Page 142 of Immortal Rose

Honor and fury clashed in him as he eased the blade back. Loud clapping shattered the silence, startling him back into the moment.

“Well done,” Reddy called, his expression strained as he continued clapping. “Well fought!”

The other faces around them held varying degrees of horror and confusion, but Reddy had allowed them to seek refuge in politeness, and they soon joined in his applause.

The School of Arms sharpened around Hugh, the heat and brightness of the sunlight suddenly suffocating. His stomach turned violently as he lowered his sword. Reddy clasped a steadying hand on his shoulder, carefully extracting the sword from his grip. Hugh had never felt such a staggering gratitude for his friend as he had in that moment, when he’d needed to be saved from himself.

Yet, Glenmoor looked far from disappointed.

The duke rose, pulling a handkerchief from the pocket of his ruined fencing jacket. The smell of his blood turned as pungent as any poison. His gaze never broke from Hugh’s, not even as the other lords flocked to him, leaving Reddy and Hugh standing alone.

“Well fought, indeed,” Glenmoor crooned at him, handing his blade to an attendant. “You’ve won the honor of being the first to congratulate me, Lord Hugh.”

Reddy’s grip on him tightened, but Hugh was in control of himself now. “Oh?”

“Seeing my younger brother wed has made me realize it is high time to allow myself to be caught. To sire an heir.” Glenmoor’s thin lips curled. “And the King, despite the grave condition your wife has left him in, has given his consent to the match.”

Hugh’s exhausted body began to throb in time with the pounding in his head.

Too late.

Too late.

“You see,” Glenmoor finished with relish, “Eleanor and I are to be wed by summer’s end.”

Always too late.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“You’re certain about this?”

Felicity shifted beside me again, lifting the curtain from the window to steal another anxious look at the park. As strange as it was, her frazzled nerves steadied mine. I reached over and gripped her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze as the palace came into view.

“I am,” I told her as the coach wheels found the gravel drive. “I want to show them that I’m not afraid and that I have no reason to feel guilty.”

And more than anything, I wanted them all to understand that the house, the perfumery, the inheritance—all of it was mine.

Cartwell brought the coach not to the east wing’s porte cochere, but to the palace’s grand marble entrance that faced the park. I took one last deep, steadying breath as we drew to a stop. The coach rocked as Willie and Tommy leapt down from their perches at the back.

“Ready?” I asked Felicity, smoothing my yellow dress. I’d chosen the brightest color in the wardrobe and teased out several face-framing red curls from beneath my bonnet. I wanted there to be no doubt about who I was, even as they took me in from a distance.

“Only if you are,” she said.

Tommy reached in to hand me down. I was grateful for his look of concern as he eased me onto the gravel drive.

There was a moment of shocked silence as I turned to face the crowd that had gathered at the gate separating the palace from the public park, four bodies deep in places. Behind them, Patricians in bright frocks found an excuse to promenade by, their full attention turned toward Briarwood Palace.

Whether they truly recognized me or not, a loud murmur rippled through the assembled, followed by even louder jeering. I tried not to flinch as the gate rattled; it was impossible to tell if they were shaking it to add to the clamor or trying to tear it down.

But all the same, it held.

Several City Police scurried around the side of the palace from the porte cochere, but they must have been told I was coming. They hung back, their dark uniforms blotting out the ornate flower beds like clouds over the sun.

I lifted my chin, turning to Felicity as Tommy helped her out of the coach.

“Now,” I said over the uproar. “Shall we?”

Mr. Samuel C. Hornsby was as punctual as he was reserved. He met us in the grand foyer, looked decidedly unimpressed by my show of defiance.