Especially on days like today when the sparse clouds allowed the sun to peek through more often than not. The weather was warming up with summer’s approach. Flowers already dotted the landscape with splashes of color. But the air itself remained cool, so she always made sure to bring a shawl whenever she went for her walks.
She tugged the blue knitted wrap more tightly around her shoulders, cocooning herself against the brisker wind that swept in from the sea. It pushed past her face, undoing a few strands of hair and whipping them over her eyes. She tucked them behind her ear, where they remained for a brief moment.
A deep breath brought the fresh air into her lungs. She blew it out slowly and tried to quiet her mind. A challenge, when emotion tended to get the best of her these days. The events that had brought her here, what she had discovered since…
At times she missed Peter desperately. At others, she wanted to strangle him for what he’d done. Sometimes it was both at the same time.
Not that it mattered or made any difference when she could barely stand herself for the most part. How then could she ever expect him to do so? What she’d done was…
She still had no word to describe it in its entirety.
It didn’t matter that Peter had told her about the reticule Sally Finch had surely wielded against her. How could it when she hadn’t registered it? All she’d known in the moment was what the woman was capable of and that she had to stop her.
By stabbing her eight times, according to Doctor Fellowes’s report.
Surely that was more than enough to find Gabriella mentally ill. Unhinged, at the very least. A perfect candidate for either Bedlam or the noose.
A shiver raked her spine and she felt herself start to tremble once more. The nervous condition had become a common trait of hers since the incident, eased only by the laudanum she’d been prescribed by Mr. Croft’s family physician.
The outdoors helped as well, though only when she was able to keep her unpleasant thoughts at bay. For some reason, this was proving harder today.
She turned, preparing to head back inside, when she saw a man striding toward her. Not just any man, but…
“Peter.” His name was caught by the wind and transformed into a soft sound only she could hear.
Smartly dressed in a navy-blue jacket, fawn-colored breeches, and gleaming black boots, he cut a path straight toward her. Her pulse leapt in anticipation of all that would now pass between them. Every conversation she’d had with him in her head since departing London made her brain feel as though it were under attack.
Unable to get a single thought in order, she stood there, staring at him as he drew ever nearer. Until he finally reached her and she saw the concern etched in his features — the troubled yet hopeful look in his eyes.
“Gabriella.” He moved as though he might embrace her.
She took a step back and shook her head. “You stupid, reckless, foolish man.”
The words weren’t spoken with any particular consideration. They simply spilled from her tongue without any finesse. A naked reflection of all that was in her heart. The fear she’d harbored these past two weeks. Not for herself, but for him.
“I know about the knife,” she added when he looked confused by her reaction. “What in God’s name were you thinking?”
“That it was important to prove your life was in danger.”
“Sally Finch being a murderess — her victim being upstairs — ought to have been enough.” Yet she knew well enough that it might not have been. Still… “Do you have any idea what could have happened to you, what might yet happen to you, if someone discovers you planted that knife? Your career will be over. You could face prison charges and…and…”
He reached for her again and she stayed this time, allowed him to place his palm against her cheek. “I’m sorry, but my only thought at the time was of you. I had to ensure that you didn’t pay for something that wasn’t your fault.”
“But it was, Peter. I killed her. That’s on me. I did that.”
“You did what you had to, Gabriella.” His thumb brushed over her cheek, her quivering lips. “I’m proud of you.”
“How can you possibly feel that way about such a monstrous act?” She turned her head sideways, refused to look him in the eye.
His hands clasped her shoulders. “Listen to me and listen well. You did not kill an innocent woman but rather someone who might have made you her fourth victim had you not done what you did. I, for one, believe you acted correctly. The court agrees. You’ll face no charges.”
She felt her entire face crumple in response to the words. A sob broke from her throat and then she was in Peter’s arms, crying against his shoulder as the emotional stress expanding inside her these past two weeks finally crested and burst through the floodgates.
The steady beat of his heart echoed through her, gentling her own erratic pulse. She gulped down a series of breaths and pressed more securely against his sturdy frame. His hand swept over her spine in long soothing strokes while the wind gusted past them.
She’d no idea how long they stood there, nor did she care.
In fact, she might have stayed like that forever had he not broken the silence by saying, “I’ve missed you terribly. Bow Street isn’t the same without you.”
