“Yes, Mr. North told me.”
At the reference to Mr. North, Mr. Warrington’s jaw twitched.
Or had she imagined it?
He adjusted his stance. “I’m not familiar with the details, of course, But Shepard did stop by Weyton to say the man in question was also a suspect in some of the mill attacks. He also said he had evidence that tied him to Longham’s assault as well, but I’m not sure what that evidence was. Perhaps this development will lead to the papers you need.”
She indulged in an exasperated sigh. “Everything, every aspect of this search, feels so convoluted. Mrs. Hutton informed me that the woman who raised me—Mrs. Denton, the very one who wrote my recommendation letter—was actually Mr. Clark’s sister-in-law. Can you believe it? Apparently she was Peter Clark’s maternal aunt, and they were quite close. It seems as if everything I know is a lie or a shifted version of truth. I don’t know what to do or where to go. Perhaps no one can be trusted.”
He took one step closer to her. “You can trust me.”
She looked up at him, suddenly very aware of his scent of sandalwood and the outdoors, of horses and fresh air. The pewter of his eyes was vibrant in the early evening light. How she wanted to believe his words were true. Yet she could not shake her mother’s experience from her mind. Had her mother believed that she could trust Robert Clark?
All she knew for certain, in spite of her conflicting thoughts, was that she did not want to leave Mr. Warrington’s side. There was strength, a comfort in his presence, which until now had been quite foreign to her. Perhaps it was the space he gave her when they spoke, or the manner in which he seemed to focus on her wholly, without agenda or motive, that affected her so.
A gust of evening wind swept in, dislodging her hair and whipping it around her face.
He reached forward, slowly, and lifted the wayward curl away from her face. His finger brushed her cheek and lingered there. Intimately. Tenderly.
At the touch, a thrill shot through her—the thrill of being connected to someone, of being understood or, at the very least, cared about. This was the feeling she’d been searching for. The feeling she’d been chasing. And yet it was in its infancy. If allowed to grow, where could this feeling go? What could this become?
His eyes fixed on her, poignantly, as if she were the only person, the only thing that mattered.
“But how could this...” Her questions felt inadequate. “If this goes on, how do I...?”
His thumb caressed her cheek. “I don’t know the answers. All I know is that I care very much about what happens to you. And you’ve come into my life for a reason. I know that as surely as I’ve ever known anything. And I think we should explore why.”
Could this feeling be trusted? Couldhebe trusted?
Cassandra had trusted before—Mrs. Denton, Frederick—and she’d been hurt. And now everyone seemed to be aware of her possible inheritance. Was that what he was attracted to? Had not Peter Clark insinuated that very thing?
Movement over his shoulder snagged her attention. There, in the study window overlooking the main drive, stood Mrs. Towler. Watching them.
He followed her gaze and looked over his shoulder to the house. His touch on her cheek grew rigid, and he dropped his hand to her shoulder. “You should go on inside now.” His hand fell from her shoulder completely.
Suddenly she felt very pathetic and inched backward. She looked back up at Mrs. Towler, feeling very much like the seventeen-year-oldversion of herself having just been discovered in compromising circumstances with Frederick.
In that moment Mrs. Denton’s words screamed loudly.“What have I told you? Emotions will cloud your judgment and weaken your ability to react rationally.”
She was doing exactly what she’d been warned against. Her emotions regarding Mr. Warrington were gaining dangerous power.
Her cheeks flamed. What a fool she’d been.
Chapter 35
James braced himself. He was outraged. He curled his fists at his sides as he stalked back to his study.
He respected his past with Elizabeth. He loved her; he always would. Her presence would always be felt with Rose. Maria. But he could not remain frozen in grief and in the past, not when new feelings were flourishing. His interest in Cassandra Hale was not wrong. It was a natural progression—one afforded by time. Attraction. Mutual trust. A desire for something more.
It didn’t matter that she was the governess. Not to him. Those onlookers would judge him for it, but what did he care? What did he have to lose?
The disparity in their stations was not as uncommon in his upbringing. He was from a humble place. This new world in which they existed—Elizabeth’s world—cared much more for those social strictures.
Now, as he approached the study, he was going to be called upon to defend his thoughts. His actions. To the woman who was closer to his late wife than anyone.
Mrs. Towler stood in his study, as expected, in her customary black gown and severely arranged silver hair. Her expression was pinched, but she was pale. She spoke before his foot even crossed the threshold. “I’m leaving Briarton Park at week’s end.”
He had been prepared to hear a lecture from her, but not this.
