But as the man stepped forward and the dawn’s faint light illuminated his face, her eyes beheld the familiar shape of the face. No introduction was needed.
No. For she knew this face with its straight nose and square jaw as well as she knew her own.
Anthony Welbourne.
Chapter8
Anthony tightened his grip on his horse’s rein as he stepped forward, as Mr.Walstead had bid.
He was about to see Charlotte Grey again. Face-to-face.
He had no idea how she’d react to seeing him, but he did know one thing for certain: two people did not share a romance like theirs and forget a single detail of it, despite what they had moved on to be.
Since arriving at Wolden House almost a quarter of an hour earlier, he’d overheard bits and pieces of the conversation between Mr.Silas Prior and Mr.Walstead. It was not his place—or his business—to get involved. Mostly their words were hushed, but even so, unmasked anger tinged Prior’s tone, and he paced like a man with much on his mind. Yet his reputation was hardly one of emotional sentimentality. In all likelihood, his ire had more to do with what was occurring at Roland Prior’s mill. The reports of arson and workers leaving their posts were increasing. Several watchmen had already been sent to the mill to keep the peace.
But in this single instance, Anthony did not care about Prior Mill. He did not care about the workers abandoning their posts orwhether Silas Prior was upset or not. He only cared how Charlotte would react to seeing him again.
And she now stood before him.
He’d recognize her anywhere—the charming slope of her nose. The slender angles of her face. They were all so familiar, so beautiful, and in an instant, every other thought faded. The unnerving realization that she had been in such proximity for all these years shocked his senses, and the sight of her, and memories he had buried, were released in vibrant detail.
But they were worse than strangers—they were two people who’d shared an affection that had been severed.
Now she was his client—a woman whose son he’d sworn to protect. He had to remain master of his thoughts. He could only assume that after all this time she was not the same person she’d been, and he certainly was not the same man. As she stepped farther into the morning’s light, snippets of her conversation with Prior rose above the stomping horse and the gusting wind.
Something was wrong. She did not want them here.
Mr.Walstead had said Mr.Prior had engaged them on her behalf, and Anthony had assumed she would be apprised of the arrangement. It was one thing to be here if she desired assistance. It was quite another to be here if she did not.
As he took another step forward, he removed his hat as casually as possible to not draw the attention of the other men. He deemed it only fair to her that he divulge his identity, even if it was not spoken aloud. He owed that to her, at the very least, and she could respond how she saw fit.
At first she did not notice.
But then she jerked her gaze back to him. Her eyes widened.
Recognition flashed in her topaz eyes.
Yes, she knew exactly who he was.
And now he had to wait for her response.
***
The breath fled from Charlotte’s chest, and in that moment, all thoughts vacated her mind.
She forgot what she was saying. Forgot what they were doing.
Anthony Welbourne.
Surely this apparition was merely the shock of Roland’s death playing tricks on her exhausted mind. Or perhaps the prospect of returning to Blight Moor was resurrecting memories and wreaking havoc on her thoughts.
But no.
Itwashim.
Cobalt-blue eyes fringed with black lashes. Wild, dark hair. A new scar on an otherwise familiar jawline.
It was a glimpse into a past that was so far behind her and yet raring and large as life.
