“A branch fell off a tree,” Thomas said, picking up his shot bag, his nerves suddenly on edge. “In Sussex, the villagers call the ash tree “widow makers” because the large boughs can fall without warning.”
“Nothing out of the ordinary, then?”
“No. But I should like to go see. There have been strange accidents of late,” Thomas said, and pointed to the path that led back toward Ashdown through the grove.
They walked together in uncomfortable but honest silence. They reached a clearing right before the house when he spotted the large tree bough. His heart stopped—mingled in the branches was a scrap of dress material and two squashed hats. He stooped down to pick up the first hat and he recognized it as Cordelia’s. His heart began to plummet against his chest. He bent down and touched the ground around the tree; there was no blood. If she were grievously injured, there would be blood. He could see shoe imprints from two different people—women. The tracks led back to Ashdown.
“This branch didn’t fall down of its own accord,” Stuyvesant said from behind him, standing at the edge of the trunk. “Look, it’s been sawed half through and pulled off by a rope.”
“We need to go back to the abbey,” Thomas said, and began jogging without a glance to Stuyvesant. Cordelia was still in danger.
“What’s your hurry?” he said as he ran up to meet Thomas.
Thomas debated a polite lie but decided for Cordelia’s safety to tell the truth. “There have been a series of accidents since Cordelia’s arrival.”
“Accidents?”
“I don’t think that any of them were accidents,” Thomas admitted. “Someone on the estate is trying to harm Cordelia, and I don’t know who it is.”
“Why would someone want to hurt her?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” he said with a frustrated sigh. “It’s not the villagers, of that I am certain. Cordelia volunteers at the local school and has provided good-paying work for the men. Which narrows it down to one of the twenty-eight people who live at Ashdown.”
“This only strengthens my resolve to take her away from this place.”
“I offered to take her away and she wanted to stay at the abbey,” Thomas said through clenched teeth. “She’s not a bag or an item you can pick up and do whatever you’d like with. She’s an intelligent person, who can make up her own mind.”
“I’m going to keep my eye on her.”
“I never thought that I would say this, but I hope you do,” Thomas said. “I want her to be safe…and I want her to be happy.”
He didn’t wait for the man to reply but strode into the house. He handed his gun and shot bag to Thayne before dashing up the back stairs. He ran to her door and opened it without knocking. Cordelia was standing in her shift and corset, her diamond-studded gold garters holding up her muddy stockings. He rushed to embrace her in relief but checked himself before he touched her—her American suitor was now here. The one she said she loved.
Standing just inches away, he breathed heavily as he asked, “Are you injured at all?”
“I’m fine.”
“I was so worried.”
“I don’t think it was Hibbert trying to hurt me.”
Unable to resist touching her, Thomas placed a reassuring hand on her bare arm. “I don’t think so either… Are you sure you don’t want to go to London immediately? Stuyvesant could escort you, Lucy, and Mrs. Stewart. Then my mother could host our guests.”
“You want me to leave with Stuyvesant?”
“No!” Thomas gasped, his heart falling to his stomach. “But I want you to be safe. I have failed you so many times, Cordelia. From our wedding to this morning…I don’t want to fail you anymore.”
“You’ve never failed me,” she whispered.
“Cordelia, I—I lo—”
The sound of a carriage on the gravel caused her to turn her head away from him just as he was bearing his heart to her. His eyes followed hers to the window and he realized that their first guests’ carriage had arrived.
“Someone must meet them,” Cordelia said quickly.
Thomas glanced down at his muddy trousers and gunpowder-stained tweed coat. “Do you want me to go like this?”
“No,” she said, and pointed to the dress hanging on her wardrobe. “Help me dress.”
