He cocked his head. “You did not.”
A grin spread as she pulled herself up into the saddle, yet she said nothing. Which was a blessing in disguise as far as he was concerned, for the way his thoughts mired in a muddle, conversation was out of the question.
They might have foiled the tormentor’s attempt to unseat Charity on a ride, but that didn’t negate the fact that the villain had been here and slipped from his grasp. How was he to protect his sister—and now Juliet—if he didn’t know who he was up against or when the cad might strike again? Now that he’d actually spotted the man, the danger felt all the more real.
Juliet shifted in the saddle, and he could sense the tension still radiating from her. He should say something. Anything. But what? That he regretted this? That he didn’t want her in harm’s way? That he was starting to care for her in ways that complicated this entire situation?
No, he couldn’t afford to think like that. Not now. He wasn’t a man prone to sentimentality and he must foremost think of his sister. She was his first concern.
But the night’s ride had made one thing all too clear. Juliet was becoming a close second … a complication he hadn’t anticipated.
Chapter 9
Cloudy mornings were meant for lolling about beneath a downy counterpane, surrendering to heavy eyelids and the cozy softness of a feather bed … especially when true sleep hadn’t arrived until just before dawn. Juliet yawned as she trod the corridor, feeling a little guilty that Charity and Henry would likely be finishing up their tea and toast by now. But after last night’s fruitless ride, she’d stared up at the lacy bed curtains, puzzling over the figure she’d barely caught a glimpse of. There was no way to identify who it had been, but circumstantially, Mr. Dankworth’s land did neighbour Bedford Manor in that particular corner of the estate. Maybe a visit to the hermit was in order—especially since the last nameless bouquet of flowers left on the manor’s front stoop had been a collection of wildflowers.
Flowers she knew grew on the man’s grounds.
Stifling one more yawn, she entered the breakfast room, then stopped, surprised to see another lady seated next to Charity. And what a lady. Her rich brown hair twisted into a lovely coil atop her head. Her skin was flawless on her heart-shaped face, highlighting dainty rose-red lips and eyes the blue of which could occupy a poet for years. Maybe decades. She was the kind of woman whose beauty might invite envy, a perfection that could easily spark rivalry amongst other ladies.
Henry stood. “Good morning, Miss Finch.” He dipped his head. “May I introduce a dear family friend, Miss Clara Whitmore. Clara, meet our houseguest, Miss Juliet Finch.”
Juliet dipped a curtsey. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Whitmore.”
“You as well, Miss Finch.” The woman nodded her greeting and then turned to Henry. “You are full of surprises, Henry. I wasn’t aware you were hosting a houseguest, especially now with Charity potentially traveling to Italy.”
He waited until Juliet sank into her seat, then reached for another piece of toast before he sat as well. “Miss Finch’s visit is rather unplanned, though her presence has been a great help to me.”
Clara’s eyebrows arched ever so slightly, though to her credit, her tone remained light. “How intriguing. You’ve never mentioned her before.”
Henry’s gaze flickered to Juliet, his face unreadable. “Miss Finch has been kind enough to lend her assistance in a … delicate matter involving the estate—one in which she is well versed.”
“Mmm.” Clara tilted her head as if deep in thought. “Between overseeing the estate and watching out for your sister’s well-being, I wager you’ll barely have a moment to yourself. Then again, you’ve always been rather adept at juggling multiple responsibilities.” She took a slow sip, her gaze sliding to Juliet with pointed interest. “But I admit it does make me wonder what could possibly demand so much of your attention that you’ve called in reinforcements.”
Juliet fought the urge to squirm on her chair. The woman’s unspoken question hung in the air like a noose waiting for a neck.
Time to steer the conversation onto safer ground. “I must say, Miss Whitmore, the view from Bedford Manor is quite stunning this time of year. You are blessed indeed to have such friends. It must be wonderful to visit whenever you like.”
“Yes, I’ve always loved coming here.” She sipped her tea. “There’s a peace to this place, the sort that makes one feel they belong here.”
Charity patted Clara’s arm. “Of course you do. Our families have been intertwined for generations.”
“And hopefully for many more generations to come.” She lifted her cup high. “To good friends.”
“Hear, hear!” Henry grinned, the clink of his cup along with Charity’s and Clara’s a cheerful sound for such a dreary morning.
It was an intimate exchange, wholly natural of course, and yet a bittersweet pang sank deep in Juliet’s chest. This was something she couldn’t be a part of. Could never be part of again. She busied herself with buttering a piece of toast, hoping to ease the uncomfortable knot in her stomach.
Clara set down her cup. “So, Miss Finch, have you been enjoying your stay?”
“Very much.” She smiled, astonished at the truth in her words. Though she’d been here little more than a week—and she missed her aunt—somehow she’d settled right into manor life, albeit not in a role she would have chosen.
“I would expect as much.” Clara dabbed her lips with the corner of a linen serviette. “It is serene here, tucked away in the countryside. I find there’s something about these quieter places that soothes the soul, don’t you think?”
“I could not agree more.” And she couldn’t. Life at Bedford Manor was much less stressful than scrapping about for her next meal in the dark of night.
“I always breathe a little easier when I come for a visit. Oh, Charity, your cup is empty, dearest.” Clara reached for the teapot and poured some of the tepid brew, then turned back to Juliet. “I hope you’ve had the chance to enjoy the grounds. I find agood walk through the gardens or a ride across the fields is so invigorating.”
Juliet took a bite of her toast, hardly tasting the creaminess of the butter. It had been so long since she had been able to stroll through manicured gardens without a care or ride a horse simply for the pleasure of it.
