With that, Henry made his way out into the chilly night to stand guard over the woman he loved. A woman who, at present, wanted nothing to do with him.
Although she had asked him to keep his distance, fifty paces from the boathouse would have to suffice.
The following morning, exhausted to the marrow after keeping watch through the night, Henry returned to the manor. He washed, grateful for the awakening splash of icy cold water, and changed for his meeting with Walter.
He did not want his brother to be the culprit but, at that moment, he just wanted to be able to holdsomeoneresponsible.
What if itwasjust an accident? How foolish will I look?He could not bear the thought as he donned his greatcoat and made his way downstairs.
Halfway down the last set, he halted.
Standing by the silver post tray near the door was Thalia, sifting through the letters that had just arrived. A task for Mrs. Fisher or Baxter.
“Thalia, I—” he began, but her sharp glare stopped him.
“I am afraid I cannot pause to talk. Frances has just written to say she is coming to join me for tea, so I must ready myself,” she said crisply.
As she approached and made to move past him, so she could head up the stairs, every instinct screamed for him to grasp her by the arm, to stop her and tell her that he would stay forever. But the prospect of Walter’s potential part in her injury was still too strong, holding him back. Even his vague doubts about Baxter would have been reason enough to leave and never return.
“Enjoy your tea,” was all he could say.
“I will, thank you,” she replied flatly, as she breezed by him, leaving the scent of lavender and pine in the air. The perfume of the boathouse.
Henry lingered there for a short while, torn between running to her chamber door and riding out to meet the last suspect on his list for a second time.
Through the window, he saw his horse being led to the front of the porch… and his decision was made. And if his discussion with Walter came to naught, maybe then he would have to admit, to himself and to his wife, that the night of her accident was simply that: an accident.
As for the first incident four years ago. Maybe, that was just what it seemed too: a threat from an irate debt collector who could not wait any longer for Gibbs to give back what was owed. And the chances of Gibbs giving up the name of the person he had owed were nonexistent now.
But I can handle that in time. It is enough for me to be able to tell her that I will stay.
Encouraged and disheartened in equal measure, Henry strode out into the gray late morning, and rode out to meet with his brother.
“If you were hoping to catch Frances and James, they left hours ago,” Walter said with a smile, setting down the book he had been reading. “I would not dare to think you had solely come to see little old me.”
Henry stared at the book for a moment. He had seen it before, on Thalia’s bedside table: a romance novel.
“Ah, yes.” Walter held up the book, grinning. “I have been savoring all of the things I cannot easily get in Tangier.”
Henry frowned. “I did not come here for a discussion about your import difficulties,” Henry said curtly. “Indeed, I am not here to have a friendly conversation at all.”
Setting his book back down and crossing one leg over the other, Walter cast a curious gaze at his brother. “No, I sensed that with your oh-so warm greeting.” He sighed. “What is it that you wish to say to me? Am I to be scolded for absconding? Are you going to make me stay here in dreary England, being a dutiful brother?”
“I want to know when you returned?” Henry said coolly.
Walter seemed surprised by the question. “A week before the garden party, more or less. I spent a couple of days in London, recuperating from the voyage, visiting an old friend or two, and then I traveled here.”
“Have you proof of that?”
“I have the document from the dock officials at the London townhouse,” Walter said, sitting up straighter. “What is the meaning of this? Why are you asking me such things?”
Henry began to pace the somewhat gloomy drawing room, his attention split between a spreading patch of damp near the window and the tattered armrest of the settee. As he walked, he talked, detailing everything that had happened to Thalia, from the first incident to the second.
Walter listened without interruption, his mouth parted in shock, his eyes widening with every twist and dead end in the tale.
“I cannot guarantee my wife’s safety until I know who is responsible, and have dealt with them accordingly,” Henry concluded. “And the only person I have left on my list is you.”
His brother blinked as if he had been struck. “You thinkIdid this? Me? A man who has been, admittedly, in hiding for far longer than you have been married?”
