Hollythorne House’s property was hemmed in by open moorland on three sides, save for the east-facing wall of the homethat overlooked a broad forest. A rectangular cobbled courtyard filled the space between the house and the main road, and next to it to the left stood the modest stone stable and a few smaller outbuildings. Behind the house stretched a rear courtyard and two individual walled gardens connected to each other by a wooden gate, and beyond that another stable, a carriage house, a graveyard, and two more outbuildings. Hollythorne House itself was a secure structure, as there were only a few entrances, but the inside was a maze of passageways and corridors, chambers and halls, each added on or altered by new generations.
The sound of footsteps interrupted his thoughts, and Timmons’s words drew his attention. “T’ driver and t’ footman are settled, along with t’ carriage and horses. They’re none too ’appy about spendin’ the night ’ere, though.”
Anthony glanced to the stone carriage house where faint orange light flickered from dirty windowpanes. The original plan for Mr.Sires’s driver and footman—deliver the Priors to Hollythorne House, rest the horses, and have them back to Leeds the same night—had been foiled by foul weather and impassable roads. It was an ambitious timeline, not to mention dangerous for the horses.
Anthony leaned his elbows on the drystone wall. “Couldn’t be helped. One can’t predict what the weather holds.”
“No, but we’ll make t’ most of it.” Timmons tugged up the collar of his greatcoat to guard against the misty rain that had started to fall. “Besides, it doesn’t really matter what any of us think, does it? All that matters is that this assignment is for Silas Prior ’imself. That can only be good for us.”
Anthony would undoubtedly feel the same if he did not have a personal attachment to it. He’d not served on a Prior assignment before, but Timmons had, and it was no secret it had been his most lucrative task to date.
“Should be easy,” continued Timmons. “This place is even more isolated than I thought. Anyone not familiar with it will ’ave a devil of a time findin’ it, even though it seems a might far-fetched that someone would travel all the way from Leeds to ’arass a widow and baby.”
“I don’t know. You’ve seen how the mill workers get when they band together.”
Timmons smirked. “Ah, those boys were just lookin’ out for themselves. Can’t blame a fellow for that, I reckon. I’d probably do t’ same thing in their stead.”
Anthony glanced up from his writing but did not respond to Timmons’s opinionated words. They were friends, yes, but since their return from war, the treatment Timmons had received because of his injury had made him cynical, almost to the point where Anthony wondered which side of the law he was really protecting.
Pushing aside the thoughts on his capricious comrade, Anthony straightened from the wall and adjusted his wide-brimmed hat against the wind. “From here on out we’ll each take four-hour shifts and rotate between the house and the outer perimeter. We’ll sleep as needed during the daylight hours. There’s a bedchamber above the kitchen for us to use.”
“Yes, sir.” Timmons chortled with mock formality, thensnorted at his own little jest. He sobered, and his eyes scanned the murky landscape. “Are we close to your mill, then?”
Anthony hesitated, unwilling to share his personal past with Timmons. He’d never told him about Charlotte, or really any significant details of his personal life prior to the war, and now that Charlotte had resurfaced, the past suddenly seemed a secret to be guarded, and he would prefer to keep it that way, given the damage that could be done if word of their relationship became public. But there was no harm in answering Timmons’s question. “Not exactly. We could ride there and be back in an afternoon, though.”
It was a lie.
They were very close. By horseback he could arrive there in a quarter of an hour. He could even walk.
“Surely you’ll pay it a visit then.”
“Maybe.”
“‘Maybe’?” Timmons scoffed. “Savin’ your money t’ repair that mill ’as been your fool’ardy mission since we returned from the United States. Ye say yemightvisit it? Bah. I don’t believe it. You’ll be there as soon as ye can sneak away.”
Yes, Anthony wanted to go to his mill, but returning would force him to revisit memories he was not ready to face.
His uncle had been vocal about his concern over Anthony following in his father’s military footsteps. But it had been his father’s last wish, and he’d left enough money for Anthony’s commission with the instructions that it be used for that purpose alone. Anthony had given up contemplating what his life would havebeen like if he had taken his uncle’s advice. If he had, he never would have been injured. And who knew, if he’d been home to help fight the fire, his uncle might still be alive and the mill might be intact.
Anthony forced a lighthearted timbre to his tone. “Well, we’ve too much to do here now. With just the two of us on a property this size, I doubt either of us will see outside these walls anytime soon.”
“I’d expect ye to say no less.” Timmons grinned. “Not exactly the sentimental sort, are ye?”
Anthony chuckled. “Sentiment is dangerous.”
“Aye. But I suppose it would be nice to ’ave somewhere to call ’ome.”
A baby’s wail echoed from inside the kitchen entrance, and Anthony turned toward it. Yellow light seeped from behind the thin window covering, and a shadow crossed by it.
“That babe’s even louder than Roger,” Timmons said of the infant son of the keeper of the boardinghouse. “’Opefully this one won’t wake the ’ouse at all ’ours like Roger does.”
Anthony frowned as Henry’s wail cut the night air. The baby had cried a great deal throughout the journey, and he’d been crying on and off for the last hour. No doubt he was tired. Surely Charlotte and her maid were as well. He could only assume that Charlotte was accustomed to a battery of nursemaids and servants, given her husband’s social standing. Even the landlady of their ramshackle boardinghouse had assistance with her baby.
It was none of his business. He was here to guard—nothing more. But he was drawn to the situation. When Timmons returned to the carriage house, Anthony headed toward the kitchen door.
Chapter11
Charlotte drew a wavering breath.
