Chapter Twenty-Five
Letitia and Harriet stared open-mouthed at Paul as he broke the news to them as gently as possible.
Twenty-four hours had passed, during which most of the Ridlington and FitzArden households had restored themselves to some sort of normalcy. James had returned home, accepting an invitation to dinner the following evening.
Paul had slept most of the day, succumbing to the valerian tea made by Mrs. Hempstead after a recipe her grandmother swore worked. It had and he felt rested, refreshed and a lot less sore than he had the day before.
Rosaline had bathed and re-dressed his wound, announcing herself pleased with his progress. There were no signs of infection and already the bleeding had ceased.
Harriet had also slept, and now her cheeks had less the look of a marble statue and more the glow of a healthy young woman. Especially when she looked at Paul. The news that Pewsey had vanished from FitzArden Hall, along with all his belongings, was comforting.
Letitia observed all these things, aware that she’d not slept as well as she’d hoped. Her bed was cold and empty. And there was only one reason for that—James wasn’t in it.
This thought had haunted her all day, but was rapidly replaced by the revelations Paul was telling them about as they enjoyed a companionable sherry before dinner.
“Pewsey?” She all but shrieked the word at Paul.
“That arrogantsnirp?” Harriet’s question was posed in much the same tone.
Paul looked like he was trying not to laugh. “I see you are both familiar with the name…”
“Indeed,” snorted Letitia. “He was an applicant for a position with the stables. And I will say he was the worst flirt I’ve run into in quite some time. Terribly full of himself, and convinced he could bowl me over with his charm.”
“Did he?” inquired James casually.
She gave him a fiercely dismissive glare. “Even if hehadbeen possessed of an iota of charm, he would not have known how to bowl over a slow chicken, let alone a woman of good sense.”
“Ah.” James chuckled. “Well put.”
“Butwhy, Paul?” asked Harriet. “Why on earth is he interested in me? Why would he want to shoot me?”
Paul looked thoughtful. “We theorize that someone in London may be looking for you, Harry. And that must come as no surprise, given your hasty and thorough disappearance from your home…”
“I suppose not,” she answered. “But toshootme?”
“We’re not at all sure the shot was intended for you, dear,” said James in a calm tone. “It might have been a warning shot. Or even aimed at Paul if he were perceived to be your friend and thus a protector.”
Oddly, Harriet blushed “Oh.”
Letitia reminded herself to pursue that line of inquiry when she got Harriet alone. “So what do we do now?” She posed the question to the group in general.
“We eat,” said Rosaline, nodding at Chidwell. “Dinner, as I think Chidwell is about to tell us, is served.”
There was no chance for intimate conversation over the dining table, so it was much later that Letitia headed toward Harriet, intent upon discussing some personal matters with her, out of earshot of any of the male members of their gathering.
However, she never quite made it. James reached out and snagged her arm in passing. “We need to talk, my love.” His hand was warm, and the look in his eyes even warmer.
“Oh, yes, of course. Perhaps later…” Letitia hedged.
“Now, if you please.” He glanced at Rosaline. “I am taking Letitia for a brief turn around the terrace.”
Rosaline looked out the window at the snow then back at the two of them. “Are you? Well then. Wrap up warmly.”
“James,” Letitia’s heart thudded. “We can’t go outside. It’s snowing again.”
“We won’t freeze to death.” He walked her across the room. “Please carry on without us. We won’t be long.”
“James…” Letitia expostulated. “This is quite rude.”
