Page 69
TWENTY
Still in Fernleigh House gardens
Several excruciatingly long minutes later
The brief journey to Fernleigh House dragged, each second stretching unbearably with each carriage jolt. Absorbed in his tumultuous thoughts, Shelby stared blindly out the dusty window.
Per Honeybrook’s direction, the coachman had abandoned the main roads, instead weaving through winding lesser-used lanes where hedgerows loomed on either side, tangled with vines and wildflowers.
The scent of sun-warmed grass and spring greenery filled the air, mingling with the occasional sharp hint of distant wood smoke. Overhead, the afternoon sun blazed in a cloudless sky, its unrelenting light highlighting every rut and dip in the uneven road.
Burdened with unspoken dread, silence pressed against him, Robyn, and Quentin in the silent coach. The wheels’ rhythmic rattling and the occasional creak of leather carried through the space, punctuating the oppressive strain.
“I suggest we disembark the carriage and stealthily approach the house.” Honeybrook leaned forward, forearms braced against his thighs, his expression set hard as stone. Without his cravat and hat, the severe lines of his face appeared even sharper. Rigid control marked his every movement, but Shelby knew him well, and rage simmered beneath Quentin’s measured facade, ready to ignite at the slightest provocation.
Shelby studied Robyn.
His cousin had remained silent for too long. Motionless, his hands resting on his knees, he kept his focus locked on the passing landscape. The muscles flexing in his jaw betrayed the tempest roiling inside him.
“Matilda and Roxina are clever,” Shelby reassured.
Were the words for Robyn or himself?
“We don’t know that Desmond planned to catch them alone, Robyn.”
Robyn released a controlled breath, his shoulders rising slightly before settling again. “I promised my parents I would protect and care for Mittie.”
His murmured words carried the full force of that vow.
Meeting his tortured gaze, Shelby gave a sharp nod.
He had never spoken such an oath aloud, but the same certainty rested deep in his chest about Roxina. He would do everything in his power to keep her safe.
Honeybrook thumped the carriage roof.
“Stop here.” The command rang with authority.
The driver obeyed, and the coach lurched to a halt.
Outside, the breeze stirred the tall grass lining the road, carrying the sharpness of crushed grass and the faint sweetness of hawthorn blossoms. Sunlight stretched long across the landscape, warm and golden, utterly indifferent to the danger ahead.
Robyn ran a hand through his tousled hair.
“The women aren’t alone.” Robyn appeared more composed. “I have five able-bodied male employees at the house.”
He hesitated, then released another strained breath.
“There are several firearms inside too.” He grimaced. “But I doubt any of the servants know how to use one properly.”
Shelby adjusted his pistol, its solid presence familiar at his waist. The knife in his boot pressed against his ankle, another trusted friend in uncertain moments.
“We’ll assume Desmond is on the grounds and proceed with caution until we know otherwise. I’ll enter through the garden. Robyn, you go in through the kitchen entrance. Honeybrook, take the servants’ door.”
Robyn dipped his chin in acknowledgement.
Expression grim, Honeybrook twisted his lips into a cynical half-smile. “Let’s hope Desmond is arrogant enough to believe he has triumphed and believes we are no longer a threat.”
“I, for one, cannot wait to set the blackguard straight in that respect.” Shelby checked his pistol again.
