She hadn’t been thinking clearly when she’d started cutting and sewing. She’d just needed something—anything—to occupy her hands. But now, the coat she’d made for the captain was finished, the shirt nearly so, and she wondered if she should give the captain so intimate a gift.
Why shouldn’t she thank him?
After all, he’d saved Thaddeus’s life. And, the high stakes of the moment forgave his discourtesy in the aftermath, even if he hadn’t apologized.
She drew the shirt into her lap and plied her needle.
After a few failed starts, she’d settled on a design that had seams that, instead of circling the shoulder, ran from under the arm directly to the collar, allowing, as she’d hoped, for a wider range of movement.
She placed the last stitch, tied off the thread, and then shook out the shirt.
Mrs. Renton came into the room. “I’ll take over for a while. You rest.”
“Thank you.” Penelope folded the shirt and picked up the coat. “I believe I’ll take some air.”
Halfway down the stairs, she heard the rattling of carriage wheels and raised, raucous voices.
Her heart sank.
Her reprieve had ended. Anthony and his coterie had returned.
The butler Anthony hired rushed to open Ithwick’s door.
Anthony was first inside. “What? No sign of the intrepid Mrs. Renton?”
“Mrs. Renton’s seeing to the young master,” the butler replied.
“What has the miscreant done now?”
“He’s been ill, sir. Following a nasty encounter with an adder in the forest.”
Anthony cocked his head in a way that made Penelope’s blood run cold.
She read in his expression the truth she’d only just suspected—the man-trap had been intentionally set and purposely concealed, and the target had been her son.
As for the adders—they could have been an accident, or they could have been insurance.
She set down the shirt and coat on the stairs and then strode down the rest of the steps and across the hall.
“Do you think you are clever?” she demanded of Anthony.
All chatter ceased.
“You aren’t clever.” Tears threatened in her eyes. “You”—she shoved him with all her might—“are a brute.”
Anthony restrained her with ease, twisting both of her hands behind her back. She didn’t care. He could hurt her all he wished. In the end, he would get his due.
“What”—he seethed—“are you talking about?”
“How dare you threaten my son’s life?”
He paled. “Penelope, sweet,” his voice was soft, “you know I wouldneverdo anything to harm the boy. Thaddeus is like a son to me. I’d protect him with my life. Wouldn’t I, fellows?”
His friends joined together in a chorus of agreement.
“Are you telling me you had nothing to do with the poacher’s trap intentionally set on Ithwick land? Either you’re an even poorer steward than I thought, or you’re lying.”
“If someone did set the trap,” Lord Thomas spoke from the rear of the group, “my money is on the lame beggar.”
