For the hundredth time he glanced over at Charity. She lounged comfortably in one of the wingbacks, a lap rug tucked about her legs. Idly she traced her fingers over the embossed letters on the cover of a book she had yet to crack open. He frowned. Her bones were far too sharp beneath the soft fabric of her day gown, and those dark crescents beneath her eyes had yet to lighten. She’d come a long way since that eternal night when any breath might’ve been her last, but she was not her bonny self, either. A concern, that.
Would to God it were his only one.
He shifted on the sofa, giving up on reading the newspaper he’d already folded and refolded into oblivion. When he wasn’t anxiously attending his sister, his head was filled with worry for Juliet. She’d been in that horrid gaol for three days now. How did she fare? He ought to call on her, demand answers to the questions that’d gnawed his mind raw, but Charity had needed him here. Leastwise that’s what he kept telling himself.The truth was—God forgive him—he couldn’t bear the thought of facing Juliet, looking into the depths of those sage eyes, and witnessing guilt instead of innocence.
Absently, he drummed his finger against the paper, ignoring the headlines. He’d questioned every one of the staff about the poisoning, twice over for Woodley and the kitchen servants, which had gotten him exactly nowhere. It still appeared Juliet could be guilty of slipping that laudanum into Charity’s cup … and yet, something about it refused to settle.
If this had been her grand scheme all along, why hadn’t she played her hand more carefully? Surely she could not be responsible for the tormenting notes and flowers, for she had no reason to believe he would take her in as an assistant rather than have her hanged for poaching. And after he had done so, well … why poison Charity? Why risk her place, her future, with something so sloppy—so obvious?
Blast it all! He pinched the bridge of his nose mercilessly. If only he knew the truth!
Outside, hoofbeats pounded against the gravel drive. He snapped up his head, glad for a diversion, and tossed the paper aside. Striding to the window, he pulled the sheers back with a sweep of his hand and peered through the wavy glass. A man in a black riding coat dismounted from a sturdy bay, landing strongly on his right leg. Though the visitor’s back was turned, Henry’s gut tightened. He didn’t need to see the face.
He knew.
Wheeling about, he dashed from the room, making it to the front hall the same time as Mrs. Hamby’s dark skirts swished into view from the opposite corridor.
He waved her away. “Thank you, but I will handle this.”
One of her brows arched in curiosity, yet she dipped her head. “As you wish, sir.”
By the time he reached for the knob, she’d already vanished down the passageway. Exhaling sharply to maintain control, he yanked open the door and then widened his stance on the threshold. The man would have to take him down bodily if he tried to enter.
“Parker,” he said through clenched teeth. “What are you doing here?”
“Ever the gentleman as usual, I see.” Edwin Parker leaned on his cane, his deep-set eyes raking over Henry, assessing him as he might a head of cattle to be purchased … looking for weaknesses. “But since you insist on forgoing manners and coming to the point, I shall play along.” His chin angled like a man spoiling for a brawl. “I am calling to see how your sister fares.”
Despite the astonishment washing over him, Henry kept his tone even. “My sister is no concern of yours. I believe she made that clear to you last year before you trotted off to the military.”
Parker winced ever so slightly.
Ahh, a direct hit—one that should feel as a victory. So why the sudden shame squeezing his chest?
Parker squared his shoulders, a bull about to charge. “That does not negate the fact that I still care for her, which is no crime.”
“No, but it is curious that after being home these past three months, you are suddenly so interested in her health.” Henry sucked in a breath, an ugly realization stealing the air he sought. “How the deuce do you know anything about my sister’s health?”
“Word travels.” Parker shrugged a shoulder, completely nonchalant. “And Dr. Branch is my physician as well.”
“He breached confidence with you!”
“Calm down. All your Russell secrets are still intact. It was merely conversational, I assure you. But enough was saidfrom him—and other contacts—to know Charity may have been poisoned, and even now Miss Finch is behind bars because of it.”
Henry gripped the doorjamb. Of course tongues wagged. Always did and always would. But to think of his sister’s and Juliet’s names being bantered about in a pub like yesterday’s news did not go down well.
Parker shook his head, a slight smirk twitching one side of his mouth. “Come, now. Not even you are above gossip. But that is beside the point. How is Charity?”
“Why do you not ask Dr. Branch?” He huffed. “I am sure he will tell you.”
“Do you never tire of chewing on sour grapes? I am here in goodwill, nothing more.” Parker held his gaze, unflinching.
He was a bold man, Henry would give him that. One who apparently still harboured affection for his sister despite past circumstances … just as he could not seem to banish his feelings towards Juliet. A tiny tendril of empathy broke through the hard ground of his heart. Perhaps he was being a bit of a brute. “Pardon me, Parker. I am … out of sorts. It has been a grueling week.”
Hah. What an understatement. The past several months had been taxing.
“Believe it or not, I understand. We all have our crosses to bear.” A gust of wind caught the man’s hat. Leaning heavily on his cane for balance, Parker clapped his free hand atop it before the thing flew away.
Shame burned in Henry’s belly. Here he stood solidly on two legs when Parker had made the effort to ride over here hindered by a war injury. All the fight drained from him, and he softened his tone. “My sister is on the mend. She is weak, but getting stronger every day, thank God.”
