Page 16 of A Dilemma for the Duke

“Bless you. That feels good.” The pounding in his head was nothing compared to the ache in his chest. Every heartbeat was a painful reminder of what he planned to do. The cool compress on his forehead provided little relief against the storm raging inside him.

After a few minutes, Rockford sat up and glanced at the clock. It was nearly time to meet Barrington at the club. Rising from the sofa, he steeled himself for the challenges ahead. There was no room for doubt or regret now.

This is to protect her, he reminded himself as he and Jeffers climbed the stairs to his room to clean up and prepare for his meeting.

As Jeffers laid out his clothes, Rockford’s thoughts drifted back to his time in the military. The memory of that April day in France remained vivid, the damp earth heavy with recent rain, the acrid bite of gunpowder clinging to the air, and beneath it all, a faint, fleeting sharpness he couldn’t quite place, tangled with the lingering smoke. Crouching, their footsteps were muffled by the underbrush as they advanced through the outskirts of the eerily quiet city of Toulouse, the tension wound tight. He scanned the area, scrutinizing the sparse trees and the distant silhouette of the city. He and his second in command, Captain Edward Langley, had meticulously crafted the attack plan, ensuring they accounted for every detail, including the potential weakness of their right flank. To ensure success, he would lead the troops on the right flank, but Langley reasoned the men needed him to manage the entire plan. Langley stepped up and volunteered to take the right flank.

All week long, they advanced only to be pushed back. Now, with their new plan, he moved his men forward and found there were no defenses in sight. As Langley had noted, the morning mist that clung to the ground would hide them. Suddenly, out of the mist, the deafening roar of cannon fire shattered the silence.

“Ambush!” someone shouted, but it was too late. The French were upon them, rifle balls whizzing past, tearing through the foliage and flesh alike. Rockford’s voice cut through the chaos. “Defensive line! Take cover. Return fire!”

He moved swiftly, rallying his men and directing them to safer positions. Rockford himself took a position at the front, his pistol ready. He fired at the advancing enemy, his aim steady despite the chaos around him. “Hold the line!” he shouted, his voice unwavering.

As he assessed the situation around him, Rockford saw a gap in their right flank. Where was Langley? As Rockford moved closer, Langley was nowhere to be seen. A sense of unease settled over him. He quickly put another officer in command and moved to investigate.

Creeping through the underbrush, Rockford kept low, his senses on high alert. The sounds of battle raged around him, but he focused on finding Langley. He had to be alive. They had served together for the last two years. He couldn’t think the worst, but by god, he would carry his friend on his back to get him behind their line if necessary.

As he neared the edge of the clearing, he heard voices and found cover behind a tree. Slowly, he moved until he could see the men and stopped. He saw him, Langley, standing with a French officer. They were talking and pointing towards specific areas of English’s defenses, areas Rockford had discussed in confidence with Langley.

Betrayal. The realization hit him like a bullet to the chest. His blood ran cold. He watched for a moment longer, confirming his worst fears, before hurrying back to his men. There was no time to lose.

“Regroup!” he shouted as he reached his troops. “Follow me!”

The men responded instantly, their trust in Rockford unwavering. He led them in a swift counterattack, fiercely pushing back the French. Despite their efforts, some of his men had fallen. There was no time to mourn. Rockford focused on saving as many as he could and turning the tide of the battle.

His pistol fired one last shot before the chamber clicked hollow. With a muttered curse, he slid the weapon back into its holster. Scanning the battlefield for an opening, he knew he’d have to rely on his wits now, directing his men where they were strongest while keeping the enemy off balance.

Langley rushed to him as his troop gained ground, his face a mask of confusion. “What’s happening? This isn’t what we planned!”

“Neither was your betrayal,” he growled, his rage all consuming. “Why, Langley?” Rockford demanded, his voice taut with anger and hurt. “Why deceive us?”

Langley stared at him, his gaze cold. “You wouldn’t understand. There’s more at play here than your narrow sense of duty.”

“You’re endangering everything we fought for! What have you done?” Rockford shouted over the din of battle. He drew his sword. “How could you betray us like this?”

But Rockford, consumed by anger and the need to protect his men, didn’t wait to listen. They clashed violently, their swords flashing in the chaos. Langley’s blade struck with precision, slicing across Rockford’s forearm before he could fully deflect the blow. Pain shot through him, warm blood seeping into his sleeve, but he gritted his teeth and pressed forward.

As the fight reached its peak, Rockford had Langley at his mercy. “Explain yourself now, traitor!”

Before Langley could speak, an explosion rocked the battlefield. The force of the blast knocked them both to the ground, dazed and disoriented.

When Rockford regained consciousness, Langley was gone. The enemy had retreated, and the battle had shifted, but the questions remained.

“Langley!” Rockford shouted, but his voice was swallowed by the sounds of war. He scanned the area desperately, but there was no trace of his former friend. The pressing advance of French troops forced him to rally his men, pushing thoughts of Langley aside for the moment.

By the day’s end, the British forces had held their position, but at a high cost. As Rockford walked among the woundedand the fallen, exhausted, he pushed on. Reports came in. Captain Edward Langley was missing in action. Official records would later note his disappearance, but the truth of his betrayal remained a burden that Rockford alone carried.

He filed a report detailing Langley’s treachery, but without concrete evidence or a body, his superiors received it with skepticism. Rumors spread quietly among the ranks. Some whispered that Langley had been captured, and others suggested desertion. The ambiguity shrouding the event left lingering doubts.

The unresolved nature of Langley’s fate gnawed at Rockford. The failure to bring a traitor to justice haunted him, a phantom lingering at the edge of his conscience. And now, as he faced the possibility of deceiving Lady Lora, the parallels pressed heavily on his soul.

Duty had always been his guiding star, but his feelings for Lady Lora had now clouded his path. The thought of deceiving her was unbearable, yet the thought of failing in his mission was equally daunting.

Rockford’s mind snapped back to the present as Jeffers handed him a fresh shirt. “Your Grace, is everything satisfactory?”

He nodded absently, his hand unconsciously tracing the scar on his forearm, the one left by Langley’s blade. “Just lost in thought, Jeffers,” he murmured. “Thank you.”

As he dressed, Rockford steeled himself for the day ahead. The echoes of the past began to quiet.

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