Though he found her explanation rather muddled, Jonathan gleaned enough to feel a flood of relief. “If you say it was a mistake, I believe you. I’m very happy to believe you. I was beginning to fear you’d raised my hopes only for the greater satisfaction of dashing them.”
She shook her head fervently. “Of course not. I’ll explain later, but first we must fetch a physician.”
“Dot decessary.” Ah, here was the congestion setting in. And now that his mental distress had eased, his awareness of his physical distress was magnified. He began to scratch wildly. “I’ll be all right id ad hour or two—here—if I may?—”
Retrieving the wine-stained handkerchief, he blew his nose fiercely.
A sudden thundering of hooves drew their attention to the barbican. Jonathan was puzzled to see naught but a one-horse sleigh pass beneath it—until a chaise-and-four followed behind.
A chaise-and-four that Jonathan, with a sinking heart, instantly recognized.
When the sleigh came to a halt, Noah leapt out. “Good Lord, Rathborne, what happened to your face?”
“Chapped by the wind,” Claire answered promptly. “I take it you found Lord Milstead?”
“I did.” Noah’s lip curled as he offered a hand to help Miss Harris dismount. “His lordship wisely chose to await his baggage at the stables.”
Jonathan briefly wondered what Noah had done to the villain. It must have been quite the spectacle, for Miss Harris looked fit to burst.
“And then just up the road,” Noah went on, his eyes straying to Jonathan, “we met with an unexpected traveler. Rathborne, I don’t suppose you were expecting?—”
“My mother?” Jonathan turned a stony gaze on Claire. “I most certainly was not.”
Noah glanced between the two of them, looking bewildered. “Claire invited her?”
“No!” She scowled back at them both. “Why would I?”
“That’s what I’m wondering,” Jonathan said. “If it’s not your way of strong-arming me into some harebrained ‘confrontation’—”
“I’d never do that,” she protested.
He shrugged. “Then I suppose it must be your coup de grace.”
“Must it?” She planted her hands on her hips. “Could your dear maman not have come here of her own accord?”
“No, she couldn’t; I told no one at Twineham where I was going. Someone here must have invited her, and who besides you could have any reason to do so?”
“I don’t know! All I know is I had nothing to do with it.”
“Right,” Jonathan said flatly. “Just as you had nothing to do with poisoning me, starving me, or hiding my clothes.”
Noah bristled. “What’s all this, Claire?”
She stayed her brother with a raised hand. “Jonathan, I?—”
“It’s all right, Claire. Truly.” He was sincere. If he still reeled to think of the ruthlessness with which she’d pursued her vengeance, he could scarcely blame her for seeking it—not after learning today just how much harm he’d caused her. “It was no more than I deserved. But I’ve had enough.”
He turned to go, wondering whether this was the end for him and Claire. Was there too much hurt between them to ever be properly healed?
“Wait!” she called after him, but (hastened by his determination to avoid his mother’s presence) Jonathan was already gaining the entrance hall. From the commotion behind him, he gathered Claire would not follow him inside—at least, not until she’d satisfied her brother.
By then Jonathan hoped to be safe behind the locked door of his chamber. He would pack up (what remained of) his belongings, order his carriage, and leave this madhouse far behind.
Great hurry that he was in, it was no surprise when he tripped and fell on the upstairs landing. Rubbing a banged (and itchy) elbow, he looked to see what had obstructed his path. It appeared someone had dropped a book in the middle of the corridor.
A rather battered and ink-stained book.
Thirteen
