Roland could not hurt her anymore. But Silas Prior could, and the words Roland hurled at her in the dream—an accusation and a threat—refused to be silent.
With the window still open she crawled back beneath her quilt and hoped the night sounds of the windswept moorland would calm her anxious thoughts, for despite the fact they were tucked away at Hollythorne House, she feared her worst nightmare was yet to come.
***
The next morning, Charlotte stood inside the screens passage as Sutcliffe donned her cloak in preparation to depart for Leeds. In her hand she clutched a satchel containing the pearls and ruby that Roland had given Charlotte.
“Are you certain you’re comfortable doing this?” Charlotte asked as Sutcliffe secured her cloak. “If you’re not, we can find another way.”
“Nonsense.” A smile brightened Sutcliffe’s round face. “I’m quite confident. I’ve done this before, remember? I’m not at all distressed about meeting with the jewelers.”
“I was referring to traveling alone,” Charlotte pitched her voice low to avoid being overheard, “with no one but Mr. Timmons to accompany you.”
Sutcliffe shook her head dismissively. “Don’t give it another thought. Tom will be driving the carriage. We’ll not be alone. I’ll be back with money before you know it. And what an adventure it will be! I’ll be traveling over the tempestuous moorlands in a lovely carriage transporting secret jewels with a mysterious watchman as my protector. What a story I will have to tell.”
Charlotte raised a brow at her friend’s enthusiasm and cast a glance through the open door toward Timmons and Anthony, who were checking the carriage horses. Her suspicion was that the lady’s maid was more interested in the watchman than the adventure, but her options were limited. If Charlotte thought there was a possibility of not being recognized, she would go herself. But with Silas’s colleagues and workers everywhere, being prudent was essential.
Sutcliffe lifted her cloak’s thick hood over her fair hair, adjusted it, and leaned to the left to quickly assess her reflection in a looking glass hanging on the wall. “Mr.Timmons has always been polite to me. And I do feel safe. Please, do not worry.”
She forced a smile as they stepped into the courtyard. Anthony’s words about trusting Mr.Timmons rang in her mind. And she did trust Anthony. More than she cared to admit.
By the time the carriage transporting Sutcliffe to Leeds rumbled from Hollythorne House’s mist-laden property, dawn was breaking pink and yellow over the forest to the east. Mr. Timmons rode horseback alongside the vehicle, and after thefog claimed the carriage, Charlotte tightened her shawl against the chilly autumn air and looked back to Hollythorne House’s blackened facade. Several slate shingles were missing from the roof, and multiple panes of glass were cracked in the windows overlooking the courtyard. It would take more than the sale of a handful of jewels to return her ancestral home back to its former state.
Silence, save for the squawking of the morning birds dipping down from the evergreen branches, descended once again, making Charlotte acutely aware of how the carriage’s departure left Anthony and her alone, with only Henry and the servants milling about to distract her. They’d come to a sort of understanding the previous night in the garden, and now there was no further need for discussions. She gathered her skirt in hand and stepped toward the door.
But his words stopped her. “Are you finding the servants satisfactory, Mrs.Prior?”
She resisted the urge to wince. Such a question felt almost ridiculous—as if she was some pampered gentlewoman instead of what she was—a reduced widow desperate to forge a new life.
In truth, she did not care for their presence at all. She wanted a staff of her own selection. But this was part of the arrangement she had accepted. “I’ll admit that it was nice to have a proper cup of tea. I fear that neither Sutcliffe nor I are very skilled in the domestic arts.”
“And the nursemaid? Is Master Henry taking to her?”
Charlotte nodded. “Henry likes her, and she seems competent. But I confess I’ll be far more comfortable when I’m able to selectthe nursemaid for myself. Have you worked with any of the servants prior to this?”
“No.” He squinted as he looked toward the rising sun. “But it’s not unusual. Mr.Walstead has a team he uses whenever situations like this arise.”
She lifted her hand to still the dark locks blowing across her face. “And you have been in situations like this often? Guarding widows and sons of powerful mill owners?”
He chuckled, and her uneasiness diminished at the sound.
“No,” he said. “No wealthy widows. I usually work guarding transports and apprehending perpetrators. I was selected for this assignment because of my history on Blight Moor. Mr.Walstead thought it might prove useful.”
“Perhaps Mr.Walstead underestimated how relatively small Blight Moor is. I wonder that he did not consider that we might be acquainted.”
Anthony shrugged a thick shoulder. “Well, you’re the owner of an estate, and as you said, the widow of a powerful mill owner. I’m the nephew of a miller, not to mention a soldier’s son. One would not naturally connect the two.”
Hearing the division of their social classes laid out so plainly stung. “That shouldn’t matter.”
“That always matters.”
She softened. She did not want to argue with him. “I was sorry to hear about your uncle.”
He pressed his lips together with a somber nod. “And I was sorry to hear of your father. Imagine what they would think of this current arrangement given their hatred of one another. Andyet, here we are. I don’t think any of this turned out the way any of us expected.”
The reference to her father and his disapproval cut her. She had tried so hard to meet his every expectation, especially at the end of his life when he wanted so badly for her to become Mrs.Roland Prior. She could only imagine what he would think of her and the decisions she was making.
She had not realized she’d been staring at Anthony until he spoke again.
