“I do hope so. It’s such a rare pleasure to meet someone new in Bedford.” She rapped her fan against the door. “Well, I won’t keep you. Mother’s waiting. Until tomorrow, perhaps?” Clara gave a cheery wave. “Drive on.”
As the carriage rolled away, Juliet let out a slow breath. If Clara suspected anything, she didn’t show it. Only a woman curious about a newcomer—and possibly protective of a man she cared for.
Juliet strolled onwards, turning onto the lane leading to the manor. It was cooler here, beneath a canopy of coloured leaves. The loamy fragrance of autumn was magical in its scent. She wouldn’t be surprised in the least to come across a fairy or woodland nymph on such an enchanted morn.
But all those charming notions flew from her head the moment she heard a low moan from the side of the road. Alarmed, she veered aside and peered into the undergrowth,only to spy Mr. Dankworth pressing his fingers against a rather nasty goose egg on his head. “Mr. Dankworth! Are you all right?”
His brows drew into a dark scowl. “Eh?”
She edged closer, cautious. “Do you need help? That is quite a bump you have suffered.”
“No,” he growled, lumbering upright with a sway that flattened the bracken beneath him. “I’m fine.”
“You do not look it.” She scanned the woods beyond him, an uneasy prickle rising along her spine. “What happened?”
“I was out walking. There’s no law against it.” He jerked his head towards the trees. “Ran afoul of some fearsome roots on those alders, blasted things.”
Juliet looked hard at the spot. Sure enough, there were roots … and also the perfect vantage point to spy on the lane to the manor—the very lane Charity would travel along on her way home from church.
“You were off the road, then?” Juliet asked.
He sniffed, a sly grin twisting his mouth. “Sometimes the crow flies where the fox won’t tread. And a man, well … a man’s feet follow his secrets.”
Her stomach tightened.
“I haven’t seen you in the woods lately,” Mr. Dankworth went on, eyes narrowing. “Though I hear you’ve been cozy with the Russells.”
She stiffened. “How would you know about that?”
“I may keep to myself, but I am not blind,” he muttered. “A man notices things. Especially when someone new strays into places they don’t belong. The owl sees by night what the day won’t tell. A girl as lovely as sunshine.”
A girl?
She squared her shoulders. “Are you watching me, Mr. Dankworth? Or Charity Russell?”
His laugh came sudden and loud, sending the crows screaming skyward. But the humour died quick as he stabbed a finger her way. “You’d be wise to watch yourself. Not everything hiding in these woods means you well. The tree that looks sound may be hollow inside.”
And with that cryptic warning, he staggered off, melting into the greenery like he’d never been there at all.
Gnawing the inside of her cheek, she continued on her way. Henry had seemed certain his stern warning to Mr. Parker last evening would put a stop to his sister’s torment, but after this odd encounter, she wasn’t quite as sure. There was something off about Mr. Dankworth—and always had been. He was a shadow gatherer. A lurker. The reclusive sort who might fixate on a woman with only heaven knew what going on in his mind. And he certainly paid close attention to the manor.
She glanced over her shoulder, half expecting to catch sight of his dark eyes peering at her from the foliage at the side of the road.
Perhaps Henry had been wrong. Perhaps it wasn’t a jilted suitor who plagued his sister, but a rambling, unhinged man who hid away in his house in the woods.
The moment Henry stepped through the doors of Bedford Manor, he doffed his hat and set it on the entry table, then immediately loosened his cravat. Ahh, that felt better. Naturally it was right to dress smartly for Sunday services, but there was nothing like peeling off starched garments for something more comfortable.
Charity untied her bonnet ribbons as the footman approached, his footsteps muted against the Turkish runner. “Adelivery arrived during your absence, sir. I left it on the salver in the drawing room.”
“Thank you, Woodley.” His gaze flicked to the stairs, the temptation strong to first go change into his worn linen shirt and woolen banyan—a perfect ensemble for a lazy Sunday afternoon … one well deserved after all the stress of late.
But curiosity won out.
He strode down the corridor, Charity on his heels. His lips slanted into a smirk. “I thought your shoes were too tight.” After entering the drawing room, he swiped up a thick packet.
“I thought your frock coat was too stiff. We are a pair, are we not?” She smiled. “But a delivery on Sunday morning is too unique to pass up. I’m just glad for once it is you to receive a mysterious post.”
“Hopefully last evening will stop any further posts for you.”
