Her mouth fell open. “That’s what you want to say?”

“You’ve probably reinjured it.”

She stared at him. George knew he sounded a fool, but her ankle was the one bloody thing he actually could do something about.

“You should sit down,” she said softly.

He shook his head. He didn’t want to sit down. He wanted to act, to do something, anything that might bring his brother safely home. But he was tied here, he’d always been tied here, to this land, to these people.

“I can go,” Andrew choked out.

They all turned to look at him. He was still in the chair that Billie had forced him into. He looked terrible. Thunderstruck. Andrew looked, George had a feeling, rather like he himself felt.

But with one massive difference. Andrew at least believed that he could help.

“Go where?” someone finally asked.

“To the colonies.” Andrew looked up, the bleak desperation in his face slowly giving way to hard determination. “I will ask to be assigned to a different ship. There’s probably one leaving in the next month.”

“No,” Lady Manston cried. She sounded like a wounded animal. She sounded like nothing George had ever heard.

Andrew rose to his feet. “Mother—”

“No,” she said again, this time with fortitude as she pulled herself from Lady Bridgerton’s comforting arms. “I will not permit it. I won’t lose another son.”

Andrew stood stiffly, looking more like a soldier than George had ever seen him. “It’s no more dangerous than serving where I do now.”

George closed his eyes. Wrong thing to say, Andrew.

“You can’t,” Lady Manston said, struggling to her feet. “You can’t.”

Her voice began to break again, and George silently cursed Andrew for his lack of tact. He stepped forward. “Mother . . .”

“He can’t,” she choked out, her tortured eyes coming to rest on George’s face. “You must tell him . . . he can’t.”

George pulled his mother into his arms, meeting Andrew’s eyes over her head before murmuring, “We can discuss it later.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“I think you should lie down.”

“We should go home,” Lord Manston said.

They all turned. It was the first he had spoken since the terrible message had been delivered.

“We need to be at home,” he said.

It was Billie who sprang into action. “Of course,” she said, going quickly to his side. “You will be more comfortable there.” She looked over at George. “The last thing you need is this house party.”

George nearly groaned. He’d forgot all about the other guests. The thought of having to actually converse with any of them was excruciating. There would be questions, and condolences, never mind that none of them knew the first thing about Edward.

God, it was all so insignificant. This. The party. Everything but the people in this room.

He looked at Billie. She was still watching him, concern evident in every line of her face. “Has anyone told Mary?” she asked.

“I will do so now,” Felix said. “We will join you at Crake, if that suits. I’m sure she will wish to be with her family. We have no need to go back to Sussex immediately.”