“Perhaps.” She swallowed hard—blast it, she’d seen his moment of doubt—but kept her composure. “Which means this isn’t only about Charity anymore.”
He turned towards the fire, heart hammering. “And—things are escalating.”
Skirts shushed behind him. “Henry …” A light touch landed on his sleeve. “Believe me, I want to find whoever’s doing this as much as you do.”
“I know,” he said hoarsely.
His gaze flicked towards the doorway where Charity had gone. “I suppose it is one thing to be angry, and quite another to be frightened.”
“And … you’re frightened,” Juliet whispered.
“For both of you,” he admitted.
They stood there in fragile quiet for several breaths before Juliet murmured, “Then let us continue to work together to end it.”
Henry exhaled slowly, his anger cooled by her calm strength. He gave her no answer, though, for in truth he was beginning to wonder if he should cut her free to escape whatever danger might be coming their way next.
“Henry? You do want me to stay, do you not?”
Before he could speak again, the door burst open and Mrs. Hamby hurried inside, wringing her hands. “Sir—you must come at once!”
Henry’s stomach clenched. “What is it?”
“It’s Miss Charity.” The housekeeper’s voice trembled. “She’s fainted.”
Chapter 17
Three long days. Three longer nights … and this one wasn’t even over yet. Juliet yawned large and long as she swung around to the corridor leading to the kitchen. A stout spot of tea would be just the thing to keep her awake the rest of the night. Hopefully.
A slight glow crept out of Henry’s study as she walked past. Apparently Molly had forgotten to bank the fire, which would make it harder for the young maid to refresh it in the morning. Juliet backtracked, then hesitated. Should she go ahead and do the task herself, or did Henry hold his study as sacrosanct?
And why was she even considering carrying out such a duty as if she herself were the maid?
She pressed her hand against the doorframe, taken aback by just how much she’d changed over the past year. Menial chores didn’t seem degrading anymore, but rather a mark of endurance, of a strength she would not have known she’d possessed had she not been forced into such a situation. Maybe this change—this situation, even—was not an obliteration of who she was but rather a foundation of who she might become.
“Juliet?”
She froze at the deep voice. “Henry?” Tentatively, she stepped past the threshold, holding out her lamp.
The master of Bedford Manor slouched in a chair near the hearth, his long legs stretched towards the flames. Spare light flickered across his features, riding the sharp cut of his jaw andaccentuating the furrows carved into his brow. His shirtsleeves were rolled to his elbows, skin and muscle exposed. Stubble darkened his face, the weariness in his eyes even darker. His tousled hair caught what little light there was, the golden strands painting a halo.
Her breath caught in her throat, and it took several tries to get words out. “Why are you sitting in the dark? You should be abed by now.”
“So should you.” He rose like a panther, silent and sleek, jabbing at the fire with a poker until flames licked upwards. After tossing on several logs, he lit a thin twig of kindling and then set the candles to life on each side of the mantel mirror, significantly brightening the room before dropping back to his chair. “Come. Sit with me a moment. I would speak with you.”
She took the small sofa opposite him, wary as she settled the folds of her skirts. They’d hardly said a thing to each other since that horrible night when, in spite of his words, she’d read flickers of doubt in his eyes about her green ribbon, and Charity had taken ill with bilious fever. He’d never accused her of anything outright, but even if he’d wanted to, there’d simply been no time. When he wasn’t sitting with his sister, she was. They were two ships merely passing in a sea of worry over Charity’s welfare. What prodded him to seek her out now?
He steepled his long fingers beneath his chin, his grey-green eyes solemn as a clergyman’s. “I wanted to thank you for caring so tenderly for my sister. You have gone beyond anything I have asked of you.”
She blinked. Gratitude was the last thing she expected from him. “I want to see Charity recover every bit as much as you.”
“I believe you do.”
“Do you?” Heat crept up her neck, spreading to her cheeks. “I thought perhaps you might not trust me anymore, I mean sincethe ribbon incident, and … well … I suppose you have reason not to, considering how we met.”
“You had cause,” he said gently. The fierceness in his eyes softened enough to disarm her.
“I am sorry, you know.” She shifted on the cushion, gown rustling, leather creaking. “I do not remember if I told you that yet, but regardless, it was wrong of me to steal from you. From anyone, actually. I should have …”
