Cold seeped into her bones.
Had he ridden to London? Alone?
Keen to test the theory, she said, “I’ll begin at the stables. One of the hands may have seen him. I expect he’sout ensuring there’s room to park twenty carriages tomorrow.”
Mr Ramsey stiffened. “For heaven’s sake, woman. Let me find him.”
“Why? I’ve nothing better to do.”
She’d reached the mews when Mr Ramsey caught her arm. One stall stood empty, tack hooks bare.
“Hawke isn’t here.”
“That much is obvious.” She’d known it before she set foot on the cobblestones.
“He went out early this morning to fetch supplies.”
“Supplies? You mean he rode to meet the Moseley brothers.” She faced him fully. Men summoned by the Moseleys were rarely seen at supper. “You knew, and you let him go alone?”
Mr Ramsey’s stern facade cracked. “Maybe you’re not aware, but once Hawke makes a decision, there’s no turning him.”
Oh, she was aware. At Lord Templeton’s ball, he’d decided to dance with her whether she agreed or not.
“Could you not have ridden behind and stayed out of sight?”
His nostrils flared. “This house is run on a strict set of rules. If Hawke can’t trust me to follow orders, then I’ve no business being here.”
Would it always be this way?
Would he always decide and she’d be expected to obey?
“I’m leaving the house to visit the church and the old housekeeper Mrs Buckley. I’m told she lives two miles from here.” She raised a hand to stall him when he tried to interrupt. “Any attempt to stop me won’t end well, Mr Ramsey.”
She was tired of secrets. Tired of being handled like a child.
Mr Ramsey’s laugh was more a bark. “I’ve a mind to throw you over my shoulder and tan your hide.”
Outrage stiffened her spine.
Was every man who lived here a heathen?
“You’ll not dare lay a hand on me, sir.” She scowled and prodded his chest. “I’m saving my strength for Mr Hawke, but perhaps I should test it on you.”
He found that even more amusing. “Give me fair warning. I’d like a seat in the stalls for that.”
“Do you know nothing about women, Mr Ramsey? We play the long game. Silence cuts deeper than any blow.”
She strode away, lengthening her stride when she sensed him close behind. “Do you mean to shadow me all day?”
“Wherever you go, I’m instructed to follow.”
“Then keep up,” she called over her shoulder. “We’ve a fair distance to cover. I pray you’ve eaten.”
Mr Ramsey stayed with her for a mile, whistling idly at her heels. He watched her climb the stile and didn’t offer a hand.
She set off down the rutted country lane, dodging farmers’ carts laden with turnips, Mr Ramsey’s boots striking a steady march behind her. When the grey spire of All Saints rose behind the hedgerow, she angled towards it without hesitation.
She moved slowly through the churchyard, reading the names carved into stones the weather had tried to erase. She pictured him walking this path alone, flowers in hand, the weight of it all pressing down on his shoulders.
