He was so sunk in despondency and irritation that it took a moment before he noticed the rider approaching. Henry reined his horse in, waiting as he saw Sterling cantering towards him.
“You’d best come,” the fellow said, his expression grim.
Henry muttered a curse and followed him.
They rode to Tun Slip, a five-acre field that bordered Sterling’s farm.
“I came up to check the fences,” Sterling said, gesturing to the dead sheep.
He stared at the dead animal, wondering why Sterling was so unsettled. Sheep were notoriously stupid creatures that got themselves killed for no good reason and were prone to a myriad of diseases and troubles that seemed to manifest on a regular cycle. The occasional dead ewe was hardly cause for the concern in his friend’s eyes. Henry dismounted for a better look.
“Poisoned,” Sterling added, before Henry had the chance to see for himself.
Frowning, Henry crouched down to inspect the sheep, noticing the glossy green leaves on the grass beside it. He picked one up. “Rhododendron.”
Sterling voice was grave. “I’ve ridden around, there’s none anywhere close to this field.”
That meant someone had brought those leaves here and fed the animal on purpose.
“Is this the only one?” Henry asked, scanning the field to where the rest of the flock was grazing, untroubled by their dead companion.
Sterling nodded. “For now.”
Henry frowned down at the sheep. “God damn it.”
“Reckon Miss Knight had a point.”
He looked up sharply. “What do you mean?”
“Someone’s out to scare you.”
Henry huffed out a breath, shaking his head. “But it makes no sense!”
Sterling shrugged. “Any enemies? Someone who bears you a grudge?”
“No!” Henry stood, raking a hand through his hair. “Damn it, Sterling, I’ve not even been in the country for the best part of a decade.”
The man stood and stared at him, his expression unreadable.
“You really think this is personal? That someone is targeting me for a reason?”
Sterling let out a slow breath, staring at the sheep before looking back at Henry. “Reckon so.”
By the time Henry had spoken to the shepherd, ensured the rest of the field was clear of poisonous leaves, and returned to the Hall, he was not in the best of humour.
It was a state not helped as he walked through the gates and saw a corn doll dangling from the wrought-iron railings, swaying gently in the warm breeze.
A hangman’s noose was drawn tight about its neck.
Chapter 3
Dearest Flo,
You poor lamb. I am dreadfully sorry the wretched man embarrassed you so. Bainbridge asked me to tell you he is at your disposal should you wish him to break anyone’s head for you.
Of course, I should be delighted to have you stay, whenever and for however long you wish. Oh, we shall have a marvellous time if you come. I have so much to show you. Only, I think I ought to point out, darling, that men never truly grow up. So you ought perhaps remember that the boys who like you the most are usually the ones who pull your hair, drop worms in your lap, and throw mice under your petticoats.
―Excerpt of a letter from Arabella Grenville, The Most Hon’ble, The Marchioness of Bainbridge (daughter of Mrs Alice and Mr Nathanial Hunt) to Miss Florence Knight (daughter of Lady Helena and Mr Gabriel Knight).
11th August 1839, Holbrook House, Sussex.
Florence smothered a yawn as the vicar addressed the congregation, not that he was a boring fellow. Indeed, as vicars went, Reverend Martin was rather entertaining. He was also young and handsome, as had escaped not one of the women in the audience. There was a deal of whispering and giggling among the younger females as he spoke, causing the older generation to mutter and scold at intervals. Florence was tired, though, and no matter how entertaining the vicar, she only wanted to go home for a nap. Last night she’d slept ill, her mind filled with worry. She was certain Henry was not taking the events he’d described as seriously as he ought. Someone was making a point and, if Henry did not get to the bottom of it quickly, who knew what the person responsible might do. If they kept getting away with their pranks with no consequences, surely they would only grow bolder.
Then there was Grace.
Though her own troubles had filled her mind of late, she had not forgotten her friend. Yet Grace refused to confide in her, at least for the moment. Goodness, but when had life become so complicated? Florence stared at the back of Henry’s neck. He sat with his sister and her husband in the family pew at the front of the church, close enough to touch. Florence’s fingers itched with the desire to reach out and stroke his hair where it curled over his collar. It was thick and glinted in differing shades of gold. His sister’s hair was a light brown, as was Henry’s, but so much time in the sun had bleached it, turning some locks a bright blond, others a soft amber, and still others all shades in between. She sighed.
Vivien, who was sitting beside on her right, leaned closer.
“I’m tempted to do something wicked, just so he’ll come and save me,” she whispered.
Florence followed her gaze to Reverend Martin and giggled, only to be severely hushed by an old woman in the pew behind them. Naturally, this only made Vivien snort with amusement, which in turn made Florence want to laugh harder. She bit her lip to hold it in.
Henry turned, his hazel eyes meeting hers just as Vivien added, “You’ve got to admit, Florence, for a man of God, he’s quite edible.”
Florence ignored Henry and looked at the vicar.
“Yes,” she said, her words very deliberate. “Yes, he certainly is.”
Henry glowered at the pulpit. The smug young pup. He didn’t doubt the man knew full well that all the young women in the church were fluttering their eyelashes in his direction. Not that Henry cared. It was of no consequence to him who Florence Knight found handsome. Not in the least. He’d not give it another thought. Indeed, Reverend Martin was exactly the kind of man Florence ought to be interested in, though she could look far higher than a mere country vicar. Her mother was the Duke of Bedwin’s sister, and her father one of the richest men in the country. With her beauty, connections, and vast dowry, she could snag a titled fellow with ease. She could certainly do far better than a vicar, or him for that matter. Henry battered down an unwelcome surge of resentment and reminded himself he was being ridiculous. She was in her twenties, and he’d just passed forty. Whilst that was hardly an unusual age gap, it was… he just… well, it….
Her father would kill him.
Finally grasping at a reason which was solid and undeniable, he relaxed. Besides, he did not wish to marry, and any entanglement with Florence Knight would end with a swift trip to the altar, the one destination in the world to which he had no desire to travel.
The interminable service over at last, they filed out of the church. Henry stood with his sister and her husband, Jasper, as people milled about chatting and came to speak to them. They were popular among the local people, he realised, noting how many of the congregation wanted to speak with the earl and his lady. Two young women came arm-in-arm, one—an attractive blonde—clutching a posy of flowers.
“Good morning, Lord St Clair,” they chorused, blushing rosily at the handsome earl.
Jasper smiled at them. “Susan, Nancy. Good day to you both.”
“I wanted to thank you, my lord, for letting me have the day off tomorrow to visit my sister. It’s very kind of you,” said Susan, the blonde girl with the posy of wildflowers.
“Think nothing of it. Please send your sister our regards and tell her we miss her at Holbrook.”
“If you would like to go the kitchen this evening, I’ve had Cook make up a basket for you to take to her,” Harriet added, smiling kindly at them. “New mothers need their strength building up.”
“Oh, my lady,” Susan said, her eyes sparkling. “That’s so very kind of you.”<
br />
“A pleasure, Susan. Please tell your sister we miss her at the house, but hope she is very happy in her new life. Her husband is treating her well, I trust?”
“Oh, yes, Lady St Clair. Rachel married a fine fellow. If only we’d all be so lucky,” she added with a sigh and a wistful glance at the earl.
“Those are pretty flowers,” Henry observed, some sixth sense telling him Florence was watching the exchange. “From a sweetheart?”
The girl blushed and lowered her gaze, avoiding his eye.
“Oh, no, sir,” she said, staring at her toes. “They’re for my gran.”
“Come on, Susan,” her friend urged, tugging at her arm. “We’ll be late back if we’re not careful.”
The girls dipped curtseys and walked away, only pausing to lay the flowers on a gravestone before they hurried off. As they went, Henry noticed a dark figure, standing beneath the shade of an ancient yew tree, leaning on a spade. The man called a greeting to the girls, winking at them. They both put their noses in the air and ignored his remark. The fellow laughed, his gaze drifting next to Florence, who was standing apart from the others, some distance away. She was talking intently with another young lady. There was something about both girl’s posture that made him frown. They seemed upset.
Henry glanced back to the man, who must have been the gravedigger for the church, and did not like the lascivious look in the fellow’s eyes as he admired Florence and her friend. A prickling sensation rolled down Henry’s back. Following his instincts, he extricated himself from Jasper’s company as the fellow had got himself deep into a conversation with the blasted vicar. By the time he turned back, however, the girls were nowhere in sight.
“Oh, darling. Please won’t you tell me what’s wrong?” Florence begged Grace. The poor girl was pale and miserable, on the verge of tears. She took her arm, dragging Grace farther away from the others around the corner of the church where they could not be seen. “Is it… is it a man?”
Grace burst into tears and Florence gathered her into her arms.
“Oh, love.”
“I’ve been such a fool,” she sobbed into Florence’s shoulder. “Such a stupid, stupid fool. I’ve r-ruined everything. I’ve ruined myself.”
Florence’s heart sank as she heard the words, her worst fears realised. “Then…?”
Grace looked up, her grey eyes filled with tears. She nodded. “I’m with child.”
Florence held her breath, struggling to find the words. Even though she’d been prepared for it, it was still a shock. Grace was so young, only seventeen. What kind of man could have taken advantage of her so badly?
“The father?” she asked, hoping against hope, but Grace only shook her head.
“He wants nothing to do with me. He says he never loved me, that I threw myself at him and he only did it because he felt s-sorry for me.”
“The brute!” she exclaimed, outraged that a man could be so cruel.
“I th-thought he loved me, Florence. He told me he did, and I believed him, but it was all a l-lie.”
“Oh, Gracie. Oh, my dear. I’m so dreadfully sorry, but you’re not alone. You have friends and we will all stand by you. I promise we—”
“No.”
Florence stepped back, holding Grace by the shoulders as she stared at her, puzzled. “What do you mean, no?”
Grace drew in a deep breath and gathered herself. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose, then tucked the handkerchief back up the sleeve of her gown. Suddenly she looked older, the weight of pain and experience colouring her stormy sky eyes. “You cannot see me once this becomes public, Florence. None of you can. If you do, you will be tainted by association. You know this as well as I do. I must take responsibility for my actions, and I won’t have any of you damaged by my shame.”
“But….” Florence began, only to be silenced as Grace pressed a trembling finger to her mouth.
“You’ve no idea how much it means to me, that you would support me in this, but you cannot. We both know you cannot, Florence. Please don’t be naïve and give me promises you simply cannot, must not keep. You cannot help me now. No one can.”
Florence swallowed hard, wanting to deny it, wanting to shout and rage that it wasn’t fair, but the truth of the words hung between them, taunting them with their cruelty. Any chance Florence had for making a good match would be badly damaged if she were seen with Grace.
“What will you do?” Florence asked, her throat growing thick as she tried not to cry.
Grace returned a sad smile. “I shall enjoy the last weeks of summer. I shall dance and have fun and do all the things that young women are supposed to do, and then… and then I shall confess all to my parents. It will break their hearts. Especially….” Her voice trembled, and she took a moment to swallow and steady herself. “Especially darling Papa. He’ll be so upset, but I shall go away. Perhaps to Scotland. I’ve always wanted to see Scotland. Such a romantic place. I’ll have my baby and… live quietly. Perhaps in a year or two, you’ll be able to come and visit me.”
“Oh, Grace,” Florence said, shaking her head as she struggled to keep her composure. The thought of Grace all alone with a baby was too much to bear.
“I’m stronger than I look, Flo,” Grace assured her, and Florence saw the steel in her grey eyes, the strength that belied her slender figure and fine features. “I’ll be fine, so please don’t worry about me. I don’t want to spoil your summer any more than I do my own. Forgive me, but… but I’d like to be alone for a bit. If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to walk back by myself.”
She gave Florence a swift hug, kissed her cheek, and hurried away, just as Henry Stanhope came around the corner.
Henry paused as he saw the girls embrace, saw Miss Weston hurry away, and Florence wipe the tears from her cheeks. She was crying. Why the devil was she crying?
“Miss Knight?” he said.
She muttered something under her breath, which he thought might be a curse, as she turned away from him.
“Miss Knight,” he said again, walking to her. “Is something wrong? Has someone upset you?”
If anyone had hurt her, he’d bloody crucify them.
She shook her head, refusing to look at him. Henry put his hands gently on her shoulders and turned her towards him. Miss Knight looked up at him, her green eyes swimming with unshed tears. The desire to take her in his arms and hold her to him, to protect her from the world, from whatever had put that look in her eyes, was like nothing he’d ever known before. It stole his breath, made his chest hurt and his skin ache with longing.
“Why are you crying?” he asked, keeping his voice gentle, his hands lightly holding her shoulders.
She returned a tremulous smile. “It’s nothing, truly. I’m fine, though I thank you for your concern. You’re very kind.”
He snorted at that. “No, I’m not,” he said, terse with regret. “I’ve treated you very ill.”
Henry stilled as a thought struck him, making him feel sick to his stomach.
“Hell, it’s… it’s not because of me? Because if it is….”
She laughed a little and reached out, touching a tentative hand to his chest for a moment. She snatched it back, blushing a little.
“I’m not crying over you, Mr Stanhope.” Another look slid into her eyes, something warm and gently teasing, full of promise. “Perhaps you would prefer it if I were?”
Henry dropped his hands from her shoulders before he was tempted to pull her closer.
“Miss Knight,” he began, a warning note to his voice that was entirely for his own benefit.
Use your head, Henry, you fool! What the devil are you playing at?
“Mr Stanhope,” she repeated, mocking him, a breathless note to his name that made his heart skip.
“I see you have recovered,” he said, striving to make his voice cold and indifferent, which was damned hard when he wanted to kiss the smirk from her lips. Damn the chit. If he did as she clearly wanted him to, she’d have a bloody shoc
k, for he wasn’t some fumbling boy who didn’t know what he was about. “I shall escort you back to your friends. You ought not be alone out here.”
She stared at him and, for a terrifying moment, Henry got lost in her green eyes. So very green. The churchyard was surrounded by trees, from the dark, forbidding yews to ancient oaks and elegant beech trees. The sun filtered through their branches, turning their leaves to emerald, yet her eyes were the most lush shade of all… and the only thing he could see.
“I’m not alone. I’m with you,” she whispered, as if that were the only place in the world she wanted to be.
Henry swallowed. “You ought not be.”
She stared at him for a long moment. “Is that what you really think?”
Henry knew this was the moment that he ought to say, yes, yes, that is what I really think, but the words would not come. He heard himself saying the words in his mind, but he could not force them to his lips. He could only stare at her with his heart thundering. He felt like a boy again in the presence of his first love, a sensation so horrifying it was all he could do not to turn and run like a frightened child.
Miss Knight smiled, a knowing smile that sent a thrill of sensation prickling down his spine, and then she turned and left him standing by himself in the churchyard. Henry watched her go, frowning. He wasn’t the only one. The gravedigger watched her go too, then stared at Henry for a long moment before tugging at his cap and carried on digging the grave.
Chapter 4
Dare it all for Love (Daring Daughters Book 5) Page 4
