Was the security William offered enough to counter all that?
She wanted to rail at the unfairness of it. Yes, she had been foolish. Yes, she had done wrong. But how long must she pay for that?
Hot fury slowly faded into cold resolve. In the eyes of society, she could never atone for her lapse in morality. She might be shielded by position if she became the wife of a titled man she didn’t love, but she would always be tainted by scandal. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—live that way. Whether she could make a life with Rafe, or not, she wanted more than the future William offered. She deserved more.
Rising, she dropped the shirt onto the bed and went to a cluttered shelf, seeking some small memento of her brief time with Rafe. A book perhaps. A shaving mug. Something to cling to in the lonely years ahead.
On top of a stack of books, she found a dog-eared tablet. Opening it, she saw the words “Thomas’s Story” written in bold script. Sticking out beneath the last page was a folded paper. She pulled it out and opened it.
A Bill of Sale, conferring ownership of the stallion named Pembroke’s Pride to Rayford Jessup, signed by her father and dated noon, the day of the race.
Josephine blinked in surprise. When had her father sold Pembroke to Rafe? Was this part of Rafe’s plan to build a life for them? It made little sense, but it occurred to her that she held in her hands the most valuable thing Rafe owned. This was his hope. His dream. And if he couldn’t be here to guard it, she would.
Slipping the bill into her skirt pocket, she turned and left the room.
• • •
In the dark, dank cell in the prison north of Liverpool, Rafe stared out of the single barred window at the few stars showing through the wispy clouds.
A long way until dawn, he figured. He glanced at the figure slumped against the far wall, arms crossed, head drooping. If he hadn’t seen Thomas breathe, he might have wondered if he’d willed himself to death. This was only the second night since their capture, but he could see that Thomas’s spirits were already in decline.
The previous night in the Penrith jail without food or water had been fairly unpleasant, especially considering how beat-up they were. But today’s train ride to Liverpool hadn’t been too bad, even though they had been manacled and chained to their seats, which—along with their battered faces—had drawn stares and whispers from the other passengers.
At least, when they’d arrived at this cell—their home until the race—the manacles had been removed and they’d been given water and a waste bucket. And a few minutes ago, plates of food had been shoved through the gap under the door.
Rafe studied the slop on his plate, not sure what it was, or if he could eat with the stink of sewage wafting through the small barred window. Still, knowing he had to keep up his strength, he managed to gag it down.
Thomas didn’t even try. Nor had he spoken a single word since he’d awakened after their capture.
“You’ve got to eat.” Rafe shoved the other plate toward the Cheyenne.
Thomas didn’t move.
The clatter of a baton against the bars in the doors announced the changing of the guard and awakened a chorus of shouts, curses, and pleas from the other prisoners. It promised to be a long night. Closing his eyes, Rafe tipped his head back against the wall and let his mind drift until it settled on Josie . . . the way she smelled like the roses in the garden . . . the warm softness of her breast in his hand. What was she thinking? Had she given up on him? Would he ever see her again?
“I was wrong, Rayford Jessup,” Thomas said, finally breaking his long silence. “I should have heeded your words.”
Rafe let it pass. He had regrets, too. But they mostly centered on Josie. “I can’t believe you let them sneak up on you.”
“They did not sneak. They dropped ropes down over me from the trees.”
That would do it. “Eat,” he said again.
With obvious reluctance, the Cheyenne reached for his plate. “How long will we be in this place?”
“Not long. Day after tomorrow they’ll take us to where the race is being held. Ash will meet us there.” Hopefully Josie and Jamie would be there, too.
Thomas finished eating and set his plate aside. “I was in jail once before.”
His tone was weary and flat, which Rafe suspected came less from his injuries than from a lowering of morale. For a man as restless as the Cheyenne, being locked in a cell was probably worse than being confined to a ship.
“Declan Brodie was sheriff then. He put me there.”
Brodie was a local rancher and sometime sheriff in Heartbreak Creek. He was also a longtime friend of Thomas’s. “What for?”
“I was drunk and angry and almost killed a man in a fight.”
Rafe guessed that was the reason Thomas didn’t drink alcohol now. “Angry, why?”
“Because I could not find the trapper who had killed my wife and son.”
Rafe thought of the pouch containing the bullet Thomas had vowed to return to the murderer. “You must have found him at some point, since you don’t wear the pouch anymore.”
“I buried it. I knew it was time for me to put the past behind me and seek a better way.”
“With Prudence Lincoln?”
Thomas didn’t respond to that. “Now that the Scotsman has offered a place for you at his home in Colorado, will you put the past behind you and take a new woman?”
“Like Josephine Cathcart?”
“I see no other woman showing interest in you, white man.”
Rafe heard the smirk in the Cheyenne’s voice. The jail food must have perked him up. “I put the past away a long time ago.”
“Ho. Then your bad dreams are about the days you have yet to live?”
Rafe pressed the heel of his hand against the ache in his forehead. “I was going to talk to her the day you disappeared. But then Ash sent me to find you.”
“Blame the Indian. The white man’s favorite pastime.”
“You are a troublesome lot.”
“You will see her at the race. Ask her to be your woman then.”
He planned to. He just hoped he wasn’t already too late. He still didn’t know what had happened on her visit with the weasel. She might have already accepted Adderly’s offer. The thought stole what strength he had left. With a groan, he stretched out on the rank, straw-filled pad on the stone floor.
Two nights and a day in this stink hole. Four days until the race. Would she be there? Would he have a chance to talk to her, tell her about the job Ash had given him? Or after the mess he’d gotten himself into, had she washed her hands of him altogether?
Women. He’d known crazed horses that were easier to figure out.
“Did you finish your letter to Prudence Lincoln?” he asked around a yawn.
“Yes.”
“Did you give it to Josie or the countess to mail?”
“I have not seen either since I wrote it.”
Another yawn. “I hope it’s not too late.” For either of them.
• • •
“When will you be leaving for Liverpool?” Josephine asked Maddie over breakfast the morning after the Constable took Rafe and Thomas away.
“Tomorrow at dawn.”
“So soon?” Josephine had hoped for more time before she sprung her plan on the earl and the countess. She had been up most of the night trying to figure out what to do. She wasn’t certain yet where she and Jamie would go, but knew they could no longer stay here. Even if Father won enough money to avoid bankruptcy, she couldn’t continue this sterile, isolated existence.
“I agree it’s absurd,” Maddie said, spooning jam on a toast point. “But Ash insists. The man plans everything like a military campaign, and apparently, a soldier’s day begins with first light. Which no doubt accounts for why we’re always at war. No one is reasonable at that hour.”
“But the race is still several days away.”
“It’s because of the horses. Ash says we must go slowly, although I think he’s more concerned about me.” Maddie smiled indulgently and patted her rounded midsection. “For such a capable man, he can be quite the worrier.”
“Are you still going to the race?”
“We wouldn’t miss it. I think Ash wants to make certain Thomas and Rafe arrive at the ship safely. Like most Scots, he holds scant trust in English law. With reason, I fear. Will you be going by train or carriage?”
“By train, for the most part. Since the trip by rail will be a matter of hours rather than days, we won’t leave for a while yet. I’m surprised the earl didn’t send his horses by train.”
“He would have, if he’d had time to make proper arrangements for so many animals. At least this way, by the time they board the ship, they’ll be weary enough to behave on the crossing.”
“You’ll be returning straight to Scotland from Liverpool?”
“Yes.” Maddie nodded to Rogers for more tea. She waited for him to pour, then said, “Ash is sending down one of his channel freighters to fetch us. He feels it would be easier for me to travel by water than rail. I hope he’s right. The crossing from America was most unpleasant, although that might have been due to my condition, rather than the motion of the ship.”
Josephine hesitated, then realized she had no choice but to forge ahead with her contingency plan in case Rafe wasn’t able to take them to America. “Might you have room for Jamie and me? I should so love to visit your Highlands, and Jamie has never been to Scotland.”
“Of course!” Maddie brought her hands together with an exclamation of delight. “I can think of nothing I would like more. As I said on my earlier visit, I would adore having you at Northbridge. Do please come!”
“Come where?” Father asked, walking into the room.
Wondering how much of their conversation he had overheard, Josephine watched him cross to the covered dishes on the sideboard. “The countess has kindly invited Jamie and me for a visit to Northbridge. I have long wanted to see the Highlands, and Jamie would be enthralled with all the old castles and ruins.”
A startled look came over Father’s face and he moved so sharply he knocked a spoon from the serving dish—a reaction that proved she was correct in her suspicions that he had been up to something. When she had returned from the barn the night of Rafe’s arrest, she had heard him talking with William behind the closed door of his study. Then when the baron left the following morning, she had expected him to press her about his proposal, but neither he nor Father had mentioned it. Instead, William had promised to see her and Jamie again soon, adding that he would be coming to the race, too.
She hadn’t expected that. It didn’t alter her plans, but it did mean she would have one more person to keep an eye on.
After filling his plate, Father carried it to the table, sat, and shook out his napkin. “I should think the best time to visit the Highlands would be in spring or summer,” he said as Rogers poured his tea. “Rather than now, with winter upon us.”
“Not at all, Mr. Cathcart,” Maddie said cheerfully. “Late fall is quite beautiful, too, with the changing colors and snowcaps on the peaks. And if we do have an early cold spell, we shall have a grand time skating on the ponds, and taking out the sleigh, and building bonfires to welcome the change in seasons.”
Father tapped against the shell of his egg with more vigor than necessary. Frowning at the mess he’d made, he pushed the eggcup aside. “When would you leave, daughter, and how long would you be gone?”
“I shouldn’t think we would be away for more than a couple of weeks. There are things here that require my attention.” She hoped he would interpret that as a reference to Adderly’s suit. By his relieved expression, he did.
“As to when we would leave,” she went on, “Lady Kirkwell says the earl is sending one of his ships down to Liverpool, so we would depart immediately after the race. It should be a wonderful adventure for Jamie to travel to Scotland by sea, don’t you agree?” Before he could respond, she turned to the countess. “I shall have my maid pack an extra trunk of warm clothing, as well as a box of toys to keep Jamie amused on the trip.” Hopefully, that would keep anyone from questioning why they were bringing so many trunks for a two-week visit.
“I cannot wait to tell him about the trip,” she continued. “He’ll be thrilled. He was a bit down when I explained that Mr. Jessup and Mr. Redstone would be leaving England after the race, and I think a trip to the Highlands will be just the thing to lift his spirits.”
At the head of the table, Father cut into his slab of ham and smiled.
Twenty-three
Josephine and Jamie were up in time to see Lord and Lady Kirkwell away. In fact, she had been awake most of the night, battling doubts and breathless hopes, and finally, toward dawn, disturbingly erotic dreams.
“Are you certain this will work?” Jamie whispered, holding Maddie’s hand in a tight grip as they hurried down the stairs.
“Of course it will,” she whispered back, praying she spoke the truth.
Out on the drive, the travelers stood at attention as Lord Kirkwell strode down the line in his military way, barking instructions. “Mount up,” he ordered when he finished, then turned to his wife, to add less brusquely, “You, too, love.”
Another round of hugs and well wishes. Before Maddie climbed into the carriage, Josephine blurted out, “If you see Rafe, tell him good luck.”
Maddie gave a sly smile. “Of course. Perhaps you’ll have a chance to speak to him, yourself. I’ll see if Ash can arrange it.”
“That would be wonderful.” Josephine looked around to make sure they were not being overheard before adding, “And please thank the earl for attending to that matter we discussed.”
“He was happy to do it. Take care of your mother, Jamie. We shall see you soon.” A last hug, then they were away.
Kirkwell’s three stallions stepped out first—the earl on their Mercury, and two other grooms riding the warmbloods. They were an impressive sight, trotting down the drive with their heads and tails high.
The carriage came next, followed by Prissy, the dominant mare, ridden by Hammersmith. The other mares, both thoroughbred and warmblood, followed as a herd behind Prissy, kept in line by two of the Kirkwell grooms.
And finally, at the end of the procession, Gordon Stevens drove a cart carrying the stallion’s tack, enough grain and water to get him to Liverpool, and Rafe’s and Thomas’s belongings. Henny sat beside him—dismissed after her marriage to Gordon the previous day—waving madly to the servants gathered on the steps to see them off. Unaware of the trial awaiting him, Pems trotted along behind, tied to the back of the cart, under the watchful eye of the groom who would bring the cart back to the stable after Gordon and Henny and the stallion boarded the train.
As the caravan rolled away, Father and the servants went back inside. But Josephine and Jamie watched anxiously until the procession reached the front gates, when a rider came out of the trees to join the march—a young groom on a handsome chestnut gelding with a flaxen mane and tail and a white blaze running from his forelock to his nose.
“There he is,” Jamie whispered, bouncing on his toes in excitement.
Unwilling to risk his letting something slip, or getting his hopes up in case something went wrong, Josephine had only told her son that they were visiting Scotland for a short while, and that the earl would be taking Blaze with him so Jamie would have a horse to ride while he was there.
“But you mustn’t say anything to Grandfather,” she had warned him. “He might be angry that you didn’t take Thunder instead.” Fortunately, Father had never gone to the stables to see Blaze, so he would never know he was gone.
Now, as the travelers disappeared out the gate, she smiled down at her son. “I told you it would work. He’ll
be waiting for you on the ship. Now run help Nanny finish your packing. And remember, love, not a word.”
“I remember.”
As he scampered off, she let out a breath of relief. The first part of her plan was in motion. Hurrying up to her room, she felt a sense of anticipation, as well as regret. She was happy to start a new life, either in America or Scotland, but sad that she wouldn’t be able to say good-bye to all the people here who had treated her kindly, despite her disgrace. She did, however, leave a note for Nanny Holbrick that included a pension to ease her old age, and consoled herself that if she and Jamie went to America, at least they would have Henny and Gordon there with them.
The following days passed with agonizing slowness.
Jamie was still deeply troubled about Rafe’s and Thomas Redstone’s arrests and when she’d told him the two men were being sent away from England, he had been stricken. “But what about us? Isn’t Mr. Jessup taking us with him to America?”
“I don’t know what his plans are,” she had hedged. “Perhaps at the race, we’ll have a chance to speak to him.”
But as the day of departure neared, she worried that she was doing the right thing, taking her son away from all he had ever known. “Are you certain you don’t want to live at Fell Ridge with your father and Neddy?” she finally forced herself to ask over breakfast the day they were to take the carriage to the train depot.
“I should hate to disappoint them, but . . .” Jamie looked down at his plate, the tips of his ears turning red. “Would you be terribly upset if I said I would rather go to America with Mr. Jessup?”
Leaning over, she put her arm around his shoulders. “Not disappointed in the least,” she whispered, “since that is what I would prefer, too.” Fearing she had said too much, she drew back to look him sternly in the eye. “But you mustn’t speak of this to anyone, Jamie. It might not come to pass. And if Grandfather knew, he might not allow us to go to Scotland.”
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