“You didn’t have to carry me,” she said.

He heard the pain in her voice. “Yes,” he said. “I did.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, her words melting into his shirt.

But he couldn’t respond. He was beyond words now, at least beyond meaningless platitudes. He didn’t need to say anything for Billie to know that he’d heard her. She would understand. She would know that his head was somewhere else, somewhere far beyond please and you’re welcome.

“They’re in the private drawing room,” Felix said when they reached the house. George could only assume that they meant the rest of his family. And maybe the Bridgertons, as well.

They were family, too, he realized. They’d always been family.

When he reached the drawing room, the sight that awaited him was one to make any grown man blanch. His mother was on the sofa, sobbing in Lady Bridgerton’s arms. Andrew looked to be in shock. And his father . . .

His father was crying.

Lord Manston stood removed from the rest of the group, not quite facing them but not turned entirely away. His arms were sticks at his sides, and his eyes were squeezed tightly shut, as if that might possibly halt the slow trickle of tears down his cheeks. As if maybe, if he could not see the world around him, then none of this would have happened.

George had never seen his father cry. He had not imagined it even possible. He tried not to stare, but the sight was so stunning, so soul-altering, that he could not quite look away.

His father was The Earl of Manston, solid and stern. Since George was a child he had led the Rokesby family with a firm but fair hand. He was a pillar; he was strength. He was unquestionably in charge. He treated his children with scrupulous fairness, which occasionally meant that no one was satisfied with his judgments, but he was always obeyed.

In his father George saw what it meant to lead a family. And in his father’s tears, he saw his own future.

Soon, it would be time for George to lead.

“Dear heavens,” Lady Bridgerton exclaimed, finally noticing them in the doorway. “What happened to Billie?”

George just stared for a moment. He’d forgotten he was holding her. “Here,” he said, setting Billie down near her mother. He looked around the room. He didn’t know to whom he should apply for information. Where was the messenger? Was he even still here?

“George,” he heard Felix say. He looked up and saw his friend holding out a sheet of paper. Wordlessly, he took it.

To the Earl of Manston,

I regret to inform you that Captain the Hon. Edward Rokesby went missing on 22 March 1779 in Connecticut Colony. We are making every effort to recover him safely.

God bless and Godspeed,

Brigadier General Geo. Garth

“Missing,” George said, looking helplessly around the room. “What does that even mean?”

No one had an answer.

George stared down at the paper in his hands, his eyes taking in every last loop of the script. The message was spectacular in its lack of information. Why was Edward in Connecticut Colony? The last they’d heard he was in New York Town, boarded at a loyalist tavern while keeping an eye on General Washington’s troops across the Hudson River.