He cut a path around the fallen trunk and, ensuring it was safe, led Miss Thorley around.
When they were both safely on the other side, he switched the side he was leading his horse from so he could walk next to her. He slowed his gait to match her dainty one.
All around him, fog from the rain hung a misty veil on the forest’s darkness. The moon flittered in and out from behind large, fast-moving clouds, and in the distance, an owl was awakening for its nocturnal activity.
The sight of Miss Thorley nearly stole his breath. Bits of moonlight highlighted the feminine slope of her nose and glistened on her long, untethered light-brown locks. He tried not to stare, but his attraction to her was growing stronger. He worried for her, laughed with her. She had been in his home, and she had earned his daughter’s trust. Up until now, he had managed to explain his interest in her as a desire to help, but now he found himself wanting more.
By all accounts he should not be alone with her, walking through the depths of the forest. He was softening toward her, and the more he was in her company, the more he could imagine what a future with her could be like.
He broke the silence. “Have you finished the painting?”
A smile crept across her lips. “I have not. But I will. I promise.”
“I’ll not forget.”
She rubbed her arms, and it dawned on him. She was cold.
Of course she would be. He was used to the weather this time of night, but her gown was thin, and the air was damp. “You’re shivering.”
She tilted her head toward him and smiled. “I am fine.”
He unfastened his coat, shrugged it from his arms, and held it out to her.
She eyed the coat. “I couldn’t.”
“Of course you could. Take it.”
Her smile of gratitude threatened to undo him as she accepted the garment and wrapped it around her shoulders. “I feel I am always thanking you for one thing or another, Mr. Locke. You are very kind to me.”
“After today it is I who am forever in your debt. Hannah is the most precious component of my life. If something were to happen to her . . .” His voice faded as the thought of a life without his child flashed before him. “If something were to happen to her, I cannot imagine ever being happy again.”
She walked in silence for several seconds. “You have a dear relationship with Hannah. It is lovely, really. I envy such a relationship. My memories of my family are not nearly as happy as the memories Hannah will have of her childhood. You are a good father, Mr. Locke.”
The mention of her family catapulted a shot through him. He had almost forgotten Treadwell’s news. He considered what to do with the information. He enjoyed being alone with her. The last thing he wanted to do was upset her. Yet she deserved to know. He had too much respect for the journey she had been on to withhold the information from her, as much as the thought of sharing it ripped at him.
“There is another reason I am glad we have a few minutes alone.”
She looked at him, an eyebrow raised in question, but said nothing.
“I spoke with Mr. Treadwell, and he informed me there is to be a hunt on our property soon.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, September is here, and the men will be eager to hunt.” He was not really sure how to proceed. “This is a bit awkward to say, mostly because I know it is not my business.”
“Mr. Locke.” She chewed her lip. “You are making me nervous.”
Owen hesitated, and then his words tumbled forth. “Mr. Treadwell has given me the names of the guests for a hunting party that will be joining us at Bancroft Park next week. Your brother and Mr. Bartrell are among them.”
“My brother?” She jerked and stopped short, and her voice rose an octave.
Bess, spooked at the sudden change in her voice, skittered to the side.
Owen reached around her to grab the horse’s bridle.
With the motion, his leg brushed against Miss Thorley’s skirt. He was closer to her than he had ever been, and he did not want to back away. But when the horse was calm, he regained a respectable distance.
“I know it is difficult, but try not to be too alarmed. If you remain at the school and he remains on Bancroft Park property, your paths should not cross. Given your reasons for leaving London, I just thought you should be aware.”
She sniffed, and in the fading light he could not make out her features. “He will be so near. All my effort to remove myself from the situation seems in vain. Perhaps it was ridiculous to think that I could transition to another world, that I could disappear. I suppose I didn’t think the situation through enough.”
Her shoulders slumped slightly, and for the first time, she seemed to regret her decision to leave. It dawned on him that besides Crosley and her aunt and uncle, he was the only one who knew the truth about her.
He reached out again, this time to stop Bess. He wasn’t really sure why. His body acted on instinct and waited for his reasoning to catch up. All he knew was that he could not let this moment of vulnerability and uncertainty, fear and regret, pass without addressing it. He did not back away this time.
She lifted her hazel eyes to him, eyes that had the increasing ability to arrest his thoughts. He had seen so many emotions written in them since meeting her. Anger. Relief. Fear. Restraint. Despair. He wanted to erase those emotions and replace them with a new one.
She lifted her arched eyebrows, as if to ask why they had stopped.
For several seconds they stood in silence. He reached out and took her hand in his, almost as much to capture her attention as to connect with her physically.
She did not resist or pull away. Miss Thorley lifted her eyes to him, her expression ripe with expectation.
“Listen to me, Annabelle.” The use of her Christian name surprised even him. He rubbed his thumb on the top of her hand as he contemplated his words. “You made the wise decision. The brave decision. No woman deserves to be treated as you were. Your brother will not harm you. Not ever again. I will make certain of that.”
Moonlight slanted through the boughs of the nearby ash trees and highlighted the moisture pooling in her eyes.
“Do you believe me?” He refused to allow her to look away.
She nodded and adjusted her hand to lace her fingers through his. She nodded again and then smiled.
“Good.”
In the distance, thunder growled, signaling that the rain could return.
He squeezed her hand once more, then let it fall. He could not take liberties, regardless of how his heart cried to. “We’d best get you back to the school. But I beg you, try to be at peace. Your brother’s visit is only that, a visit. Nothing more. He will not be here long, and then all will return to normal.”
He offered her his arm, and she rested her hand gently on it as they resumed walking. “Peace is an interesting word. My mama always said that peace is not dependent upon your circumstances. It is dependent upon where you place your faith.”
“Wise words.” He was finding that she often referred to her mother, as if trying to find truth. “And do you agree with her?”
“I thought I had peace when I was in London, before my father died. How naive I was. But the more of life I experience, the more I realize that it wasn’t peace at all. However, I am trying.”
“When Diana died, I was angry. I’m sure that is no surprise. Angry at God. Angry at myself. Angry at the monster who committed the crime. I felt responsible and felt I did not deserve peace. But time heals and scars form. We cling to faith because at the end of the day, what else can one really rely on? Certainly not our own strength or wisdom.”
She gave a little laugh. “Why are you so kind to me, Mr. Locke?”
“Owen. Call me Owen.”
“All right, then, Owen. Why? You have come to my aid time and time again. You’ve offered advice and guidance. I fear I have given you very little in return.”
Owen stopped once again and turned to face her. He reached out and smoothed a w
ayward lock of hair from her forehead. He studied the curve of her cheek, the fullness of her lips. “You have given me more than you realize, Annabelle. The more I know of you, the more you give me hope for a different type of future, and for that, I am indebted to you, whatever the future may bring.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Owen’s chest tightened when the door closed behind Annabelle as she entered the girls’ dormitory. Mrs. Brathay and the Langsbys were waiting for them, and after a quick discussion about Hannah’s condition, the parties parted ways and Owen headed home.
He went back the way they had come. It would be too dangerous to take the horses through the forest. And it would give him the opportunity to keep an eye out for any suspicious activity.
As he crossed the main courtyard, he looked back at the attic windows of the girls’ wing. Candlelight winked from the paned dormer windows. He knew what kind of suspicions awaited Annabelle, and how he wished he could be there to protect her from them. No doubt today would make her the object of staff gossip.
He turned his attention to the darkened road in front. He was eager to return to Hannah. As he came to the forest line just on the other side of the school’s main gate, he slowed the horses.
Did he see movement?
It could be attributed to a deer, but the shifting shadows seemed too large to be any other animal. He ducked the horses just inside the forest line to hide them from view.
Clouds floated across the sky, shifting the shadows that darkened the night. He waited patiently as the figures moved into better view.
From what he could see, a male, a female, and two youths were together.
Could this be the source of the boy poachers?
Suddenly the woman broke away from the group and climbed the stile to the school’s garden.
Owen rubbed his hand over the stubble on his cheek as he watched the situation unfold. He had thought that a man inside the school might be influencing some of the youths . . . but a woman?
Bess whinnied, shattering the night’s stillness. The remaining figures disappeared into the forest. He had a rifle, but with two horses he could not track them and remain unnoticed. But what he had witnessed lit a new fire beneath him.
He had a job to do, and there would be no sleep tonight.
Annabelle shook out her damp black gown and hung it from a hook on the wall. Thanks to Mrs. Pike’s attentions the garment was mostly dry, and with any luck it would be completely dry by morning. She carefully removed Mrs. Locke’s gown, folded it neatly, and set it atop her chest.
She could feel Louise and Jane watching her, waiting for her to explain, but she kept her mouth pressed shut, and they did not ask. Annabelle was grateful Crosley was nowhere to be found.
What a day it had been.
Annabelle had been bombarded with questions upon her arrival. Some of the teachers approached her with sympathy. Others eyed her with suspicion. Everyone knew that Hannah had been found injured, but everyone also knew that Annabelle had been the one who returned the child to the gamekeeper’s cottage.
She heard the whispers as she and Mr. Locke spoke with Mrs. Brathay. She had been alone with the man, and that single fact made her seem guilty for some unknown atrocity. The whispers jumped to the most scandalous conclusion.
Even in the politest society of London the situation could have been explained. In fact, the concern would have been for her constitution after such a trying day. But nobody here seemed to think anything of the emotional effect the day had on her. Instead, all the focus was on the scandal.
Annabelle was sick of scandal. Did it follow her wherever she trod?
She removed her stays and petticoat, and once she was down to her chemise, she folded her wrapper around her and sank down onto her bed.
How her pulse raced.
Mr. Locke.
Owen.
Oh, how the thought of him made her heart light. The memory of her hand in his made her imagination take flight in a way it had not since her engagement to Samuel.
She was slipping, hard and fast, and was in perhaps her most dangerous situation yet. She had risked so much over the course of the past several weeks—her security, her future, her safety—but now she felt as if she was on the cusp of risking the most precious thing of all—her heart.
As she sat on the edge of her bed, brushing her hair, the chamber door creaked open. Jane and Louise had headed down to finish their evening duties when Crosley tiptoed in, dressed in a black cape and clutching a satchel in one hand and a candle in the other. Her hair was wild about her face, and her cheeks were flushed.
Annabelle looked over her shoulder. “I was wondering where you had gotten to.”
“I have been in the kitchen sewing by the firelight.” Crosley tossed her satchel on her bed and set the candle on the chest between their beds. “How is Miss Hannah?”
“She got her ankle caught in a hunting trap, but she will be fine.”
Crosley sat on her bed and leaned over to remove her boots. “You spent the entire day at the gamekeeper’s cottage then, didn’t you?”
Annabelle chose her words carefully. “Most of it. The rain kept us inside most of the day.”
“Isn’t that cozy?” A coy smile spread across Crosley’s face.
Annabelle didn’t care for the inflection in Crosley’s voice. “What are you trying to insinuate?”
Crosley raised her blonde eyebrows and shrugged. “Nothing. I just think you are very clever.”
“Clever?” Annabelle returned her brush to her chest and retrieved a length of ribbon. “I don’t see how.”
Crosley tucked her boots under her bed and gave a little giggle. “Perhaps I misjudged your refusal of Mr. Bartrell. Maybe you are after a husband after all.”
Annabelle gathered her hair to put it in one long braid and whispered between clenched teeth, “I am not after a husband. Quite the opposite. You know I have gone to great lengths to avoid just that. I did not go to the cottage by choice.”
“You can understand why that is hard for everyone to believe, can’t you?” Crosley took the pin out of her own hair and shook out her locks. “Even though no one comes right out and says it, it goes without saying that Mr. Locke is quite a catch.”
“I have no wish to catch Mr. Locke, or anyone else for that matter. I should think you would set them straight on that account.” Annabelle was growing agitated. She did not yet fully understand her feelings for Mr. Locke, and she certainly did not wish for them to be scrutinized.
“Oh, do not become so annoyed with me.” Crosley began to brush her own hair. “I just think you should be a bit more concerned about the reputation you are forging for yourself.”
Annabelle could not hold the sharpness of her own tongue. “You would do wise to follow your own advice.”
“Who, me?” Crosley feigned innocence. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I think you do.” Annabelle pinned Crosley with her stare. “I am referring to your interludes with Mr. Hemstead.”
“Oh, that.” Crosley waved her hand. “You are making too much of it.”
“Just as you made too much of my being at the Locke home?”
Crosley lowered her brush. “You may be shy about your intentions, but I will not be. And why should I be? I want a husband, make no mistake about that. For years I have had to take care of myself and provide for myself. I know you do not understand that, but believe me. If you spend much more time in your current role, you will perhaps grow to regret your decision to refuse Mr. Bartrell and start to see a man like Mr. Locke in a different light.”
Annabelle turned away and pressed her eyes shut. She did not want to hear Crosley’s words.
She did not regret her decision.
No. She was tired, that was all. And she refused to argue with Crosley.
“I am going to sleep.” Annabelle pulled down her blanket and extinguished her candle before climbing into bed. She rolled over to face the wall. She could hear the former lady’s
maid bustling about the room, tending to the day’s final activities.
Annabelle’s cheeks flushed with frustration toward Crosley, but at the end of the day, was Crosley really to blame?
“My mother always said that peace is not dependent upon your circumstances. It is dependent upon where you place your faith.” She had not thought about her mother’s words in ever so long, and it struck her as interesting that it should be a conversation with Owen that revived the memory.
What she was feeling felt nothing like peace.
Annabelle rolled onto her back and glanced over at Crosley, who was just turning down her covers. With a puff she extinguished her candle, which engulfed the room in darkness.
Annabelle could not feel comfortable with her current situation. Too much had changed, and she doubted she could ever really have true peace.
She pressed her eyes closed. Her mother’s prayer flitted through her mind for the hundredth time. She had not intended to, but she had thought about the prayer so much that it had been committed to memory. At first, the thought of her mother’s words made her uncomfortable, but gradually, over the course of several weeks, they started to bring comfort.
She tried to remember the words her mother had used in their nightly prayers, but the memories were fuzzy. All she could remember was her mother telling her to just say what was on her heart.
She drew a deep breath, looked to the darkness, and whispered, “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to feel. All I know is that I am scared for what my future holds.”
A tear slid down her cheek. “Please help me know what to do.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Kirtley Meadow stretched before Owen. Midnight’s vaporous fog hovered over majestic elms and unfamiliar undergrowth. Eerie silence loomed in a space that should have been alive with the tawny owl’s cry and the scurry of badgers in the thicket. Not even the usual whistling of the wind through the dying leaves broke the ghostly stillness.
He strained to hear. Whatever the group had been up to at the edge of the school, he had to be on guard. He’d set watchmen on Bancroft Park’s property and was confident they were up to the task, but it was Kirtley Meadow that needed his attention now.
A Stranger at Fellsworth Page 24
