by Regina Scott
Why am I so surprised and hurt, Father? He’s a sea captain. Of course he’ll sail away. He never said he’d stay. You promised never to leave me or forsake me, but he didn’t.
They continued up the drive, Samantha chatting with Richard about what he would find when he reached the far islands. Neither noticed that Claire’s steps were faltering. No! She could not let his plans put a pall on her. She must remember that she had Someone who loved her above all things. She didn’t need Richard Everard’s love to be content in life.
And she didn’t need to fall in love with him again, either. She finally had a chance for lasting peace, for true stability. He’d promised to set her up in her own home when this Season ended. Of course, she could tell no one the source of her funds, or she’d risk her and Richard’s reputations.
She’d start over, perhaps take back her maiden name. She’d find a little village where she could make herself a valued member of the community despite her lowered station. Her new home would finally be a space all her own, to make of what she wished. No man would order her about, demand things of her she could not give, expect her to be something she wasn’t.
Why did that vision no longer give her such comfort? Had she made the wrong choice yet again?
Her leg protested the exercise, and she stopped to rub it a moment. The ache felt deeper somehow, as if more than her joint was hurting. Richard must have noticed her pause, for he stopped as well.
Something buzzed between her and Samantha like an angry bee, even as a sound cracked from the wood.
“Down!” Richard commanded, stepping in front of her. “That was gunfire!”
Chapter Nineteen
Samantha immediately ducked, but Claire knew her leg would never withstand so sudden a jolt. Besides, she could not see the girl hurt. Heart jerking, she motioned Samantha behind her, even as Richard stood in front of them all.
“Stand down!” he ordered into the woods. “There are women and children here!”
“Well!” Samantha cried. “I like that!”
“Hush,” Claire said, ears straining for any sound. The breeze from the mountains set the leaves to whispering like an accusatory chorus. She could see Richard’s head turning, giving her a glimpse of his tense profile, as he scanned the wood.
“Move toward the house,” he instructed. “I’ll pace you.”
“Lend me your arm, Lady Everard,” Claire said.
“I am not a child,” Samantha protested. “I don’t need your help.”
“Certainly not,” Claire replied. “But I need yours.”
Richard swiveled, face stricken. “What’s happened? Were you hit?”
“No, I’m just a little fatigued from the walking,” Claire assured him, hoping he would understand that it was her leg that pained her. “And I forgot my parasol at the house. Lady Everard, if you would assist me?”
“Of course,” Samantha said, blushing. “And please forgive me.”
Claire nodded, and they set off up the drive, Claire leaning on Samantha’s arm. Richard kept a wary eye on the woods. Every sound set Claire’s nerves jumping, every flash of color made her heart beat faster. But no more shots rang, and no one appeared to claim responsibility or apologize.
When they reached the door, Richard turned as if to go back. Fear speared her, and Claire caught his arm. “Where are you going?”
“I want to check the woods,” he said. “Give me a moment.”
Her fingers dug into his coat. “Surely that is Mr. Linton’s duty.”
“He’s an old man, and I’m not even certain he’s back from his half day off.” He bent to meet her gaze, and she saw compassion and determination in those dark eyes. “I’ll be fine, Claire, I promise. Go inside with Samantha, and I’ll join you as soon as I can.”
She wanted to go with him, to help him, to keep him from danger. But she knew she would only slow him down with her leg already sore, and truly, he had might on his side. Few, she was sure, would take on a man of Richard’s size without thinking twice. She forced her fingers to open and release the soft wool of his sleeve.
“Very well,” she murmured, “but I will hold you to that promise, sir.”
He gave her a brief smile before heading across the drive for the woods.
“You still love him,” Samantha said, as they entered the manor.
Claire stopped so quickly her joint gave. Down she went, skirts bunching, and the parquet floor smacked against her. Samantha hurried back to her, eyes wide.
“What happened? Were you hit after all?”
Claire took a deep breath, pushing herself up to a sitting position. All of her was trembling, but she didn’t want to frighten the girl any further. “It’s nothing. I have an old injury that flares up from time to time.” Goodness, but that made her sound like a grizzled soldier, retired from campaign! She put out a hand. “If you would help me rise?”
Samantha took her hand, and Claire managed to climb to her feet. Each step was a knife in her knee. “Please fetch me a chair from the withdrawing room,” she said, holding herself still. Samantha hurried to comply.
Claire stood in the empty entryway, pale walls soaring around her, trying to calm her spirit.
Lord, protect him! I don’t know what he’s facing. But I believe You have the power to keep him safe.
With a squeak of protest from the chair legs, Samantha dragged one of the gilded chairs across the floor to Claire’s side and helped her sit.
“Should I fetch Mercier?” she asked, face puckered in concern. “Or Mrs. Linton? Oh! I don’t know if they’re back!”
Claire shook her head. “It’s all right. I’ll just catch my breath a moment.”
“I’m so sorry,” Samantha said, hands worrying before her pelisse. “I didn’t mean to upset you by mentioning that you love my cousin.”
Claire kept smiling. “Of course I love your cousin, as a dear and trusted friend.”
Samantha puffed out a sigh. “You needn’t lie to me. I’m on your side.”
“There are no sides,” Claire insisted, heart starting to pound anew.
“Certainly there are sides,” Samantha said, hands on her hips. “He sees things one way, you see them another, and so you argue. My mother and father did that all the time.”
There had been few arguments in her marriage. Winthrop ordered, Winthrop raged, and Claire complied. “Some marriages are like that,” she acknowledged.
“Adele says they don’t have to be,” Samantha said, gazing up at the brass chandelier as if remembering. “I think you and Cousin Richard could deal very well together. You have a very good chance of getting him back, if you want him.”
Claire shifted on the seat. How could she be having this conversation now, of all times? She wanted to be out with Richard, to assure herself he was safe. But she couldn’t let Samantha see her worry; she didn’t want the girl to be frightened or to take Claire’s concern as a sign of her devotion to Richard.
“There are a number of impediments between your cousin and me,” Claire said. “You heard him just now. He is set to return to his ship after the Season. He will sail away with no thought of those he leaves behind.”
“That’s not fair,” Samantha protested, lowering her gaze and dropping her hands. “I’m sure he thinks of his family often while he’s at sea. And even if he doesn’t, you can still love him. I loved my father, and he left me for months on end!”
“Perhaps you’re a stronger person than I am,” Claire said, turning to watch the door. Where was Richard? Had he found and confronted the culprit? What if the fellow was a madman? Was Richard so far from the house no one would hear his call for help? Had he been shot and left to bleed among the new grass, those beautiful eyes staring sightlessly at the sky?
Samantha obviously had no such qualms. “You seem uncommonly strong to me. Yo
u don’t let anyone take advantage of you, and I can tell you’re trying to shelter me from things you think might concern me. It isn’t necessary, you know.”
Another minute she might go mad herself. Claire gripped the amber cross, focused on its shape within her grip. “I am your sponsor,” she told Samantha. “Of course I must shelter you.” Would her leg hold her if she rose and went to the door? She couldn’t just sit here, waiting.
“Well, I suppose there might be a few things I don’t need to know,” Samantha said grudgingly. “Like the cost of my gowns, or how long it takes to hear back from the chamberlain. But I wish you would just tell me the truth about your feelings for my cousin.”
Something inside Claire snapped. “The truth?” She raised her chin, fear for Richard threatening to overwhelm her. “Very well. The truth is that I never stopped loving him. I will probably always love him. Do you know how that made me feel as the wife of another man? Perhaps, if I’d been able to forget him, my husband might have been able to love and respect me. Perhaps he might even have stayed home at night, instead of thundering into the house each morning in a drunken rage that threatened the staff and my health and safety. Is that sufficient truth for you, Lady Everard?”
Samantha’s lower lip trembled. “I’m terribly sorry. It really is none of my affair, is it?”
Claire felt tears coming. “Oh, Samantha, forgive me. I didn’t intend to burden you with any of that.”
The girl bent and hugged her close. “It’s all right. People are always telling me things about my mother and father. I gather they weren’t very happy, either. But my father was always good to me.”
Claire leaned into the hug, let the kindness buoy her. “And you are good to me, my dear.”
“Of course!” Samantha disengaged to give her a watery smile. “I’m quite fond of you, you know. I just wish you and Cousin Richard could find a way to be together now.”
So did she. “I fear your cousin would say that that ship has sailed.”
Samantha made a face. “I’m not so certain. Sometimes I see the most tender look on his face when he gazes at you.”
“Perhaps he still has feelings as well,” Claire allowed, afraid to hope. “But they are not sufficient to keep him here in England.”
Samantha cocked her head, letting her golden curls fall to one side. “Why must he stay in England?”
Sometimes she sounded so young. Claire managed a smile. “Because that is where home is.”
“Why?” she persisted, frowning. “Shouldn’t home be where the people you love are?”
Claire stared at her, the simple truth revealing more than the girl could possibly know. “How did you grow so wise?”
Samantha spoiled it all with a girlish giggle. “Oh, I’ve had years to think about such matters. It’s fairly easy to see other people’s problems.” Her face fell. “My own are more difficult.”
Claire reached out to pat her hand. “You’ve helped me more than you know. How can I help you?”
Samantha heaved one of her heavy sighs. “Perhaps you could answer a question for me. When you met Cousin Richard, how did you know you were in love, that he was the right one for you?”
Once, Claire would have deflected the question with a clever quip. Given their conversation, she could not feel comfortable with that approach now. Perhaps she’d been wrong to try to protect the girl from every concern; perhaps the truth was best. At the very least, the discussion might help her keep her mind off Richard’s fate.
“I had many suitors who were handsome and clever,” she told Samantha. “There was more to him. He had dreams, and he was working to achieve them. I wasn’t sure what to make of him then. Now I would say I admired his character.”
The door opened then, and Richard strode into the entryway. His hair was tousled, and a bright leaf lay damp against his shoulder. Yet to Claire he had never looked stronger, more in command. She felt as if she could truly breathe.
Lord, show me what to do. You knew, even though I was afraid to admit it until now, that I love him. Show me Your will in this place. Perhaps here, in Cumberland, we will have a chance to find our way back to each other.
Samantha was running to meet him. “Is everything all right?”
His smile to Claire was weary. “I found no one,” he replied, for both their benefits, Claire thought. “Very likely it was a poacher who recognized his error and fled to avoid capture.”
Samantha brightened. “A poacher? We should send for the constable.”
Richard patted her shoulder as if in agreement. “For now, I’m sure Lady Winthrop needs refreshment. Would you see if Mrs. Linton is back and ask her to serve us all tea in the withdrawing room?”
Samantha nodded and hurried down the corridor for the kitchen. Richard moved to Claire’s side, then knelt in front of her, his gaze searching hers. “Are you all right?”
Oh, but Samantha was right. How had she failed to see the tenderness in his gaze, the concern as his fingers brushed her skirts? Richard Everard still had feelings for her. She could scarcely speak with the enormity of it.
He frowned. “Claire? What’s wrong? Are you in such pain?”
In another moment, he’d likely take her in his arms and carry her up the stairs again. She could imagine reaching out, stroking the worry from his face, bringing her lips to his in sweet promise.
Oh, such thoughts! Her face felt hot. She smiled at him, a true smile, not her usual polished mask. Her face felt stiff at the little-used gesture, but Richard’s eyes widened.
“I’m fine, Richard,” she said. “I’m just very glad to see you are home safely. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Fine,” he said, still gazing at her with a puzzled look, as if he could not understand the change in her.
“Odd,” she teased. “I don’t recall ‘fine’ involving such a frown.”
He rubbed his brow as if trying to erase any concerns. “After that note the other day, I cannot help but wonder about this incident.”
The warmth that she’d been feeling seeped away. “Then you don’t really believe it was a poacher.”
He made a face. “I don’t know what to believe. You said you thought Giles was behind the note. If this is another of his pranks, he’s gone too far. As soon as you and Samantha are settled, I’m heading his way, and I may speak to the constable while I’m at it.”
The determination in Richard’s eyes almost made Claire pity the boy. But if Toby Giles was taking shots at people, he had to be stopped before someone was hurt.
She covered Richard’s hand with hers. “Be careful.”
He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss against her knuckles. The gentle pressure was gone before she could catch her breath, yet she felt it inside as he released her and rose and offered her his arm.
“I’ll be back before you finish tea,” he promised, as he helped her up and escorted her toward the withdrawing room. “You won’t even have time to miss me.”
Claire smiled at his jest, but she knew he was wrong. She’d been missing him for years. Was she willing to spend the rest of her life missing him, for a few stolen moments like this, between voyages?
* * *
A while later, Richard was riding through the valley on his way home from the small farm where Toby Giles lived with his aging mother. Toby’s father had apparently been a gentleman farmer, the last of a dying breed. With the spring planting ready to begin, Richard marveled that Giles had had time to visit Samantha so often, much less pen an anonymous note and shoot from cover. He also wondered why the young man had been away from home on a Sunday afternoon. Mrs. Giles had no idea where he’d gone or when he’d return, but she hadn’t seemed overly concerned about the matter.
“He’s a good lad, my Toby,” she’d said as if realizing that Richard had come with a problem. “
He always does what’s right, in the end.”
Richard hoped so. He would have preferred to believe the shot had come from a poacher who had mistaken his prize and then fled when he’d realized he risked being caught. But, growing up at Four Oaks, Richard had heard his father complain of poachers. They preferred the cover of darkness and the safety of the deeper woods. Firing from cover onto an inhabited property seemed the act of a coward, or a desperate man.
But what worried him more was his reaction to the threat. He’d faced down a boarding party of pirates, his blood roaring in his ears. He’d stayed alert for thirty-six hours, shepherding a convoy up the American coast toward Boston. He’d fought his way through a howling gale and waves nearly the size of his ship. The events had tried him, challenged him. Yet only when he’d thought Claire was in danger had he felt fear.
Despite his best efforts, she’d become important to him again. Her concerns, her feelings were strong as bowlines, binding them together, as a ship to a dock. He should pull away, he thought, before he was trapped.
But he didn’t want to pull away. He wanted to care about Claire, to care for Claire. He wanted to be the one who held her arm so she wouldn’t stumble on the uneven way. He wanted to sit beside her at the dinner table discussing the day’s events, planning for the future.
He wanted to court Claire and win her heart.
He urged his horse through the gate at the foot of the drive. Yes, he wanted to court Claire. But what were the odds of success? He’d failed miserably last time. Perhaps he stood a better chance this time, but only while he led the field here in Cumberland. In London, he would have too much competition from wealthier, titled gentlemen. Yet his time in Cumberland was fleeting. His duty lay in getting Samantha to London.
He knew the anonymous note had told of trouble in London, but he rather thought the danger was here. Didn’t the gunfire prove as much? Or had it merely been a shot across his bow in warning?
He had never missed his ship more. Where were his open seas, his endless sky, that pleasure in accomplishment? He felt boxed in, his choices limited and entirely unsatisfactory. His frustration must have been evident, for Nate Turner, the groom, was quick to take the reins to allow Richard to dismount, and quicker to lead the horse away, as if concerned about Richard’s displeasure.