by Karen Lynne
A soft knock sounded, and Walter closed the book.
His mother’s head peeked through the open door. “Did you find what you were looking for?” she asked, motherly concern taking precedence over her grief.
“Yes.” Walter hoped his voice didn’t betray his concern.
“The vicar has just arrived. Would you like to talk to him?”
Walter nodded as he stood. His head spun with the recent information he had gained. “I’ll be down in a moment.”
She gave him a sad smile. “It is so good to have you home. I have missed your steady influence.”
“I have missed you too.” He stood. Walking toward his mother, he gave her another embrace, thankful she was still in his life.
As she closed the door behind her, he braced himself against the desk, hissing out a breath. “Daniel, what were you doing?”
They would have to go into further debt to pay for the funeral, and he was now responsible for paying the debts.
It weighed heavily on his shoulders. The case in London became even more important now. No, it was critical to secure his future. Taking a deep breath, he straightened and prepared to talk with the vicar.
Chapter 4
It had been three days since he’d returned home, and the funeral arrangements were in place. With time on his hands, Walter was itching to leave the house. The thoughts of Patience, only two miles down the road, gave him pause. Did she grieve the loss of her relationship with Lord Berkshire more than theirs?
He shook his head, vanquishing Patience from his mind. He’d kept thoughts of her at bay since having arrived with all that he had to do. He hadn’t the desire to make a habit of thinking of her now that time was his.
Henrietta had been playing the pianoforte non-stop for the past few days. He reasoned it was her way of grieving, but the solemn music dampened his mood. He had seen little of his mother. He imagined she remained in her room or the library to hide away from the reality of having her eldest ripped from her. He left the house to clear his head as he wandered the grounds, deep in thought.
He made his way to the fishing pond just below the estate, walking among the cattails, watching the sunlight glisten on the surface. He could see the little shack at the edge of their property where the groundskeeper kept the fishing and boating equipment.
He pulled Patience inside the shack when he was only twelve, she ten. They’d used it as headquarters for their imagined investigator bureau. They’d find some insignificant mystery to solve and meet up in the small shed, discussing clues and theories. He remembered the way her hair frizzed, a tangled mess she could never control. Her nose sprinkled with freckles, though they’d dimmed as the years passed. Now the red highlights of her auburn hair shown and she’d grown into a beauty.
A movement drew Walter from the memory as a groom, in the distance, disappeared into the stables.
He remembered the faulty carriage. If anyone knew where it was now, it would be the stable hands. Walter moved to the stables, shoving his hands in his pockets.
The old groom was busy cleaning a stall. He remembered Benjamin, a loyal servant who had been with them since before his father’s passing.
He turned to see Walter. Resting his arms on his shovel, he wiped his brow. “Master Walter, I heard you had returned. ‘Tis a sad day to be sure.”
“It is Benjamin.” Horses stood in their stalls, but no carriage was in view. How had the horses fared?
He pushed past the thickness in his chest. “I came to ask about the carriage my brother drove at the time of his death. Did you happen to see it… after?” He cleared his throat, pulling in his emotions.
Benjamin nodded, his face drooping. “The younger hands loaded the wreckage and delivered it to the blacksmith the day you arrived. Not much could be done to repair it.”
“What did the blacksmith want with it?”
“Well, ‘twas no use to us, sir.” Benjamin grabbed a pitchfork and began stabbing hay bales, sending fresh hay to the horses. “I reckon he’d want to use some parts for his work. Your mother sold it for scrap.”
Anxiety clutched at Walter. Was he too late? Had the blacksmith destroyed all the clues of his brother’s death?
“How did the carriage look?” he asked. “I was told it was missing a wheel.”
“Yes, sir. Missing the right wheel, and the top had caved completely in. The underside was all bent up, it was.”
“What do you suppose caused the wheel to come off?”
Benjamin shrugged, tossing the last bit of hay. “Heaven only knows. Could’ve hit some boulder or a hole in the road. Or maybe the wheel was coming off already. I suppose we’ll never know for sure.”
Walter clenched his jaw. “Thank you, Benjamin.”
He strode from the stable, his mind on finding the truth. He needed to go to the blacksmith’s and investigate the carriage, but it was getting late and tomorrow was the funeral. He’d likely not have time to make any more inquiries.
He moved back to the house as an additional weight settled in his chest.
Walter fixated on the nearby headstone, scowling as the vicar quoted the Bible, offering little comfort. A tidy crowd surrounded him, Henrietta, and his mother. Many of them had approached him before the service began, offering their sympathy and condolences. He wasn’t sure what to do. It wouldn’t bring Daniel back or lessen the blow of his loss. He heard the constant mutterings, the repeated phrases.
“Gone too soon.”
“He was so young.”
Walter hadn’t bothered to search the crowd for Patience. He told himself he didn’t care if she was here. If she were, she only showed her support for his brother and family.
Henrietta sobbed quietly into his shoulder. His mother stared with empty eyes at Daniel’s casket, poised to be lowered into his eternal rest. It would have pained Daniel to see his family so dismal. He had his flaws, but Daniel never liked to see his family unhappy. He had been the rock after their father left this world.
Now that responsibility fell to Walter… and he wasn’t sure if he was up to the task.
The vicar's sermon ended. His brother’s casket lowered into the earth. Watching it descend twisted Walter’s insides into an unsteady resolve. His brother would forever remain under the ground, never to resurface. Emotion caught in his throat, but he refused to let it show. His family needed him strong.
The vicar invited the family to say their last goodbyes and the vicar’s wife handed Walter and each family member a rose. He stood at the edge of the grave, his sister on one arm, his mother on the other and they stared down at the gaping hole which held Daniel.
His mother gently kissed the top of her rose, then let it fall. It landed softly on the casket and Henrietta’s followed, hitting with a thud. His jaw clenched. Goodbye, brother. May I be half the man you were. He let his rose fall, and with it, his brother.
Neighbors and friends turned to leave as Walter fixed his gaze on familiar blue eyes. He stilled. Patience stood across the lawn, in the shade of a willow. Alone, like a statue, the black of her dress accentuated the pale pallor of her fair skin. Watching, the white of her eyes pink from crying.
He wanted to go to her, find comfort in her from what he had lost. Her standing in the distance meant she still cared. The sadness in her eyes told of her loss. Every instinct in him told him to rush to her so they might share this burden together.
Instead, he bridled his emotions and kissed the top of his mother’s head.
“Return to the house. I’ll be along shortly.”
His mother nodded as his sister clung to her, heading for the carriage he’d rented for the occasion. As soon as they were safely inside, Walter turned to face Patience. She hadn’t moved. He pulled a cloak of indifference around him like a shield. Patience might feel for his loss, but her actions repeatedly proved her inconstancy.
He walked around the laborer’s filling his brother’s grave, and stood tall in front of the woman who had taken up his thoughts and focus
for the past few months, perhaps without even realizing it.
“Walter...” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
Everything about her was soft, comforting. But he wouldn’t be pulled in by her charms again. Not today.
“I hope you are well, Miss Hawthorn.”
Her eyes fluttered in surprise before looking away. “You’re angry with me still.”
It wasn’t a question, just a statement of fact.
With harsh breath and steel in his words, he lashed out. “I have other things to occupy my time. I do not have time to feel resentment—or any feelings—toward you.” He wanted her to feel his pain.
Her brows drew together as her bottom lip trembled. “Did you not receive my letter?”
Walter remained firm and unfeeling. “I never opened it,” he admitted. “I used it as kindling for my fire.”
“Oh.” Patience’s eyes pooled, a film of tears forming. “I wish you would have read it,” she whispered.
So had he.
His gut twisted. Tempted to reach for her, give some comfort, but she had done enough toying with his emotions. He didn’t need to read a letter full of overdone apologies. Lord Berkshire had rejected her as she had rejected him. It was in the past, and he would keep it there to save his sanity. He couldn’t do it again, love her only to have her reject him, twice. He refused to risk his heart on the fickle lady.
“You have not forgiven me,” she whispered, defeat in her voice.
“You are incorrect. I’ve done my best to forget you.” Walter tipped his hat in her direction. “I wish you health and happiness.”
“Walter…” Patience stopped. The tears had escaped the corners of her eyes. “I wish I could express how sorry I am about your brother.” She straightened, squaring her shoulders. “But if this is to be the last time, we speak to each other… then I want you to know I wish you the happiest of lives. A gentleman as good as you deserves only the best.”
She turned from him, her black dress rustling as she walked away, her shoulders held high. She was being strong for his sake, too much spirit to grovel. The thought made him proud, despite his best effort to keep his feelings neutral. He felt hollow inside as she retreated. Without her support, he was but a shell of the man he could be.
Chapter 5
Patience didn’t believe Walter would be so cruel as to forget her, not for a moment. He was hurting from the loss of his brother and was lashing out because of his perceived betrayal.
Had he really burned the letter as he said?
It would explain everything, his actions toward her. He didn’t know she had not gone against her word to him.
She had made a vow when they had failed to gain permission from her parents. She would find a way to be with him. She had naively thought it would be easy to sneak away from her mother and steal moments alone with Walter. But she had miscalculated the sheer vastness of London, and the fact that they ran in different circles now that he was a barrister with little income and no status.
She had adamantly denied Walter’s insistence that she would soon find another to claim her heart. He let her go with his last kiss, freeing her from any obligation to him.
The tables had turned. She had been constant in her affection, while it seemed he held resentment toward her for supposedly doing the very thing he wished her happy to do.
She determined to prove to him she still cared deeply, and that she had been as constant as the stars. He was stubborn, but so was she. She had let her mother control her life long enough. If she continued in this manner, she would turn into a shell of the person she was, as her father had already done.
Attending the funeral yesterday had been difficult, but it strengthened her in a way she had not been expecting. She no longer feared Walter’s rejection. Though his words said otherwise, she knew by the stiffness of his posture and the anger in his eyes that he still cared for her deeply. Pain changed people, and she would not let Walter be changed for the worse without attempting to soothe him. She owed him that at least since it was her shameless trick that had caused the pain.
She wandered the village, strolling past a small dress shop and bakery, letting her mind wander. How was she to fix the mess she’d made of their hearts?
She had already decided she would solve the mystery of the broken carriage. She enjoyed mysteries—it reminded her of her youth with Walter. If she could discover what caused the carriage to malfunction, perhaps Walter would appreciate her efforts and consider forgiving her.
Perhaps.
It was worth a try.
Patience made her way down the street until she reached the blacksmith’s shop. She had inquired after the funeral with Walter’s groom as to the whereabouts of the carriage when the family was inside mourning with a few close neighbors. She hoped it hadn’t been scrapped.
She entered the shop, feeling the sweltering heat, inhaling the scent of iron and sweat.
“Miss Hawthorn! To what do I owe the pleasure?” Mr. Tate greeted her in the entryway.
Mr. Tate’s round, balding head and missing teeth did not distract from the kindness he emanated. His friendly demeanor had made him a favorite amongst the village. She smiled, knowing he would not deny her request.
“I was wondering perhaps if you were in possession of the carriage Mr. Daniel Longman drove before the accident?”
“I am.” Mr. Tate’s brows furrowed.
Patience’s spirits brightened. “Could I see it?”
Mr. Tate shrugged. “I don’t see the harm in it. I was going to strip it for scrap, but Mr. Walter Longman sent me a letter asking me not to touch it until he had inspected it. I imagine he suspects faulty manufacturing.”
“Indeed.” Patience followed Mr. Tate toward the back of his shop, avoiding the dingy scraps of iron that littered the floor.
A fresh breeze filtered through the open window, bringing with it the scent of horses and flowers along with a welcome breeze and light.
“Here we are. Not much to look at.” Mr. Tate pointed to the pile.
Patience stopped, her eyes widening at the mess in front of her. She had not imagined so much destruction. The object in front of her hardly looked as if it had once been a carriage. It lay crumpled on its side, missing too many pieces. The top was caved in and mangled. She forced herself not to think about Daniel’s crushed body trapped inside it.
“What do you think happened?” she asked in a whisper.
Mr. Tate scratched at his jaw. “I reckon something was faulty, but I haven’t had the chance to examine the pieces to know if that is true. It’ll be hard to narrow down exactly what caused the accident now that the carriage is in shambles.”
Patience stepped closer, examining the carriage. It was a mess, indeed. She didn’t know where to start looking for clues. Had the wheel fallen off before or after the tumble? Was the underside of the carriage that bent out of shape before?
She straightened, disheartened at the lack of information it gave her.
“Thank you, Mr. Tate,” she said, turning to him. “I trust you’ll examine the carriage for defects that might have resulted in the accident?”
Mr. Tate nodded. “It’s certainly intriguing.”
He escorted Patience to the front, nearly colliding with a man entering as she exited.
“Oh!” she gasped.
“Pardon me!” the gentleman muttered, grasping her arm to steady her.
She looked up, catching Walter’s surprised expression. “Patience. What are you doing here?”
She stumbled back, blinking. “I… I wanted to see the carriage.” She straightened, trying to show more confidence. “I wanted to discover the cause of the accident.”
To her surprise, Walter grabbed her upper arm and pulled her away from the blacksmith, dragging her behind a merchant’s building before facing her with a scowl, placing both hands on her shoulders, as if she would run away.
“Miss Hawthorn,” his voice low, “I do not appreciate you meddling in my private affa
irs.”
Patience shrugged his hands away, returning his scowl. “I’m not trying to meddle. I only wanted to help.”
Walter growled under his breath. “Let me handle this. Besides, I highly
your parents would approve.”
Patience winced at the venom in his voice. It was unfair to bring up her parents. If her mother knew she was here, snooping into Daniel’s death… “I don’t let my parents control every aspect of my life,” she snapped. “If I want to see you, I shall. Just as I always have.”
She watched as Walter shook his head. Bowing quickly, he turned to walk away.
She caught his arm, turning him back. “You may have forgotten me, Walter Longman, but this hasn’t been as easy for me either. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you.” She searched his face, trying to find some tenderness in his stern gaze.
“Tell me you think of me. Tell me I don’t suffer alone.”
Walter stared at her in silence as she held her breath.
Finally, he sighed, looking away. “I’ve tried to forget you, Patience,” he whispered. “Tried and failed so many times I’ve nearly driven myself mad. But I still harbor resentment that you paired up with a new earl only months after your parents denied me. You’ve lost my respect, and I’m uncertain how to capture it again. Even if I wanted to move forward in a relationship, I could not in good conscience until I can learn to trust you.”
Patience let her lips part at his words. The pain she felt stirred her anger towards this silly misunderstanding.
“Perhaps if you had read my letter, you would know the reasons behind my fake courtship with Lord Berkshire,” she said.
Walter opened his mouth to reply, but his breath caught. She watched him struggle.
“Fake?” he whispered.
“Yes! You insufferable lout! As if I could be so inconstant in my affection toward you. It had only been a year! You think I could not stand the temptations of society for a measly season?”
“Then why did I see you in the arms of Lord Berkshire? Why the scandal when he turned his affections to another? I wanted to throttle the both of you for your lack of discreteness and propriety!”