The Heart's Companion

Later that evening Lord Royce summoned his groom to see him. When the man appeared, the earl handed him a letter.

"I want you to take this to the Marquis of Conisbrough. I believe you’ll find him in Brighton somewhere. If he’s not there, track him down. Give him this letter with my compliments. Do you understand?"

The grizzle-haired old man nodded and tucked the letter into a waistcoat pocket. "Aye, my lord. And I take it I’m off tonight?"

"Yes, Robert, I’m afraid so. But first, have a glass of brandy to warm your insides," the earl invited, smiling.

The old man smiled as well. He’d worked loyally for the earl. He knew the earl’s copybook was blotted within society, but that didn’t matter to him. If the earl was truly the Devil’s Disciple, Robert would follow his path to hell itself, he would, and no denying that. He tossed back the small glass of brandy, then sighed contentedly as it fired his insides.

"Thank you kindly, my lord. Good day to you, sir," he said, setting the glass back down on a small table and bowing. He placed a grubby cap on his head, then turned to leave the room, his hobnail boots ringing on the marble hallway floor.