Page 34 of A Dilemma for the Duke

“It has been some time since we’ve last met.”

Silence. What was he supposed to do? Say? He took a steadying breath and said nothing.

Out of the darkness came a soft chuckle. “Perhaps you have learned after all. We have heard of your ambitions,” the voice continued, unwavering. “The clinic is your path to redemption. After the debacle in France, you need to prove your worth. But don’t be fooled. This is your last chance.”

A shiver ran down Hastings’ spine, though he maintained his position. “I won’t fail.”

The voice grew colder. “You better not. I’ve gone to great lengths to get you a second chance. Fail us, and there is no coming back.”

Hastings’ heart pounded beneath his composed exterior. “What do you need from me?”

“Information and influence,” the voice replied. “Use your clinic to gather intelligence. Identify key people in the town who can be swayed or eliminated. Ensure our interests are protected and advanced.”

“Consider it done,” Hastings nodded, determination flaring in his eyes. “Remember, trust is a two-way street. I’ll expect you to hold up your end of the bargain.”

The voice responded with an air of finality. “We will be watching, Mr. Hastings. Do not disappoint us.”

Silence. Alone at last, he allowed himself a moment to breathe. The path he had chosen was dangerous, but the rewards outweighed the risks. He would never return to the streets of London. He would rather die first.

Hastings returned to the present, the memory of that fateful meeting a constant reminder of the high stakes. Failure was not an option, not when everything he craved was within reach and the price of defeat was unimaginable.

Chapter Fourteen

10 October 1822

Early Morning

Rockford sat athis desk, the soft scratch of his pen moving across parchment as he finished penning a letter. He paused. His thoughts wandered to the not-so-subtle attack from Hastings at tea with its undercurrents of tension. He dusted and blotted the letter, then put it into his folio.

Hastings sauntered into Rockford’s library, his eyes flitting briefly to Rockford’s before darting away, unable to withstand the force of Rockford’s gaze.

Close behind him, the butler, Mr. Turner, followed, his face flushed with concern. “I apologize for the intrusion, Your Grace,” Mr. Turner began, his voice steady but touched with unease. “Mr. Hastings insisted on speaking with you immediately. I attempted to dissuade him, but he would not be deterred.”

Rockford’s expression hardened, but he maintained his composure. “Thank you, Turner. That will be all.” The butler nodded and retreated from the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Rockford leaned back in his chair, his eyes boring into Hastings with a steely intensity that spoke of barely contained disdain. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit, Hastings?”

Hastings shifted uncomfortably, his earlier bravado faltering under Rockford’s unyielding stare. He cast a dismissive glance at the bookshelves and maps as if trying to regain his composure. “I find the stillness of night conducive to meaningful conversations. Besides, Your Grace, we seem to have much to discuss.” He attempted to sound nonchalant but failed to conceal the underlying tension in his voice.

Rockford arched an eyebrow. His gaze remained steady. The flickering candlelight cast sharp shadows over the chiseled features of his face, giving him an almost otherworldly presence with eyes that glinted and pinned a man in his place. “A private discussion, indeed? I can hardly imagine what matter could be so urgent that it necessitates barging into my home uninvited.”

The atmosphere grew taut as Rockford waited for Hastings to explain himself, the power dynamic clearly established in the room.

Hastings forced a faint smile, stepping further into the room with deliberate slowness. His fingers brushed the spines of the books, a subtle gesture of disdain. “Come now, we’ve known each other long enough to dispense with formalities. I couldn’t help but notice you’ve settled comfortably here in Sommer-by-the-Sea.” His eyes flickered nervously before locking with Rockford’s steely gaze.

“I wasn’t aware my whereabouts were of interest to you,” Rockford barely glanced up as he returned to reading the document on his desk.

“On the contrary.” Hastings paused to examine the maps on the wall. The too-quick flicker of his gaze betrayed the tension beneath his composed demeanor. “I’m always intrigued by the movements of influential figures, especially those with whom I share a history.”

Rockford didn’t look up from his document. “A history? Our acquaintance has been… peripheral at best.” His tone was as dismissive as a wave of the hand.

“Perhaps.” Hastings turned, stepped toward the desk, and absentmindedly picked up a small nautical compass. “But sometimes paths cross in the most fascinating ways. Take, for instance, our time in France.”

Rockford continued to read the document. “France was a complex time for many of us.” His tone gave nothing away.

“Indeed,” Hastings agreed, setting the compass back in its place. “So many stories left untold. Heroes and villains trading places in the blink of an eye.”

“War has a way of blurring those lines.” Rockford raised his quill and signed, sanded, and blotted the document.

---