“Hah!” he spat. “Many a lie is garbed as a truism.”
“Then I suppose it is up to you to decide which it is. In the meantime, keep your distance from me or you may find yourself on the wrong side of those bars you are so quick to lock me behind.” He rapped the end of his cane against the tile. “And with that, I bid you good night, for I find I tire of this whole charade.”
He bypassed him with a swing of his cane against Henry’s shin. An accident?
Or a power play?
Juliet tensed as Henry strode away with Mr. Parker, the man’s uneven gait a detriment to keeping up with Henry’s long legs. Henry’s steps were measured but not stilted, his voice hadn’t rasped, nor his face hardened into a mask of steel. But a layer beneath that reserve? Fury boiled. She sensed it in her gut, unsure whether she ought to admire his restraint or be unnerved by the simmering intensity of it. Either way, there was no denying he was a passionate man … which blew life into a reckless, foreign craving to be the one who evoked that fire.
Then be the one to calm it.
Charity stepped closer to her, the slight rustle of her silk skirts blending with the music filtering in from the ballroom. A few eager patrons filed in the door and, upon seeing her and Charity, strolled to the farthest table loaded with auction items.
“Perhaps,” Charity murmured, “we should stop this before Henry does something we are all sure to regret. It’s not as if Mr. Parker said anything patently offensive.”
“True.” She pulled her gaze from Henry. “Yet sometimes the danger lies not in a person’s words but in the spaces between them.”
Charity bit her lip, one finger brushing absently along the scrolls of a silver candelabra on the auction table. “You don’t understand. That’s just his way.”
“You defend him?” Interesting. Did she harbour feelings for the man? Juliet peered deeply into the woman’s eyes, seeking truth. “Do you regret breaking things off with Mr. Parker?”
Charity glanced over her shoulder, clearly seeking the object of their conversation. He stood as a ramrod, face a mask, apparently repelling whatever Henry said with posture alone. At length, she once again faced Juliet. “No. What was between us could not have been. Not then. I did the right thing.”
“And now?”
“Now?” She glanced up at the chandeliers as if the answer might be found in candlelight. “No,” she whispered, then snapped her eyes back to Juliet. “No,” she repeated louder. “I suspect we are very different people than who we used to be, though I confess I don’t wish to see him like this.”
Juliet watched Parker thoughtfully. He had come upon her and Charity so quickly she’d had no time to steer her friend out of his path, and though he’d said little, the sheer force of his presence had required of her a conscious effort to withstand. “Well, he certainly is bitter. And blunt. He had no right to comment on Henry’s choices—or mine. He does not even know me. And how did he hear you were planning to leave for Italy?”
One of her slim shoulders rose, the golden organza on her gown shimmering in the light. “He’s always had a way ofknowing things about me, which I admit is unnerving. But I don’t believe he meant any harm in greeting me here tonight.”
“Maybe not, but there’s something about the way he speaks—as if everything is a test. I could be wrong, but I can’t seem to shake the feeling that he wants me gone … or did during our conversation. I think he wished to speak to you alone. Though, I suppose he didn’t say any of that aloud. It was more the tone. The way he asked about my presence here. Not suspicious, exactly—just … guarded.”
Charity laid her fingers on her sleeve, giving a little squeeze. “Mr. Parker enjoys being perplexing. You are giving him more power than he deserves.”
Was she? He hadn’t threatened her, not directly. And still, the way his voice dropped when he spoke—low, deliberate. Calculated. It echoed in her mind …“Be careful whom you trust.”That had been his parting remark. It could have been a warning. Or it could’ve been genuine concern. She didn’t know him well enough to be sure.
“I just don’t trust him,” she said softly. “Not yet. Charity, tell me true, do you think he is resentful enough to be the one behind the letters, the flowers, the threats?”
“Edwin Parker is a complex man. Difficult at times. Imprudent at others. But …” Her gaze crept to the two men huddled in the corner, her lips pursing before she continued. “He loved me once—ardently—and a love like that never really fades.” She looked back at Juliet. “Does it?”
“Perhaps not, but bitterness can cause love to twist into a distorted version of what it used to be. Something sharp, cutting deeper than any blade.” She pressed her hand to her chest as her own words sliced into her. She’d harboured—nay, cherished—bitterness for so long now that it’d carved a hole where a soft heart had once beaten. She’d clung to her father’s betrayal, the immense pain of it, like a drowning woman holding to a log,all the while not realizing the very thing she’d held on to might eventually pull her under. Forever.Shewas the one twisted. The one still bleeding from a wound she refused to bind.
But how to break free from that which she’d embraced for so long?
A sigh breathed out of Charity. “I suppose that is why forgiveness is so vital. The worst of us—even Mr. Parker—deserves such mercy, for is that not why our blessed Saviour came to earth in the first place?”
“Oh, how I envy your faith,” Juliet whispered, the admission slipping out before she could trap it behind her teeth.
Charity angled her head. “What was that?”
“Nothing.” Bah. This strange fire in her chest was far more than nothing. She smiled against the sting of tears. She hadn’t felt such a stirring in her soul since before her father’s disgrace, a yearning not just to believe in God, but to trust in Him, to surrender and be at peace.
And oh, what she wouldn’t give for a little peace.
“Look, here comes my brother.” Charity rose to her toes, neck craning. “And there goes Mr. Parker.”
Henry swooped over like a bat from a cave, coattails flapping behind. “We are leaving at once.”
