Margaret patted Caroline’s hand. “It will work itself out in the end, just you wait and see.”
“I certainly hope so,” Caroline replied.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sunlight blinded Philip as he opened his eyes, the pain in his side that had run rampant before dulled to a low ache. His fever had broken the day before, and for the first time in some time he could think clearly. He struggled to sit up in bed when a voice came to him.
“You’re awake!”
Philip turned to a portly man who he assumed to be the innkeeper due to the apron he wore. Had they met when he and Caroline arrived? If so, Philip had no recollection of it. As a matter of fact, there was little he remembered since the night that ruffian had stabbed him.
“That I am,” Philip said, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He sat still for a moment, drinking in the pain that came with moving until it subsided enough for him to move once more. “Tell me, how many days since my friend left?”
“Friend?” the man asked. “Oh, your wife? She left three days gone now, Sir.” The man’s voice was shaky, and he wrung his hands in front of him like a boy who stood before his mother when he was caught dipping a finger in the blueberry pie.
Philip glanced over at his clothes and saw the unopened letter. Had Caroline seen it? He truly hoped she had not.
“You-you’re paid up and all if you’re worried about that. Paid up ‘til Sunday.”
With a grunt, Philip said, “Thank you, but I will be leaving today. Now, or at least once I am dressed.” He pulled himself into a standing position. The pain was not as bad this time, but it still stalled him for several moments before he was able to walk to the chair where he began to don his clothing. It was a slow task; gingerly was the only course to take at the moment.
“Well…that is…I…”
Philip stopped with his foot halfway in a boot. “Out with it, Man. What is wrong with you? You seem a grouse who has realized a fox is on its tail.”
“Well, Sir, there is a problem. Now, I want you to know I had nothing to do with it.”
Patience was wearing thin. “Speak!” Philip said, wincing as a shot of pain flashed through him.
The man glanced at the door. His fingers were turning white from the tightness of the apron strings around them. “It’s just that there are some men from the watch here to see you.”
“Men from the watch?” Philip asked. “And what have they said?”
“A woman was found murdered. They’re inquiring about her with people in the area.”
So, they have not found that man Pete’s body, he thought. Then he chuckled inside. If they had, it was highly unlikely the watch would have been involved. Aloud, and with as much nonchalance as he could muster, he said, “And what has this to do with me?”
With a shifting of his feet, the innkeeper replied, “They been tellin’ people to watch out for a man such as yourself—gravely injured in some way and actin’ suspicious.” Philip raised an eyebrow at him, and the man quickly added, “Not that I’m thinkin’ you’re actin’ suspicious, of course, but they gave a description almost exact to you.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Could be many men that’ve stayed at my inn, to be honest, but I thought I’d let you know regardless.”
Philip nodded. “You have not told them I am here?”
The man shook his head. “No, sir. I…I don’t trust ‘em. There’s not been any reason for me to think you’d be a murderer, and they didn’t say nothing ‘bout a woman being involved. Well, except the one who was murdered.”
Philip would have laughed if the situation had not been so serious. This man did not believe him to be a murderer, and yet he thought these men were searching for him. It made no sense. Then again, what reputation would an inn have if it harbored murderers? Perhaps the man was attempting to save face. “How many?” Philip asked as he stomped on the second boot.
“Two.”
Philip reached into his pocket and produced two five-pound notes. “Fill a bag with provisions for three days,” he said as he donned his coat. “Have it ready, as well as my horse.”
The man stared at the notes. “But this is much more than I need in payment for that.”
With a smile, Philip patted the man’s shoulder. “Then let us say that the other note is for your friendship.”
“But, sir,” the innkeeper said nervously, “I don’t think they mean you to leave.”
Philip ignored him. “Have it ready,” he repeated. “I’ll be gone within the hour. Mark my words.”
As he made his way through the inn, Philip rifled in his mind for a tale that would be worth telling. He had told many over the last few years, and he hoped he had one that would convince these men to see things his way.
Opening the front door of the inn, he was not surprised when two men stepped in front of him.
“Gentlemen,” he said in a cordial tone, “I am pleased you are here. Please, let us talk, for there is much I would like to say.”
***
Convincing the watchmen to see things his way had taken much more time, and a few more mugs of ale, than Philip had anticipated. His plan had been to be on the road by midday, but it was already well past three by the time the two men left the inn.
Pity I could not convince them to come with me, he thought as he threw the pack the innkeeper had given him on the back of his horse, tying it tightly with a rope. The man had been very generous, adding much more than Philip would need.
In all reality, it should take him a day to return to Blackwood Estates, but with evening creeping up on him, he could not risk a nighttime ride. He would be forced to sleep on the ground, and just the thought made his side ache. Luckily, the innkeeper had also included a bottle of whiskey. If anything could dull the pain, that certainly would. Extra dressings and a small jar of the vile poultice from the healer had also been included. Philip would have to send a hefty thank you to both when all of this was over.
He was glad he had decided to take his time on his journey home, for no matter how hard he tried to grip his legs in an attempt to ride out the trotting of his horse, each jog sent pain throughout his body. A bottle of some sort of brown liquid had also been placed in the bag, another gift from the healing woman, with a note stating that it was to help with the pain but also cautioning him from consuming too much. Apparently, it could force him to sleep, something he could not take the time to do. And if he was forced to sleep, then waking would be that much more difficult, and he could be easily set upon by brigands if he was unable to wake at even the loudest of sounds.
What his body needed was more time to heal, but he had to get to Caroline, to explain the truth to her, to explain why he had lied and about the things he had done. Only the thoughts of her kept him atop his horse, for each jolt of pain had him grasping the pommel of the saddle until the pain subsided.
When he stopped beside a small creek to bed down for the night, he removed the now soiled dressings, washed the wound with fresh water, and then poured a portion of the whiskey over the now clean lesion, making him clench his teeth to keep from crying out. However, once it was redressed with fresh linen, the result was much more comfortable. Whether or not that would hold the following day, he did not know, but either way, he would not allow his injury to keep him away from Caroline.
The whiskey helped more than cleanse his wound. As sleep came to him—with a hope it would not be as heavy as the odious brown liquid—his dreams went to the woman who had stolen his heart.
Caroline waited for him, her arms open wide, ready to take him into her embrace. It was a relief to finally tell her the truth, to share about his past so he could become the man he was meant to be for her.
Yet, rather than accepting him, she pushed him away, angry that he lied. The love he had seen in her eyes dissipated, replaced by a hatred that made him take a step back.
“Why would you lie to me?” she demanded. “I learned the truth when I went to find Oliver.”
“What
truth?” he asked, confusion warring inside him. How could she have already known?”
“That it was you who had conspired with Miss Mullens to kidnap Oliver and take him from me!”
Philip shot up in an instant. Why had he dreamed such a thing? And then from deep inside his mind, he remembered her whispering this to him at the inn.
The sun cast a pink tint to the sky as it peeked over the horizon. It was time to be on his way, but he had to right the wrongs he had committed.
After redressing his wound, he mounted his horse once again. The ride was less painful this day, for which he was relieved; he was not sure he could have handled much more. Perhaps the poultice was some sort of miracle cure. Or maybe it was the whiskey—both inside and out—that had helped with his healing. Whatever it was that had helped him, he was thankful for it.
Several hours passed before he rode up to the massive stone pillars that flanked either side of the entrance leading to the large estate, and he urged his horse forward down the drive. In front of the house he came to a stop. Although he had never been here before, he knew of its location; everyone who lived in the region did, for it was one of the larger, more impressive houses in the area. Four tall columns lined the front of the house, holding a triangular roof, reminiscent of the Greek ruins he had read about once.
A young stablehand ran out, and Philip tossed him the reins. “I will not be long, but he has had a long journey. Would you see he is rubbed down and awarded a bit of oats?”
“Yes, sir,” the lackey said with a quick bow before rushing off to do what had been asked of him.
The door opened and a man stepped out, an odd smile on his face. “May I help you?” he asked as he watched the stablehand walk away with the horse. More than likely he wondered how a complete stranger would take it upon himself to order around a servant of someone such as he.
“Lord Franklin Mullens?” he asked.
The man narrowed his eyes; Philip had not offered him a bow. “I am he,” he replied. “And who are you?”
“I am someone who is interested in certain business dealings of which you have been a part. Not only yours but those you have made with Lord Neil Blackwood.”
The man sniffed. “My affairs are no concern of yours,” he said in a harsh tone. “Now be off…Wait, I know you.” He studied Philip for a moment before raising his eyebrows in surprise. “Are you not the Duchess of Browning’s gardener?”
“I was,” Philip replied. “I am now her protector. However, that is irrelevant. I must speak to you; it is of the greatest importance.” He glanced around. “Might we go inside?”
Lord Mullens raised a hand as if to keep Philip from entering. “I am sorry, but I have engagements this evening to which I must attend.”
Philip made a step toward him. “Then I suggest you cancel, for I am here on behalf of the Duchess herself, and it is imperative you assist me.”
It took several moments for the man to study Philip before sighing and moving aside. “Very well. Come. We shall go to my office.”
He followed the man inside and down a hall to a large room with little furnishings and bare walls. The only item of décor was a large globe on an iron stand and a bookshelf filled with what appeared to be books about various types of trade. Lord Mullens clearly had no interest in storytelling, which could be beneficial to Philip.
“Now, what is it that you need of me?” Lord Mullens asked as he handed Philip a glass of brandy.
“I would ask to look at some of your business ledgers.” When the man went to argue, Philip added, “Trust me, it will be worth your time. Her Grace has left me with clear instructions, including several questions to which she would like the truth. Then you must take a journey with me, so I would recommend you see that your plans for the next few days are canceled.” He held his breath as he waited the man’s reply. If the Baron refused and then asked Caroline to verify what Philip had said, all would be lost.
Lord Mullens gave him a shocked look. “I am afraid I do not understand. The Duchess wishes that I cancel my engagements? And we are to travel together? To where, if I might ask.”
Philip rose and stepped up to stand directly before Lord Mullens. “To the house of Ravencroft.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The dress that had been chosen for Caroline to wear was ivory with yellow ribbons woven around the sleeves and neckline as well as a yellow sash around her waist. A bath had been drawn, the water scented with lavender so even her hair smelled of it. After toweling her hair dry, Margaret had brushed it until it shone and then painstakingly curled it using the curling iron, which was heated on top of a small metal bowl filled with hot coals. The preparation took hours, but Caroline wished to extend the time for eternity, for she could not stop the churning in her stomach.
By all accounts, she should have been happy, for in marrying Neil, her son would remain with her, and he would have a man to guide him where she would otherwise be unable. Yet, something still prickled the back of her mind, something that said that this was all a farce. The problem was, to whom could she go to learn the truth? She had attempted to send a letter to Mr. Baxter, but it had gone unanswered. Perhaps he thought her a fool, the way most men saw women, and did not find the time needed to explain the ways of the law worthy of his time.
She walked to the window of Neil’s office. He had insisted that they hold the wedding at his house, stating that to have her wed at Blackwood Estates would be in poor taste since that had been the home she and Reginald had shared together. The idea that she and Reginald had shared anything made her want to laugh, but then she thought of Oliver. He had been the only good thing to come out of her marriage to the former Duke of Browning.
A raven landed upon the windowsill, and she gave a weak smile. It fluttered its wings and flew off, perhaps a sign that things were better than she thought. Then she sighed. She had trusted in such nonsense before, but now she knew no omens existed, for what had the ravens ever done for her?
No, she should not give up on what she believed, for if she did so, she would be left with nothing but the reality of the world around her, which was not as exciting or wonderful as the stories she had heard. Knowing the reason the Duke of Ravens had not come to her rescue was because Philip had not delivered the letter made her feel a bit better, restoring some of her faith in the tale that had kept her sane for so long.
Yet, she could not shake the feeling that something was amiss; although, she had nothing on which to place such suspicions beyond her own worries.
Sighing, she turned and looked at the bookcase full of ledgers. Philip had been caught by Miss Mullens searching through those books, a fact he had denied when she questioned him. But why? What did they contain that was so important that he would risk Neil finding out?
That something continued to tug at her. The answer to her problems was right in front of her, she could feel it, but it eluded her somehow. Thinking of Philip only brought about sadness to her heart, but it did nothing to ease the pain she felt. In fact, it only increased it that much more.
She hoped his fever had dissipated and that his wound was healing. Perhaps he would come to her and explain what had happened. With a smile, she remembered their time at the beach and the kiss they had shared. Her cheeks burned; it was she who had initiated that kiss, and he had kindly pushed her away, telling her he was not yet ready.
A frown came to her face. They had spoken of being together, and although she had been the one to bring up such conversations, he had not denied it could happen. If they were to marry one day, which she had thought they would, then why would he wish to take Oliver for such a small sum in comparison to what he would gain if he married her?
None of it was comprehensible. He had seen all of her ledgers, had studied them, so he was aware of the wealth of which she controlled. What if she had been wrong all along? Perhaps…
The door opened and the fleeting thought disappeared before it could solidify in her consciousness.
“C
aroline,” Neil said with a wide grin as he entered the room, “the Vicar has arrived.” He stopped and looked her up and down. “You look absolutely gorgeous, my dear.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek. It was difficult not to cringe as he did so.
What a strange reaction, she thought. I am to once again marry a man whose kiss makes me cringe? Yet, this man was not Reginald. So much of what was happening to her left her head aching and her mind unsettled. Yet, her comfort did not matter; Oliver was all that was important now.
“Thank you,” she replied. Then she glanced at the bookcase beside the desk and furrowed her brow. “Neil, why was Philip so interested in your ledgers?”
His smile turned into a frown. “Why does that matter now? We are to be married. What that man had been up to before has nothing to do with us now.”
“I am simply interested to know,” she said. “I find it hard to believe that he knew how I felt for him at that time. And then there is another question I have. He could have had access to my wealth, and yet he takes my son? Why would he do that?”
Neil sighed, taking her hands in his. “I do not know,” he replied. “I have sent to have him captured, so maybe you can ask him yourself. Though I doubt he will tell you the truth now any more than he did before. Now, Mr. Thompson is here to witness the ceremony. Shall I tell him you are still interested in the man who initiated the kidnapping of your son? What do you believe he will think when he learns that you still have feelings for the man?
“No,” Caroline said. “I am sorry. I did not mean anything by it.” She forced a smile. “Where is Oliver?”
“Miss Lindston is watching over him and will do so for the next few weeks.” He pulled her closer to him, his eyes clouded with something she could not identify.
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