Their conversation waned after that, which was just as well. Thoughts of Henry’s dedication to his sister crowded out further words, the longing to be the object of such a devotion welling in her throat. Not that her mother and brother hadn’t loved her, but to such a degree? Her father had always been too preoccupied with his precious books and ledgers. Of course Aunt Margaret had done her best to make her feel welcomed in her home, but as family, she probably felt it was her duty. An obligation, not a choice.
But Henry, well, there was just something untamed about the way he loved. He was fierce and steady, a solid oak withstanding any storm. What would it feel like to be adored by a man like that, not out of compulsion or shared blood, but for herself alone?
Her thoughts flicked to Charity’s earlier words.“I suspect Henry’s affections are directed towards a different quarter.”
Juliet’s steps slowed. Had she imagined the look in his eyes the night of the bonfire? Or the heat of his hand brushinghers outside the ballroom—and inside, that waltz? Surely those moments had meant something.
And yet … what if she was wrong?
Pah. She kicked at a pebble, watching it skitter into the darkness at the side of the walkway. What an outlandish thought. Despite the small hope she’d harboured ever since he’d spun her around on the dance floor, she—a penniless poacher—didn’t stand a chance with a man of Henry’s station.
“Juliet.” Her name was barely a shiver as Charity pointed a trembling finger.
Tensing, she narrowed her eyes, staring into the shadows where the dark shape of a man stood half hidden behind a towering yew at the edge of the garden. With one quick swipe of her arm, she relegated Charity behind her and picked up a rock. A poor weapon—unless aimed right.
“Who is there?” she asked with more bravado than she felt. “Make yourself known at once!”
The yew rustled as a man sidestepped from it, the hem of his coat pulling a limb along for the ride. It was too dark to make out the details of his face—particularly since he wore a hat pulled low over his brow. He didn’t advance any closer, though, thankfully. He just dipped his head. “Miss Finch. Miss Russell.”
She knew that raspy voice. Her grip on the rock loosened. While she remained on alert, at least the panicky race of her heart calmed down. “Mr. Dankworth, what are you doing here?”
He ambled a step forwards, boots silent on the grass. “Came by to speak to Mr. Russell … about that wine shipment of his father’s. Found him occupied. Didn’t seem right to interrupt. A bloom unbidden heralds ruin.”
“Then why not wait inside?” Juliet pressed.
Mr. Dankworth’s lips curled at the edge—not quite a smile, though. “Walls stifle truth. Folk talk freer when they think they’re alone. And the night listens better than any servant.” Hisgaze lingered on Charity. “You learn more in shadow than you ever will in candlelight. That’s where the real things whisper.”
Juliet’s stomach turned. “Enough riddles. State your business or be gone.”
“Not anorbut anand.Two birds, you know.” His voice dropped low, his gaze fixed on Charity. “But here’s a thought for you to chew on—when the crow leaves feathers on your doorstep, is it a gift … or a warning?”
Charity edged closer to Juliet. “Let’s go back to the house.”
Juliet clenched her jaw. “Next time, Mr. Dankworth … announce yourself.”
He tugged his hat lower. “But then the story’s already written. I prefer to turn the page when no one is looking. Good night, Miss Finch, Miss Russell.” His gaze lingered on Charity to the point that Juliet opened her mouth to confront such boldness.
But then he retreated, melting into the night like he’d never been there at all.
“I don’t like the way he looked at me,” Charity whispered.
Juliet faced her with a cheerful smile, hopefully easing some of the woman’s anxiety. “Do not fret. I have found Mr. Dankworth to be quite harmless.”
A correct enough statement, for now. People changed, some for the better, others for worse. Even if it were true that he took interest in a wine shipment, why had he been here in the garden, watching them stroll along?
“Well.” Charity clutched her shawl tightly to her neck. “I am going in.”
She bypassed Juliet, her steps crunching gravel. Juliet stared long and hard into the darkness, making sure Mr. Dankworth hadn’t doubled back for any nefarious reasons. Nothing good ever crept out of the gloom, so she kept hold of the rock.
“Oh!” Charity’s cry mingled with a hard crunch of pea gravel.
Juliet ran down the path and, when she rounded a corner, stopped in front of Charity, who lay sprawled in a heap on the gravel. “Charity!” She dropped to her knees, wildly assessing the woman. “Are you all right?”
“I am fine, just—” She pressed her fingers to her side, brow tightening.
“You are a very pretty liar. Let me help you up.” She slid an arm around Charity’s shoulders, lifting her to her feet.
“Thank you.” Charity pulled away, brushing crushed leaves from her skirt.
