Page 55 of A Dilemma for the Duke

Hastings feigned contemplation. “Well, for starters, align yourself with those with a proven integrity record. Some look presentable but might lead you astray.”

“I see.” Greene hung onto his every word.

“Take, for instance, certain philanthropic endeavors that aren’t as pristine as they appear.”

Greene leaned in. “Are you referring to anyone in particular?”

Hastings gave a subtle nod. “Discretion is key, my boy. But be wary of organizations or causes that have sprung up rapidly, drawing in significant funds without transparent accounting.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hastings. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Do,” Hastings encouraged. “And remember, in this world, knowledge is power.”

As Greene departed, Hastings allowed himself a satisfied smile. The eager are so easily led. Another pawn set in motion.

Finding the air inside stifling, Hastings stepped onto the balcony overlooking the moonlit street. The distant sounds of carriage wheels and faint laughter drifted upward. He reached into his waistcoat pocket, fingers brushing against a worn pocket watch—a relic from another time.

Clicking it open, he gazed at the faded inscription: “To my dearest friend, Edward.” A shadow passed over his features. Hastings nodded to passing gentlemen, his outward charm masking a deeper purpose. He had waited years for this—the chance to right a grievous wrong. The moment Rockford stiffened at the mention of Captain Langley, Hastings had known. The past was not forgotten. The reckoning was coming.

“Justice,” Hastings whispered into the night. “It’s long overdue.”

He closed the watch with a snap, determination hardening. As Hastings re-entered the club, a rumble of thunder echoed in the distance. The first droplets of rain tapped against the windows, unnoticed by the engrossed patrons. Casting one final glance around the room, he felt a surge of grim satisfaction. The pieces were moving into place.

He thought of Rockford, oblivious to the web tightening around him.Enjoy your comforts while you can, Your Grace. The storm is coming, and none will be spared.Tomorrow evening’s art auction will be most interesting to watch and listen to. A slow smirk curled at his lips. Let Rockford bask in his illusion of security—for now. The storm was coming, and no one would be spared.

With that, Hastings stepped into the rain and vanished into the night.

Chapter Twenty-Three

15 October 1822

The carriage wheelsclattered over cobblestone, a steady rhythm to Lora’s restless thoughts. The cliffs gave way to the North Sea, its waves painted gold by the setting sun. Autumn leaves swirled in the evening breeze, but the beauty of it all did little to settle the unease coiling in her stomach.

Lora’s fingers traced the intricate embroidery on her sapphire gown—a nervous habit she couldn’t quite stop. She was well aware of how important the night’s events were for the clinic’s funding and was concerned about the subtle shifts she sensed among society’s elite.

Would the whispers she overheard and the glances she felt during the day undermine their efforts? And then there was Rockford. The memory of his warm gaze and reassuring words sent a flutter sweeping through her. She found it both comforting and disconcerting.

The sight of Sommer Castle never failed to stir a sense of wonder in her. Its towering spires reached toward the heavens, silhouetted against lavender and indigo shades that seamlessly blended into the fading azure day. Stone gargoyles gazed ominously from their perches, guardians of centuries past. The ivy clinging to the ancient walls rustled gently, whispering secrets carried on the sea breeze.

As the carriage stopped, the mingled scents of briny air and blooming chrysanthemums swirled around her. The flickering light from the torches danced across the polished carriages. Footmen in navy and white livery with crested buttons assisted guests.

Lora gathered her shawl tightly around her shoulders, the cool air biting softly at her skin.Everything begins this evening, she murmured, summoning courage she wasn’t entirely sure she felt.

“You’re quiet.” Harriet studied Lora’s profile for a moment before they stepped through the sturdy oak doors and into the castle’s vast entrance hall. Though its stone walls bore the marks of centuries, the room conveyed a timeless charm. High ceilings with exposed wooden beams provided a sense of grandeur, while large, arched windows allowed the fading light of dusk to cast a gentle glow inside. The floor was lined with simple flagstones, their cool surface reflecting the soft light of wrought-iron sconces mounted along the walls.

Lora and Harriet decided that to keep the focus on the artwork, the decorations would be limited. They chose a few tapestries and a scattering of potted plants. The results were the correct amount of warmth without overwhelming the space.

Guests mingled quietly, their footsteps echoing softly in the expansive hall as a welcome atmosphere filled the ancient stronghold.

“Are you anxious about the auction? I’m sure Mr. Constable’s landscape will sell for a fine price,” Harriet said as they entered the Great Room.

Lora offered a slight smile. “I am a bit anxious. We’ve planned and prepared every detail. Now, there’s nothing left to do but wait and hope we raise the funds needed.”

Harriet reached over and gently squeezed her hand. “Everything will be splendid. You’ve worked hard and put in so much effort.”

“Thank you,” Lora replied softly. “So have you and Rockford. Having him manage all the financial dealings was a welcome relief. I do hope all goes smoothly.”

Lora smoothed her gown, deep sapphire silk that complemented her eyes, and took a steadying breath. The murmur of conversations and the soft strains of a string quartet drifted into the foyer, mingling with the salty sea breeze.

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