Secret Promise

by Marin McGinnis

  Edward assumed his most imposing Lord of the Manor voice. “I am delighted to hear it. Now I hope you will stop wasting our time and begin to look for this other party.”

  The constable blushed. “Yes, of course, my lord. I will bid you good evening, then.”

  “Good evening, constable,” Anna and Edward said together.

  Edward and Anna exchanged an amused smile as the man left the building, and Anna locked the door behind him.

  “Where is Zachary?” Anna asked.

  “We read a story together, and he fell asleep before we reached the fifth page. I carried him to his bed and tucked him in.”

  Anna moved a bit closer to him, then stopped. “Did you—”

  “Tell him that I was his father?” He shook his head. “No. I did want to, but I think the poor lad has had enough surprises for one day.”

  Anna sank into a nearby chair and pushed away the one opposite her with her foot. Edward sat and leaned back, studying her.

  “I told him,” she said.

  Edward bolted upright, eyes widening. “You did? When?”

  “The night you and Zachary had supper together, after you left. It was very late, and he was half asleep; perhaps he doesn’t remember.”

  Edward gave her a look. “Truly? Do you think he doesn’t remember you telling him the identity of his father?”

  “Well, no, not really. Did he say anything to you?”

  “No.” Edward was quiet for a moment, fingering the scar along his cheek. “But he did kiss me, here, before he went to bed. Just like I used to do to my father, when I was his age.”

  They were both quiet, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally. Edward said, “I am glad that you told him.”

  She shrugged, as if it were of no consequence. “He needed to know. I should have told him years ago.”

  He grasped her hand, bringing it to his lips. “Thank you.”

  The charge his touch always gave her shot up her arm, and she shuddered. She wanted him, wanted to be close to him again. But her stomach was in knots—could it ever be the way it had been? Did she even want it to be?

  She pulled her hand from his and snaked it through her hair, which had come loose from its pins. Edward watched her, his eyes soft with concern.

  “Are you all right, Anna?”

  “This has been a rather difficult few days, Edward. I am…tired, I suppose.”

  “I am sorry if I have added to the difficulty.”

  Anna snorted. “Edward, I think it is clear that you are the source of most of it. Except, of course, for poor John.”

  Edward smiled sheepishly. “I am relieved that you don’t think I am the culprit.”

  “Oh, Edward, of course I don’t. But you do need to help our esteemed constable to find out who is, as I very much doubt he will be able to do so on his own.”

  “You are right, I’m sure. I really don’t know why anyone would want to steal anything from me, let alone want it badly enough that they would be willing to kill an innocent man for it.”

  Edward stood and then knelt in front of Anna. “I am worried, Anna. Your being so close to all of this. Promise me you’ll be careful.”

  Anna looked down into his handsome face. So earnest. “Careful of what? Why would anyone want to hurt me?”

  Edward sighed. “I don’t know. But you are important to me, as is Zachary, and one day I hope you’ll come to understand just how much. My life in America taught me more about suspicion and resilience than anything else.”

  Anna placed her palm against his cheek. “I’ll be careful, I promise.” He leaned into her touch and closed his eyes.

  The roughness of his skin made her palm itch, although she wasn’t sure if that was the day’s growth of his beard or something else entirely. She wanted him to kiss her so badly she could almost feel her lips under his. But instead, he opened his eyes and stood up.

  “Thank you. You must be tired, so I will leave you now.” He bent to kiss her on the cheek.

  Anna blinked. She wondered if the disappointment she felt was etched on her face. If it was, he was utterly oblivious.

  “Thank you for the chocolate, and the time with you and Zachary. Lock the door after I leave.”

  Before she could say anything, he was gone.

  “Damn,” she muttered.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Edward spent the next few days trying to quell panic among his workforce, which was difficult in the face of Constable Jones’ utter ineptitude. He doubled the guard, as he didn’t want any of them to be alone in case there was another attack. Fortunately, many of the burlier men were happy to help; there was a certain interest in wanting to avenge poor John. Edward stood guard himself, usually with Caldwell. They had dinner at the Silver Gull and spent the night alternately sleeping on a pallet in the office, playing cards, or just sharing stories.

  One night, Edward asked, “Why did you insist on a guard, Austin? You never told me what made you suspect Weston, apart from the one incident with Anna.”

  “There was talk, after you came back and gave him his marching orders. One of the men overheard him say that he would get even with you.”

  “So? Idle talk, I’m sure.”

  Caldwell shook his head. “Not from him. Not long after your parents died, Weston hired a clerk. A mealy-mouthed sort, not unlike the most recent one. The type who kept his mouth shut and did as he was told, without asking questions. Now that I think on it, that was Weston’s favorite kind of clerk. One night, though, someone saw him arguing with Weston. He was red in the face and screaming about how Weston did it.”

  “Did what?”

  “Don’t know. But the next day, the clerk didn’t show up for work. Weston put on a good show about how worthless he was, but it didn’t seem real, somehow. Almost theatrical, it was. Two weeks later, a body washed up downriver. The clerk, his skull bashed in.”

  “What happened?”

  “The coroner concluded he slipped and fell into the river, hitting his head on a rock, and drowned.”

  “You don’t believe that?”

  “His death was just too convenient. Honestly, I think the man had found out something about Weston, something Weston didn’t want anyone to know.”

  “Interesting. Any idea what that could be?”

  “No, none. But it makes me think that if Weston is out to get you, you’d better watch your back.”

  ****

  Anna’s life was oddly routine over the next few days. She tended to the accounts at the Silver Gull, hired a new barmaid, and took care of Zachary. He had begun to give himself lessons on the fiddle, listening intently to the musicians in the pub in the evening and playing the songs by ear. Anna had always known he was musically talented, but the loss of John Baxter had strengthened his resolve to learn to play, to make John proud. If she thought too much about John, it would only make her cry, so she just enjoyed the music.

  She saw little of Edward, except in the evenings when he took his dinner at the pub. They had not spent a moment alone since the night they drank chocolate together. Her desire to kiss him only grew stronger the more time they spent together in the company of others. Occasionally she would catch him staring at her, eyes smoldering, but he had not so much as given her a peck on the cheek in days.

  The constable too had taken to spending his evenings at the pub, nursing a lager for hours at a corner table, watching the comings and goings of the entire town. Occasionally he would pull out his notebook and scribble something. Anna tried to ignore him, but as she wove through the tables or pulled pints behind the bar, her gaze traveled involuntarily to him. One night she could stand it no longer and stood next to his table, hand on her hip.

  “What is it you hope to learn, sitting here night after night, nursing a single pint for hours, glaring at my patrons?”

  The constable gave her a condescending smile. “Don’t you worry your pretty head, Miss Templeton. Sooner or later the killer will come in, and I will be here when he does.”
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  Anna rolled her eyes. “As if you’d recognize him if he did. What makes you think the killer frequents my pub?”

  “It’s the only pub in town, Miss Templeton. Where else would he go?”

  “How do you know he wasn’t a drifter, just passing through, and while you’ve been sitting here on your arse, he’s gotten halfway across the country?”

  The constable stiffened. “This is police business, Miss Templeton. I would not expect you to understand.”

  “I understand you’re costing me money every time you drive away a customer who would prefer not to drink with your beady eyes watching him.”

  The little man bristled. “Here, now, Miss Templeton, there’s no call to be rude. And any man who is afraid to drink under my watchful eye obviously has something to hide.” He pulled out his notebook and readied his pencil. “Which of your patrons has declined to come in while I am here?”

  “Oh, go away, constable. I doubt you’d know the killer if he strode up and shook your hand.” Anna turned and walked away, knowing she would say something she’d regret if she spent any more time talking to the imbecile.

  As she headed back to the bar, she noticed Weston walk in. He tipped his hat to her and then shook hands with the constable, sitting down at his table. The irony of her last remark was not lost on her, as she noticed the two of them putting their heads together, whispering conspiratorially. Anna was immediately suspicious, given the way the constable’s gaze darted around the room, as if he now were certain one of its occupants was the culprit. Anna sighed and returned to the table. She had no interest in serving either one of them, but she did want to listen in on the conversation.

  Unfortunately the constable spotted her before she could hear anything, and his mouth snapped shut. Weston turned toward her with a placid smile. “Anna. How lovely to see you. Might I trouble you for a snifter of brandy? Your finest, of course.”

  “Of course.” She glared at the constable. “Nothing for you, I assume?”

  He puffed out his scrawny chest. “Now that you mention it, I believe I will have one as well.”

  “Fine. Two brandies. Anything to eat?”

  “No, thank you, my dear.” Weston turned away from her toward the constable, a clear dismissal. She threaded her way through the tables back to the bar, where Edward now sat, watching her. There was a pint of bitter at his elbow, but so far he didn’t seem to have consumed any of it. She wondered when he had come in, and how she had not felt his presence.

  “Hello, Anna.”

  “Edward.” She nodded, reaching for two snifters.

  “What are those two doing?” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder toward Weston and Constable Jones.

  “Telling me not to worry my pretty head and ordering fancy French brandy.” She raised the bottle toward him, then poured. “No idea how the constable will pay for his snootful. This will cost him a week’s wages.”

  “Why are you serving it to him, then?”

  “This is a pub, Edward. It’s what we do.” She put the snifters on a tray and winked at him. “Besides, it’s worth the cost of the brandy to see Weston leave him with the bill. Watch.”

  She returned to the table, conscious of Edward’s gaze on her back. She handed the men the snifters and then resumed her spot behind the bar. Less than a minute later, Weston had downed his brandy, tipped his hat, and left. The constable sat quietly sipping his drink, completely oblivious to the fact he had been left with the bill until Anna appeared beside him and demanded payment. The constable turned beet red and made a great show of patting down his pockets. She finally took pity on him and told him she’d put it on Weston’s account. He left, relief obvious on his countenance.

  She meandered back to the bar through the now empty room, scooting chairs under tables, watching Edward, who now sat slumped over his untouched drink. Lightly squeezing his shoulder, she leaned against the bar at his side.

  “What’s the matter? Other than the obvious, of course.”

  Edward snorted with little humor and did not look at her. “The obvious. Shouldn’t that be enough to make me cry into my bitter?”

  “A different man, maybe. Not you.” She thought for a minute as she gazed at him. He was older, certainly; they both were. He was harder, more…careworn, she supposed, although the scar added an air of devilishness she had to admit was really quite appealing.

  She reached out and traced the mark with her index finger before she could stop herself, feeling the warm flush of his skin. Edward barely stirred, just eyed her from beneath his impossibly long, dark lashes.

  “But you’re not the same man you were when you left, are you?”

  “No. And you aren’t the same woman, I imagine.” He grabbed her hand to keep it still. She could feel the beat of his heart racing through her fingertips. Hers was not far behind.

  She pulled her hand away before she rushed headlong into something she wasn’t sure she was ready to do, and changed the subject. “You never did tell me how you got that scar.”

  Edward rose from his stool, tossed a coin onto the bar. “No, I didn’t.” In a single movement, he pulled her to him, pressing his lips to hers. She closed her eyes, tasting. He was the same as he had been on the cliff top, or at least the way she remembered him. Salty, sweet, the slightest bit sour from his last drink, all mixed together with something that was uniquely Edward. She wanted to crawl inside him, become part of him again, just as she had seven years before.

  She moaned, grasping him tighter, even as he pulled away. Her eyelids fluttered as her brain tried to understand the absence of him. He rubbed a finger along her bottom lip, his gaze burning through hers.

  “Not yet, Anna. You aren’t ready to take me back. But you will.” He kissed her again, hard, then was gone. Her legs were jelly as she slumped against the bar.

  “No, not yet,” she breathed into the empty room. “But bloody close.”

  ****

  Edward rode back to Tynemouth, his lips still tingling from Anna’s touch. It had taken every ounce of his self-restraint to stop himself from ravishing her right there in the barroom. But their lives were too unsettled, and she had not yet completely forgiven him for his apparent desertion. His heart ached at how much he had missed. Zachary’s first word, his first steps, every one of his firsts, he had missed. He had been in prison, at sea. And then he thought of all the nights he could have spent with Anna. Time they’d never spend together, time they’d never get back.

  He shook his head. There was no point in such musings. He needed to concentrate on the present, which was enough of a mess. As long as the constable took advice from Weston, Edward was not completely free of suspicion, no matter what Anna and the Grahams told him. As long as that was the case, the man would never look for, let alone find, the person who had knifed poor John in the back.

  When he arrived at the house, Mr. Graham was sitting in the kitchen, puffing on his pipe, a bottle of whisky and a half-full glass at his elbow. He scarcely moved when Edward walked in, but his eyes were harder than usual. “Edward.”

  “Good evening, Graham. All right?”

  Graham ignored the question, but Edward knew he had something he wanted to say. He took three puffs on the pipe. “Seems you’ve embroiled yerself in a mess in town, my lad.”

  “Baxter? Yes, it is a mess. The constable still seems to think I might have done it, somehow.”

  “That’s not what I meant. You’ve been seen often in the company of Miss Templeton and her son. People have taken to noticing how much the boy resembles you.”

  Edward ran a hand through his hair. Graham pushed the bottle toward him and nodded toward a second, empty glass in the center of the table. Edward pulled a chair out from under the table and sat heavily, then gave himself a generous pour.

  He had been putting off this conversation since he had discovered that Zachary was his son. He was not looking forward to the disappointment he knew he would see on their faces. He took a deep swallow.

  �
�Zachary is my son.”

  Graham’s inscrutable expression did not change. Edward knew the man wouldn’t say anything else until he was ready. He sipped his drink, trying not to squirm while he waited.

  When Graham finally spoke, his voice was hard. “How could you ruin the lass that way? Have you any idea how hard it has been for her?”

  “I married her, just before we went to London for Dora’s wedding. Anna and I went to Scotland, handfasted. We planned to marry in the church when I returned. We had a picnic, got…carried away.”

  “Hmph.” Graham’s expression cleared, just a fraction. “Why did she not tell anyone?”

  “I wish I knew. I know it’s been hard for her. It was never my intention to make it so. Had I known…well, there’s no point in that. I mean to marry her properly, Graham.” He held up his glass in a toast. “As soon as I can persuade her.”

  “Hmph,” Graham said again, but the ghost of a smile flitted across his face. “P’raps I’ll tell the missus that part first.”

  “I suppose you couldn’t keep it from her entirely?” Edward knew as soon as the words were out of his mouth that it was a ridiculous suggestion. The Grahams had been together for so long and were so devoted to one another that secrets between them were very few and far between. Graham raised an eyebrow. “Never mind,” Edward said.

  “So how are you going about winning the lass? You always were a charmer, milord.”

  “Ha! I’m not sure as I’d say that. She did love me once, though, and I think she’s beginning to thaw a bit.” Edward thought back to their last kiss. It had been so hard to pull away. It was like gentling a horse, step-by-step, building trust, avoiding fear. She was close, so close to forgiving him for abandoning her, and their son. He wished he could do the same for himself.

  Graham cleared his throat and he started. He had almost forgotten the other man was there.