“Garrick.” Sir Hawkins quickstepped from the drawing room to intercept him.
“Yes, sir?”
“Berkwith had the audacity to show his face at the party. Did you see him? I have a good mind to garrote him myself.”
“I hope you don’t plan on asking me to murder a peer.” Garrick raised an eyebrow, but Sir Hawkins merely harrumphed. Garrick continued, “The situation is handled. He will be leaving in the morning.”
Sir Hawkins’s outrage deflated slightly. “You should have turned him out tonight.”
“The man is a coward and an opportunist, but he isn’t evil.”
“But he knows Victoria was… He could speak indiscreetly.”
“I made clear he wouldn’t enjoy the consequences if a single indiscreet word falls from his lips.”
“Very well then.” Sir Hawkins’s eyes narrowed on Garrick. “Clean up and change into your best clothes, then meet me in the library. I wish to speak with you.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sir Hawkins turned on his heel and disappeared into a book-lined room. Garrick found warm water waiting in his room. After repairing his appearance, he changed into a pair of dove-gray pantaloons, a silver-and-cream-striped waistcoat, and navy frock coat. He kept his cravat knot simple and smoothed back his hair. The small looking glass reflected back a man who would never be mistaken for a gentleman, no matter how fine the wrappings.
He joined Sir Hawkins in the library. The spymaster stood at the fireplace and stared pensively into the flames. Garrick cleared his throat.
“Ah. Pour yourself a brandy if you wish, Garrick.”
Garrick wasn’t one to turn down fine spirits. He joined Sir Hawkins with a tumbler in hand. “What do you require of me, sir?”
“I want you there.” Sir Hawkins didn’t spare him a glance.
“Where?”
“In the drawing room and at dinner. I want you to keep an eye on Berkwith.”
“Would you prefer that I throw him out tonight? I could have accomplished that without changing clothes.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Sir Hawkins turned to pace along the edge of the rug with military precision, his hands linked behind his back. “There’s another matter we need to discuss.”
The back of Garrick’s neck heated, and his collar tightened like a noose. He forced himself not to fidget. What did Sir Hawkins suspect? Part of Garrick wanted to confess his feelings. He wanted to claim Victoria for more than a night.
But even now she was socializing with gentlemen who could raise her standing in society. Was it fair of him to force her hand? He wanted her to have the power to choose her destiny, and in doing so, he must accept that he was not the wise choice.
“You have become a skilled organizer with a head for strategy. The men respect your opinion and obey your commands without question. In short, you are a fine leader, and it’s time for you to actually lead. You will no longer be in my employ.”
The direction of the conversation was so unexpected, Garrick could do little but gape. Was Sir Hawkins sending him to the front lines to be killed because of his indiscretion with Victoria? It was no less than he deserved. “You’re sacking me?”
Sir Hawkins paused his pacing to grip the back of the armchair between them and raise a brow. “There is a position being created under the purview of the Home Office that I have recommended you for. Most would consider this a promotion. If you acquit yourself well, further opportunities will open to you.”
While the position might well offer him a boost in standing, Garrick could only focus on the fact he would be officially, finally separated from Victoria. Their social circles wouldn’t align, and he would never see her. It was an effective, nonlethal way of quashing any further attachment. It was exactly what he had decided for himself, yet the thought of never again seeing her traipse down the stairs with a smile for him was devastating.
His mind riffled through the implications. Sir Hawkins must be aware of the attachment in the first place. Or at least he suspected it. Garrick quaffed the remainder of the brandy in his glass and straightened his cuffs. “Thank you for the recommendation. When do I report for duty?”
“In the new year. Tonight, however, you still work for me, and I want you to keep an eye on Victoria.” Sir Hawkins took a seat in the armchair and opened the book on the side table.
“You aren’t joining in the merrymaking?”
“Too much noise rattles my thoughts and gives me a headache. I’ll join the group for dinner.”
Garrick nodded and left Sir Hawkins to his solitude, pausing outside the door to calm his own racing thoughts. He felt adrift in more ways than one. It was difficult to be grateful when he could only focus on everything he was losing.
Losing Victoria was heartbreaking, but that wouldn’t be his only loss. Sir Hawkins was more than an employer, and Garrick grieved the end of their association. He was also unaccountably hurt Sir Hawkins could dismiss him so readily.
With heavy feet, he made his way to the drawing room. A game of charades was in progress. He planted himself behind a Greek-style bust of some unfortunate Barclay ancestor with a large nose and narrow-set eyes and stared at Victoria.
She was seated on a lounge next to Lady Eleanor, laughing and calling out guesses to the pantomime being performed by Mr. Barclay, their host. Victoria touched her nape and twisted around. They locked eyes, and her smile turned tremulous. The noise around him faded until it was just the two of them.
Lady Eleanor grabbed Victoria’s arm and whispered something in her ear. Her gaze broke with his, and Garrick followed the direction of her attention. Lord Berkwith had arrived, looking fresher and attired in a dapper, extravagantly patterned blue-and-green waistcoat and bottle-green velvet jacket. Only the half-hidden bruise along the hairline at his temple betrayed the harrowing experience he’d muddled through by luck and cowardice.
Berkwith smiled broadly at Lady Eleanor, who rose as if he were a puppet master. Victoria made a grab for her wrist, but it was too late. Lady Eleanor drifted over to speak with Berkwith. Someone guessed that Mr. Barclay was trout fishing, and a round of clapping ensued. A young lady bounced up and chose a slip of paper from a gentleman’s black hat for her turn.
Victoria rose and meandered through the room, stopping to chat with ladies and gentlemen, but Garrick could feel the ties that bound them growing shorter as she worked her way closer and closer.
“I suppose Father sent you to keep an eye on me,” she murmured before taking a sip of wassail.
“Mostly due to Berkwith, but I don’t expect him to cause any trouble.”
She sent him a side-eyed glance. “Did you threaten him with bodily injury?”
He harrumphed. “Of course I did.”
He was rewarded with a smile that was a lighthouse to his adrift soul. What would happen when he no longer had her smiles and wit to keep him from drowning in his loneliness?
“I do hope Eleanor doesn’t make a fool of herself over him.” Victoria shook her head and turned to regard him. “I’ve rarely seen you attired for company. You look exceedingly handsome.”
“The sharpness of your eyesight has now been called into question, Miss Hawkins.”
“It is you who fail to recognize your charms in the looking glass.” Her flirty eyes kindled a fire in his chest. Their banter had taken on new dimensions now they were intimately acquainted.