“Yes, well, you’ll find me in the foyer.” Long, rapid strides carried him back through the orangery and up the steps to the keep.
Bridget stared at the empty doorway. She swayed slightly, her head spinning. What was she thinking, wishing for Mister White’s kiss? He’d appeared in her life not a full day ago. He could be there to spy on her and her father. Or to help them. Or for no other reason than he claimed, to learn about fishing. None of those choices should inspire her to long for his touch.
She put a hand to her forehead, feeling hot. Her fingers grazed the jasmine and she pulled it free. She cupped the little white blooms in her palm, unsure what to do with them. Finally, she tucked the sprig into her bodice. As it was already picked, she would put it in her room, and for that reason only. She untangled the knot in her apron, returned the garment to its peg, then left the lushness of the orangery.
Calling a footman, she sent for the carriage and for Fiona to accompany them, as chaperone, but the girl was nowhere to be found. Not wishing to take any of the other staff from their duties, Bridget decided she would be safe enough seated across from Mister White. They weren’t going far, after all, and the coachman and a footman would be without. It wasn’t as if he would ravish her…or she him.
Once the carriage was ready and they stepped free of the keep, it turned out she was indeed safe from Mister White’s charms. After fumbling his way into his seat, Mister White promptly pulled a book from his pocket, pushed his spectacles higher on his nose, and set to reading. Under her steady gaze, he didn’t look up once. She didn’t know if she should be insulted or relieved. After the intensity of the orangery, his lack of attention rankled.
The resounding silence between them dragged out the short ride. Bridget let out a long, relieved breath when the carriage finally came to a halt. Still, he didn’t look up from the small volume he held.
“Mister White, we’ve arrived,” she said, her words clipped.
“Hm?” He peered over the book at her, then looked about. “Oh, so we have. Fascinating reading, swine. Terribly involved creatures.”
“I shall take you at your word on that,” she snapped. He’d tucked jasmine behind her ear, looked at her with eyes that bespoke of roiling passion, and then turned to reading about pigs?
He marked his page. The book disappeared back into a pocket. He clambered out, somehow taking up nearly all the space in the carriage as he did so, and turned back to offer his hand.
Bridget eyed it for a long moment. Glove encased now, she could no longer see the vicious scar on his palm. She, too, wore gloves. There could be little harm, then, in letting him assist her out.
A jolt of warmth went through her as their hands met. Heat suffused her face. She stepped free of the carriage and into the late morning sun. A light breeze blew off the river. Men, genteel and freeholding alike, dotted the stone promenade. Most had their fishing poles leaned against the railing while they conversed in small clusters, taking advantage of the shade provided by scattered trees.
Mister White still clasped her hand. Her blush grew hotter. She lowered her gaze to the dusty roadway. She should pull her hand from his.
A scream rent the sunny morning, punctuated by a splash. Mister White’s hand left hers. Bridget raised her head, gaze darting about. Men were calling, pointing toward one of the trees, and at the river.
Mister White raced toward the promenade, shedding jacket, vest and cravat as he went. Bridget grabbed her skirt and ran after him, though she’d no notion what they ran toward. Her father’s coachman and footman followed. Mister White reached the river. He vaulted to the balustrade and executed a smooth dive.
She reached the edge a moment later, letting the railing halt her momentum. She leaned out to see strong strokes carry Mister White downriver toward something that floated away. Something large. The color of which was reminiscent of her family’s livery. Perhaps a wet uniform. She leaned farther out, her view blocked by the many male bodies also pressed to the rail.
The mass of men started moving. She went with them as they ran downriver. They left the smooth stone of the promenade for the trimmed grass of the park. When they halted, she pushed her way to the front of the group.
Mister White climbed up the riverbank, a limp form in his arms. Water streamed from his hair. His spectacles were gone. His sodden white shirt clung to a sculpted frame. Dropping effortlessly to one knee, he gently placed the girl he carried on the grass.
“Fiona,” Bridget gasped, hurrying forward. As she knelt, she took in a large welt on the side of the girl’s head and the deep gash on her chin. Cuts and shallower scrapes marred her arms. Bridget couldn’t tell if she was breathing. “Is she dead?” she whispered.
He leaned low, bringing his ear near Fiona’s mouth. The relief on his face as he straightened sparked a like emotion in Bridget. “She’s breathing,” he said.
“I saw her fall out of that tree, right into the river,” a man said, pointing back the way they’d come.
“Not fall, pushed,” another said. “I saw someone else up there. There was lots of rustling, like there was a struggle.”
“What was the lass doing in a tree?” a third asked. “She your servant, miss?”
Bridget nodded. “She is, but I have no idea what she was doing in a tree.”
“Not fighting,” someone else in the crowd said. “Meeting her lover, no doubt.”
“In a tree?” the second man scoffed.
“Folks like all sorts of strange things,” another observed. “I have a cousin, he likes a horse whip. On him, not the missus, mind. He’s a good sort of fellow.”
Bridget’s cheeks flamed. Resolutely, she tried to block out the rest of the conversation going on around her. She stared intently at Fiona’s hand, studying the shallow nicks and scratches. Mister White seemed to be checking for breaks in her limbs. Apparently satisfied, he lifted her into his arms.
“We have to take her home,” he said.
Bridget stood. “Yes,” she agreed, but her mind reeled. Why under Heaven had Fiona been in a tree? Had someone pushed her, or had she been spying on them and fell?
