“For the same reason Langdon is here, to rescue you from our own foolishness.” Releasing his hair, he scratched at his jaw. “Which brings me back to my point. What were you thinking?”
“Don’t lecture me, cousin. I asked Stanton on more than one occasion to investigate the problems at Upper Waverley. He informed you and yet you ignored the situation as he did. I had little choice but to act on my own.”
“I heeded your letters. Why do you think Stanton ordered the original inquiry?” he asked in a more subdued tone.
“You chose not to tell me about his investigation, why?” Every day she lived and breathed the pain of the villagers. It was she they came to speak of their grievances. Had her husband still been alive, he would have inherited the keep and had free rein to help those in need. Harold was no longer alive, and she would soon be at the mercy of the man sitting across from her. Waverly Park belonged to Farnsworth at her father’s wishes.
He shrugged broad shoulders and shifted in his seat. The hat nearly fell off his lap, but he caught it at the last moment. “I was satisfied with the report.”
“Well you were wrong, and I will prove it.” The invoice tucked inside her handkerchief made it even more imperative that she continue her investigation. A mysterious third smuggler had knowledge about her that would be catastrophic if it ever came to light. An invisible noose was tightening around her neck.
“Finding proof is not your arena, Mrs. Adare,” Langdon said, twisting to meet her indignant regard. “I have indulged your desire to take part in this case for far too long and now I insist you stay out of my investigation.”
Elizabeth crossed her arms and met him glare for glare. His anger was palpable. Her own temper paralleled his. She had right on her side, and he was being unreasonable. “You can insist all you want, but the villagers are depending upon me to aid them. I will not let them down.”
“As noble as your intentions are, Mrs. Adare, your behavior was foolhardy and could easily have ruined the very investigation you claim to aid. You were fortunate Mr. Pike was impervious to your machinations, but what if he mentions your visit to Randell or Cane?” Langdon asked, his frame rigid.
Elizabeth tapped her foot in agitation, doubt setting in. She was impetuous by nature and often barreled into the fray without thought of the consequences. Was this a step too far? “Randell is aware of my investigation. It wouldn’t surprise him.”
“There is a third smuggler. We both heard Randell and Cane say the man is prone to violence.” He gripped the head of his ebony cane with enough force to whiten his knuckles. “You have needlessly put not only your life, but Farnsworth’s and my own, in peril.”
The implication of his words churned Elizabeth’s stomach. She stared outside at the passing houses, tears blurring her vision. If he or Farnsworth were harmed in any way because of her rash actions she would never forgive herself. She blinked back the moisture and clenched the handkerchief in her hand. The stiff paper of the invoice that was wrapped in the fabric vindicated her actions. Had she not gone to Pike’s office, she wouldn’t have discovered the invoice linking Jones—another key player in her investment scheme—to Zander. It was a bittersweet victory.
The carriage stopped before the Coburn home, a much welcome relief. She needed to be alone so she could think. A footman opened the door and Langdon hopped out.
He held his hand out to her and she locked eyes with him. Frostiness rested in his regard. She stepped down, more upset by his continued anger than she wanted to admit. He made to take her elbow, but she moved out of his grasp. A single tear coursed down her cheek as she ran up the stoop. The second the door opened, her breath caught on a sob. With the weight of the world on her shoulders, she raced up the stairs, all the while praying she hadn’t ruined everything.
Chapter Eighteen
Langdon returned to the Coburn mansion at Mrs. Adare’s request. He followed a maid through the garden door, his curiosity piqued. Elizabeth was perched on a wooden bench in the small garden, an unopened book clutched in her ungloved hands. She turned her head at his approach, a liquid sheen to her puffy eyes.
The maid bobbed a curtsy before she disappeared back into the house.
Peony bushes were flush with pink blooms, a handful of bees buzzing around, breaking the silence that strained between them. He shifted on one booted foot and removed the pesky gloves. She was still upset, it was clear in the lines around her downturned mouth. No matter how emotionally ravaged her face, she still stole his breath with her beauty. It was a dangerous emotion to feel for a woman that he was supposed to have no romantic interest in.
“I am pleased you agreed to come.” She gripped the spine of the book tighter, her knuckles whitening.
Her hands were pale and delicate, belying her inner strength. As infuriating as she could be, he had no interest in fighting with her. His anger had faded into resignation. There was no turning back the clock. “It is my pleasure.”
“I owe you an apology.” She inhaled a visible breath beneath the high neckline of her pale green dress. The frothy lace brushed the underside of her chin. With her hair pulled back from her face, she appeared young and vulnerable. “I realize the rashness of my actions. My only hope is Randell does not find out about today’s fiasco.”
“I spoke out of turn, Mrs. Adare.” He had given it much thought over the course of the afternoon. The situation with Pike was unfortunate but not the end of the world. Farnsworth had paid him well.
“No, you were right. Pike need only describe the scene in his office and Randell would know.” She placed the book on the seat next to her and lifted her hand. One slender fingertip brushed across her arched eyebrow. Her nails were short and rounded. A simple band ringed her finger. Her wedding ring.
