He, himself, had taken an even greater risk. He’d led a team of men, wet handkerchiefs tied over their faces, into the burning structure to haul out what hay they could. Thanks to their efforts, half the fodder had been saved. His courage and strength had been a beacon in those dark hours.
He arrived at her side, his hazel gaze trained on her face. “You ought to get some rest, angel. You’ve been up all night. I’ll keep an eye on things.”
“I’m not leaving. And you’ve been up all night too.” She took out a handkerchief and, reaching up, wiped a streak of ash from his jaw. She didn’t miss the surprised warmth in his eyes. “I can’t believe what was supposed to be an evening of celebration ended like this. But I suppose we ought to be grateful that the accident didn’t cause more damage.”
“I don’t think this was an accident.”
Wick’s words jolted her, spreading icy prickles over her skin.
“Why do you say that?” she asked.
He cast a glance around, making sure no one was within earshot, before answering her.
“When I was hauling out the hay, I saw a smashed lamp in the barn,” he said in a low voice. “The barn itself reeked of linseed oil.”
Linseed oil…an extremely flammable substance. One that had no business being in the barn.
The recognition chilled her. “You think someone did this deliberately?”
He gave a grim nod. “I found something else too—”
“Miss Beatrice, there you be!”
Milton Sheridan’s spry figure was headed their way. She and Wick exchanged a look, and she saw in his nod the tacit agreement to continue their troubling discussion later. As she tamped down her rising worries, she saw the tinker had a stranger following behind him, Fancy bringing up the rear. Fancy was regarding the newcomer with an expression akin to awe.
Bea couldn’t blame her friend: the dark-haired gentleman had an air of exceptional refinement. His clothes were precisely tailored to his large build and made from fabrics that had the sheen of highest quality. He was handsome in an austere sort of way. Beneath his elegant hat, his grey eyes were assessing Bea with an intensity that might have discomfited another lady.
Bea, however, was used to being stared at. She wasn’t wearing a veil, so her scar was in full view. Lifting her chin, she returned his stare and was surprised when his lips tipped up at the corners. It softened his severity and made him look more approachable.
“Miss Beatrice, this gent be looking for you,” Milton Sheridan said. The tinker had a long grey beard and bright blue eyes and, as a testament to his profession, everything he wore was either patched or mismatched.
To Bea’s surprise, Wick stepped forward. “Devil and damn…is that you, Knight?”
“Murray?” The stranger—Mr. Knight, apparently—looked equally taken aback. But he took Wick’s extended hand, the two exchanging a firm handshake. “I haven’t seen you since the Garritys’ ball.”
“Indeed.” Wick gave him a measuring look. “What brings you to Staffordshire?”
“I was about to ask the same of you.”
Bea blinked when two pairs of male eyes shifted to her. In the next instant, the men were staring at each other again, gazes locked like two bucks who’d just spotted the other on his territory.
Wick crossed his arms over his chest. “What business do you have with Miss Brown?”
“It is not Miss Brown I seek.” Knight’s quietly menacing tone matched his. “I am here for Lady Beatrice Wodehouse; her brother, the Duke of Hadleigh, gave me this address.”
Shock percolated through her.Benedict? After all this time, what does he want?
“You’ve got the wrong lady,” Wick said.
With a feeling of foreboding, Beatrice cleared her throat. “I’m afraid he doesn’t.”
* * *
That evening, Bea sat down to supper with her guests. Managing the crisis of the barn had taken most of the day, and she’d only had a quick nap before Wick, Fancy, Mr. Sheridan, and Severin Knight had arrived at eight o’clock. Her lady’s maid Lisette had helped her to quickly don a blue taffeta gown, arranging her hair in its usual style, with ringlets over her cheeks. Due to the presence of visitors, Bea had summoned her companion, Lady Tottenham.
Known as Tottie to intimates, the lady had applied to Camden Manor for a position two years ago. While Bea had not been looking for a companion, she’d felt sorry for the elderly woman, who didn’t have friends or family to take her in. Thus, Bea had given Tottie a place to stay…and quickly discovered how the lady had earned her name. Tottie had a fondness for her “medicine,” which she carried with her in a filigreed flask, and it could make her a bit wobbly on her feet.
Nonetheless, Tottie was a harmless dear who spent most days happily napping in the sun. And she could prove useful on occasions like this evening, when a chaperone was required. Bea noticed, however, that her companion’s chair next to Mr. Sheridan was presently empty.
