With a candlestick in his hand, he made his way to the nursery suite and pushed open the main door. Save for the firelight, all was dark, and he could see both girls asleep in their canopied beds.
He leaned in farther. Miss Hale was seated by the fire, reading. A shawl was draped over her thin shoulders, her chestnut hair bound at the nape of her neck and trailing down her back. Her feet were tucked casually beneath her.
It was such a peaceful sight—one that conjured pleasant memories of happier times.
He shifted, and the floorboard squeaked beneath him. At the sound she looked up, lowered her book, and joined him in the corridor.
Once she had pulled the door to the nursery closed behind her, he said, “I’d hoped to see the girls before they went to bed.”
The shadows from his candle played on the smooth surface of her fair cheek as she spoke. “I know they would like to see you. They missed seeing you for your regular evening visit. I can wake them if you wish.”
“No, no. That’s not necessary. But I do wish to speak with you. Can you join me in the drawing room?”
As soon as his request left his lips, he realized that he’d put them both in a precarious situation. It was one thing to speak briefly just outside the nursery door. But no good could come from a quiet chat with her in the hushed night hours after such a tumultuous day. Not when emotions ruled his thoughts and the future remained so uncertain.
She hesitated momentarily, and yet she complied and together they made their way to the drawing room. Once they were in the firelit chamber, it was clear that the day’s events had taken their toll on her. Every other instance he’d been in her presence, her countenance had been alert and bright, her manner sanguine and confident. But tonight her face was pale, and shadows darkened the soft skin beneath her eyes.
The sight of Miss Hale’s sorrow, her pain, affected him. He wanted to help her, to alleviate her distress, but he wasn’t sure what to say.
How long had it been since he consoled a woman?
Snippets of time and fragments of conversations with Elizabeth flashed in his mind.
And the battle raged.
He had to remain focused. “Are the girls aware of what happened?”
“Rachel is, of course, but Maria and Rose are not. We managed to keep them in the nursery. They saw the men in the gardens from the window, but they quickly lost interest. They did ask after you though.”
“I’ll depart for the mill early in the morning, but the girls are indoors for the time being. They may venture to the courtyard, but no farther than the courtyard gates. We have no idea who was behind this, and I don’t want to take any chances.”
She nodded. “I couldn’t agree more.”
They stood in stiff silence, and he regarded the tear tracks on her face. It was not his place to make such a personal observation. The sight tugged at him, touching his heart more than reason. At this moment the rules that should dictate such an interaction were fading away, and they were no longer employer and governess, but a man and a woman. “You’ve been crying.”
“Oh.” She touched her cheek in absent distraction. “I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for? It’s been a sad day. I’d be surprised if you shed no tears at all.”
“That’s not what I meant.” She raised her shoulder in a halfhearted shrug, her gaze still downcast. “I’m apologizing because of what I’ve brought into your home.”
He sighed and shifted his weight. “There’s no way anyone could have foreseen this. It was a tragedy, a—”
“But if it weren’t for me and my presence here, Mr. Longham never would have been on Briarton Park’s property in the first place.”
He drew closer. “That might be so, but no one thing is completely dependent on another. There are threads that, if pulled, affect everyone and everything, whether those effects were intended or not. If Mr. Longham had never returned to Briarton Park, he very well might still be alive. Or he might not. He might have fallen and struck his head. He might have suffered an affliction or fallen prey to a highwayman. We’ve no way of knowing, and we needn’t speculate.”
Her tone hinted at disbelief. “That is very gracious to say.”
“Graciousness has nothing to do with it.” He watched as she toyed with the cuff of her sleeve. He was close to her, closer than heshould be, yet she made no effort to increase the distance between them.
He wanted her to meet his gaze. What better way to judge the true feelings of a person than to see into her eyes? Her soul?
She tucked a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. “I don’t know what to do now. Not only is Mr. Longham gone, but so are the contents of his satchel. I’ve no way to prove my identity. Now it really is as Mr. Peter Clark suggested. I could be anyone claiming to be Cassandra Hale.”
“There has to be a way around it. You’ve known a lot of people in your life, I’m sure. Witnesses who can vouch for you. Surely there is a way to collect your inheritance.”
“It’s never been about the inheritance.” Her voice hovered barely above a whisper. “I didn’t even know about it until recently. I came here thinking that if I could just find out the truth about my family, I’d be happy. Now I have found the truth, but it is far more painful than I ever could have imagined. I believed Mr. Longham. I still do. But the sad reality is that I still have no family. No hope for what might be.”
