquiet, of unease, settled around him, but he bit back the instinctive question. No point in pressing the man. Selby was nothing if not the model of the perfect butler. Jordan suppressed a sigh.

"Jordie!"

He turned towards the sound of her voice, a part of him smiling, another part registering the incongruity of it here in the cold marble hallway of what should have been home.

"Annette. What are you..." She paused three stairs from the bottom, her small hand resting on the balustrade, slender fingers tight around the smooth wood. Her face, oddly pale, flashed a myriad of emotions - surprise, fear, discomfort, joy... His eyes caught hers, held them, and he read the growing distress in their wide, honest blue depths. Instinctively, hungrily, his gaze swept over her, down to the tiny blue slipper that peeped out below the hem of her gown, then back upward, driven by a discordant sense of unease.

"Annette?" He heard the harshness, the disbelief, in his question and saw her flinch. A part of him - some deep, primitive part of him - reveled in it, wanted her to feel the same pain that knifed through him as reality struck home. He wanted to look away, wanted to tear his gaze back to the perfect blue of her eyes and the memory that had been his truth for so long but, perversely, his eyes remained drawn to the impossible, the soft lines of silk that clung to her swelling abdomen.

"Jordie... I..."

"Don't." He drew a shuddering breath, the motion buying time as he struggled to regain some measure of sanity, to escape the escalating sense of implosion that sucked the life from him, that left him stranded in some desolate place of pain.

"You must understand..."

"Understand what? You're carrying another man's child, Annie. How do I understand that? You gave yourself to another man...to someone else...to...to who, Annie?" Somehow he knew, knew with a certainty that crushed the breath from him in an aching rush. He turned, slammed his fist into the wall, the pain of it swallowed in the greater sense of loss and anger and despair. "Who, damn you? Who?"

"Her husband."

The cold, clipped tones penetrated the haze and struck home. Jordan sagged against the wall, fighting the rage, fighting the urge to hurt, to maim... yes, even to kill. All his experience, all his years of discipline and rigorous training in the field... he drew on it now, held on to it like a drowning man to a single, fragile rope. His hands clenched and unclenched, his breath rasped with the effort of fighting down the nausea and the frenzy of hatred that threatened to engulf him. Silence brooded hard and long and frightening.

Then, when he had finally gained mastery, imposed control beneath a layer of relentless coldness that settled around him like death, Jordan turned back to face his brother.