Meet Me at Dawn

Chapter Nine

Okay, this chapter has been changed since its first posting. Just FYI. Other than that, enjoy! :D Don't forget that button over there --> comments would be nice too if you find anything lacking.

There is wisdom of the head, and wisdom of the heart.

                                                               Charles Dickens

I stared in disbelief as the two men emerged from the study. I immediately straightened and stepped away from the wall, taking on air of attempted nonchalance. I recognized Westover, I knew him, or knew who he was in the past.

Marcus Blackthorn.

It had to be him. He must have come into peerage during my time away from society. Strange, I did not know he was in line for a title at that time. I was unaware that he and Sutherland were acquainted, let alone friends. Without thinking, I blurted his name aloud. “Mr. Blackthorn?” I realized my false step all too late.

Both men looked at me as if I had grown two heads. A fine pair they were, one with eyes of silver, and the other of deep emerald green. All at once, one became curious, while the other turned hard and speculative.

“I do not believe we are acquainted.” Westover gave me a calculating stare, as if he depended on my response to his acclamation to solidify his opinion of my character. Before I could respond, Sutherland interrupted to introduce us. For this, I was grateful, as I could not think of an appropriate way to explain how I knew Westover.

“Westover, may I present to you Kit,” he announced to the man at his side. He then looked to me, “Kit, Lord Westover, though, it would seem you already knew that.”

“I, ah, yes,” I said hastily, “I remember his lordship from a coaching inn where I was employed. He stopped for a fresh team.” Hoping the vague and fictitious story would be enough explanation, I glanced at their faces, hoping to see any indication of acceptance. My confidence buoyed, as the appeared to accept my fallacy, nodding in acknowledgement.

“Just how many employers have you had?” asked Westover. I should have known that would raise more questions. I paused, thinking of a plausible number that would not give the impression of being capricious in nature.

I could not do it. I feigned a rather loud yawn, yet one more blunder to add to my breach in etiquette. As I did so, the grandfather clock in the hall struck the midnight hour. “Ah, well, I think I will go up to my room now. Good evening milord, Lord Westover.” I was a blasted horrible liar in a pinch such as this.

Before they could respond, I turned and hurried up the stairs, leaving the side table I felled to the floor. I needed time to think, to think of what I overheard from the study. As I strode away from the two men, I could not help but over hear the last words of their conversation.

“I had best be on my way, Reggie will be waiting for me.” Reggie? Could it be the very same Lady Regina Carrington? I paused at the base of the staircase, hoping to hear more.

“Very well, give my regards to your wife.” Westover was leg-shackled?