A strange guilt crept in, and he searched for words. “There’s a misunderstanding, I think, that—”
“No,” she snipped. “No misunderstanding. Things are abundantly clear.”
He cleared his throat. “Where will you go?”
“To my cousin in Devon. She will be happy to see me.”
“The girls will miss you,” he offered. “Have you told them yet?”
“No. But I think this is for the best. ’Tis past time.”
James suddenly felt shame, as if his actions had contributed to this departure. “Is this because of what you witnessed just now?”
“I already told you the day of that murder that I was leaving if Miss Hale was not removed as governess. But as for what I saw just now, did I not tell you this would happen? That she was looking to advance herself? At one time I did respect you. I thought you above such things, but I’m surprised at nothing anymore.”
She said nothing else but stormed past him, out to the corridor.
And he was alone.
Control was slipping. He felt it. The past as he knew it was falling further away, and something entirely new was taking its place, whether he was prepared for the transition or not.
He looked to the portrait of Elizabeth sitting atop his desk—where it had sat every day since they arrived here. How familiar the shape of her face was.
He ran his finger over the image lovingly, as if trying to recapture the feel of it.
But it was impossible—she was gone forever.
The pain, although still present, had dulled to an ever-present ache. He lifted the miniature closer. “I miss you. Everyone misses you,” he whispered. “Tell me what to do.”
Yes, he was torn, but deep down he knew she would not want sadness—not for him and certainly not for the girls.
He returned the portrait to its spot on his desk and stared out the window. The last bits of light were fighting their way through the gathered clouds, and he looked to where he had stood with Cassandra.
He and Elizabeth had talked about death. They’d always said if something happened to one of them that the other should marry again. And now, years after becoming a widower, he found his heart pulling in that very direction.
What was more, he believed that Miss Hale might return his regard.
So where did that leave everyone?
His heart was in dangerous territory, but it was not just his heart that he had to consider. He knew the truth. And he had to let her know where he stood.
***
It was late by the time James and Milton prepared to leave the Green Ox Inn. The day had been an unsettling one, with the interaction with Miss Hale and the talk with Mrs. Towler.
But it was not over yet.
Night had already fallen, and they’d just concluded their business with a handful of sheep farmers from the southern villages. The atmosphere at the Green Ox Inn was the same as it was every time James had been there—smoke from the broad fire hovered in the air, locals and travelers alike filled the tables, and rowdy, raucous laughter rang out. And yet, chatter of the supposed arrest was on everyone’s lips. But no one had concrete details—merely hearsay and rumors that became more elaborate with each telling.
He and Milton bid their farewells and were about to vacate their table and depart, just as Vincent North was entering.
James knew the man had designs on Miss Hale. Everyone knewit. Even so, he did not believe that she returned the regard—especially not after the moment they’d shared earlier in the evening.
But he was not ignorant.
She may not feel romantic affection toward North, but young women were often eager to marry. And no doubt Mr. North was considered a catch. His eagerness suggested he’d be ready with a proposal any minute. James was not at that point yet.
The very thought of actually offering a proposal startled him. Had his feelings really developed to that point?
