A Woman’s Innocence

by Gayle Callen

  He went into his bedroom first and hung his coat in the wardrobe. He found yesterday’s shirt and trousers perfectly pressed and waiting for him. The thought of Lucy taking care of him brought a reluctant smile. Then he looked at the sitting room door, and his smile died. He didn’t want to go to bed like this, full of awkwardness because he and Julia had shared things deeper than a kiss.

  He opened the door and found her standing by the window. She faced him with determination, as if trying to be brave. She looked thin and sad. Something inside him softened.

  He stayed across the room. “How are you?”

  “I’m all right—angry, but all right.”

  “Angry at who?”

  “My brother, of course.”

  Sam didn’t know he’d been holding his breath.

  She let out her own sigh. “It’s not like he treated me well or was my favorite brother.”

  “But he was your only brother.”

  Her glance was brief, penetrating, then she looked away. “And I’ll deal with my grief and anger my own way. Mostly by making sure he pays for what he’s done to everyone, to both of us.”

  “You can count on me.”

  This time her gaze caught him and stayed, softening, and beneath the masculine garments and the cosmetics, she was all woman again. “Forgive me,” she said.

  “Forgive you?” he echoed stupidly. “For what?”

  “For making you uncomfortable this afternoon when I—when I tried to—” She broke off, shaking her head. “It was selfish of me.” She held up both hands when he would have spoken. “You’ve told me that you left here because of me, fourteen years ago. You can’t possibly welcome such behavior. It made you uncomfortable again, just like my feelings for you did so long ago. You should have explained it all to me before.”

  He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You still don’t understand.”

  Though he wanted to keep a whole room between them, he motioned her to the window and joined her there. He lowered his voice, wishing he didn’t have to look into her face, still so beautiful to him under the lifeless hair and shadowed cosmetics. “I should have been specific about my reasons for leaving. I never wanted to be a gardener, and I knew if I stayed, I would have disappointed my father by refusing his profession.”

  “But you said it was about me,” she whispered, looking at his chin and not his eyes.

  “Partly, yes.”

  “I followed you everywhere, made you so uncomfortable.”

  “Not for the reasons you think. You were only responding to my inability to stay away from you. As you became a woman, I developed this…fascination for you that I couldn’t put aside. I guess my brother Henry used the right word.”

  Now she stared at him with her blue eyes so intense that he wished she’d look away.

  “It wasn’t right,” he continued. “I was twenty, and you were just becoming a young woman, with the promise of a bright future ahead of you. If I had stayed, I would have had a gardener’s cottage, and no name to offer any woman of the gentry.”

  “I didn’t want—”

  “Stop. Don’t do this. The past is done, and I did it all for a good reason. I found another life, so I made the right decision in the end.”

  But he couldn’t tell her how he still yearned for her. He wouldn’t have her accepting less than the birthright she was entitled to. And he was no longer that innocent man, not after everything he’d had to do in the army—not after the way he’d relished it all.

  Julia struggled to understand everything Sam was saying. He’d left because she was too young, and above him socially? Then why was he so distant with her now? She well remembered how disappointed he’d been with her behavior in Afghanistan. Her recklessness was most of the reason they were in this mess. How could she expect him to put that behind him? The memories of a young man’s emotions were still there, but the older man in him had changed.

  It hurt, finally knowing that maybe once upon a time he might have returned her feelings.

  And once upon a time she’d wanted adventure, to travel halfway around the world to find it. She didn’t want that anymore. She couldn’t bear the thought of returning to India, where the memories would be too difficult. She wanted her own family, and Sam wanted his life in the military. She would never follow another man across the world again. She had given up such impulsiveness.

  But he stood there looking at her, a good man who wanted to make sure she was all right. She couldn’t bear this anymore.

  “Good night,” she said quietly, and went to her own room.

  When she was finally in bed, she stared at the ceiling, letting her silent tears dampen her pillow.

  “You most certainly may not review the estate account books.” Mr. Rutherford’s prominent nose rose swiftly into the air as he gave them each an appalled look. “There would be nothing in there to help you investigate Miss Reed.”

  Julia sighed as their interview with Mr. Rutherford the steward—the caretaker of the entire estate—proved difficult. He had only returned that morning from London.

  He had nothing valuable to contribute to their investigation. She almost felt like doodling as she listened to him drone on about the exemplary character of the Reed family, their long association with this land, and his own family’s history with them.

  “But if Miss Reed became a traitor because of lack of finances,” Sam said, “this would be a good reason to look at the books.”

  “Miss Reed received the same allowance she always had, and it was more than generous. She would have had a home here, since it seemed obvious she would never marry.”

  Julia clenched her fist in her lap. Much as she might have thought the same thing on occasion, she didn’t like to hear it so coldly stated.

  Mr. Rutherford suddenly turned to her, and she forced a competent, “Yes, sir?”

  “Do fetch me a pot of hot tea, Constable. I fear my throat is parched.”

  Before Sam could object, she shot to her feet. “Of course, Mr. Rutherford. I’ll return shortly.” Better to play the part of servant than listen to this windbag.

  Determined to take her time, she went out the door and into the drawing room. Florence was there, on her hands and knees brushing coal dust from the hearth grate. Julia only nodded and kept on going, casually glancing out each window as she passed.

  There was a rider entering through the front gate, and she paid little attention until she reached the next window. Then something about the man caught her eye. He was passing the fountain when she realized that he was wearing the exact uniform Sam was.

  He was a constable from Leeds.

  For a moment she froze, her heart pounding, wondering whom to alert first. It would take too long to extricate Sam from Mr. Rutherford without arousing the steward’s suspicions. She had to go for Frances herself.

  Walking quickly, she entered the entrance hall, and to her dismay, one of the matching footman hovered there. He would be the first to answer the door, the first to inform the new constable that—surprise—Leeds already had two constables here!

  It was almost like she was back in jail again, smelling the odor, lying in damp bedding. She couldn’t let that happen.

  “Harold,” she called, glad to have remembered his name. “Could you do me the favor of fetchin’ a pot of tea for Mr. Rutherford? He’s in the library with Constable Seabrook.”

  Once the footman had been dispatched, she picked up her pace and followed him down the corridor leading to the servants’ wing. She veered off and, after a hasty knock at Frances’s sitting room, found the housekeeper at her small desk, the household account book spread before her.

  Frances glanced up, frowning at the disruption, but she half stood when she saw Julia.

  Julia shut the door behind her. “You have to answer the front door,” she said, breathing fast. “A Leeds constable is almost at the portico.”

  “Oh, heavens,” Frances said, darting around the desk.

  “Sa
m told you what to say?”

  Frances gave a nervous nod and followed her down the corridor. They arrived back in the entrance hall as the door knocker echoed through the front of the house.

  Frances smoothed her apron and took a deep breath, reaching for the door handle. Julia ducked into the drawing room and pressed herself against the wall. Florence, working hard down at the far end of the room, didn’t notice her.

  Julia held her breath as she heard Frances formally greet the visitor by name.

  “Is General Reed at home, Mrs. Cooper?”

  “He is in London, sir. May I help you?”

  “Just checking up on our investigation of Miss Julia Reed. Has she turned up on the estate?”

  “Indeed no, sir. As you requested, I would have sent word to you immediately.”

  The constable seemed satisfied with that, as if it were all just a formality. When Frances offered him refreshment, he gladly accepted, though asked her if she would pack her generous offer for the road. Thank God it was too early for luncheon.

  But this meant that he’d be alone in the hall for any wandering servant to pass by and be questioned. And there was nothing else Frances could do without attracting suspicion.

  The constable was right there, on the other side of the wall from Julia. Should she go in and talk to him? After all, she was not dressed in a uniform.

  Harold the footman entered the drawing room by the far door. He stopped to talk to Florence amiably, then saw Julia and looked shaken. Julia walked to intercept him, and before she could even speak, Harold glanced at Florence again and wetted his lips.

  “Constable, please don’t say ye saw Flo and me talkin’. Mr. Jenkins might have me job. Flo’s ma and my ma are friends, and…”

  The poor young man rattled off one excuse after another, until Julia was certain that there was a forbidden romance going on. She frankly didn’t care, as long as Harold wasn’t going to the entrance hall. She tried to project understanding and camaraderie, all the while straining to hear what was going on in the hall.

  She thought she saw movement out of the corner of her eye, and glanced over her shoulder in time to see Frances handing the constable a package. As he tipped his top hat to her and left, Julia went weak with relief.

  “Are—are ye feelin’ all right, Constable?” Harold suddenly asked.

  She gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Certainly. But I must return to the library. Don’t worry, it’s not my place to say anythin’ about what happened here.”

  They both looked relieved as she hurried away. The library door was open, and a kitchen maid was just setting a tea tray on a table inside. Julia managed to catch Sam’s eye, and he excused himself for a moment as Mr. Rutherford prepared his tea.

  Once the kitchen maid had left, Julia motioned Sam farther down the corridor. “A constable was just here.”

  His eyes hardened. “We have to get Mrs. Cooper.”

  There was a look about his face that Julia had only seen when they’d been attacked on the road. It made him look like a stranger.

  “I found her. She took care of it.”

  “And he spoke to no one else?”

  She shook her head.

  “Excellent work, Fitzjames. But now I have to make sure he leaves. Ask Rutherford about Mrs. Hume. That was the only thing we had left to discuss.”

  She felt a jolt of pleasure that he trusted her enough to handle an interview alone. And then he was hurrying toward the back of the house.

  Sam’s long stride was another man’s run. His every sense was honed on what the constable might be doing. Had he left immediately, or was he even now talking to a stray groom?

  He reached the terrace through the conservatory and headed for the stables. Nodding to Tom, the old groom, he slipped a halter on his horse and vaulted up on him bareback.

  Tom gaped at him. “Surely ye have time for a saddle, Constable.”

  “He needs to occasionally be ridden like this,” Sam called, ducking as he guided the horse out of the stables. “It helps in emergencies.”

  By the time he reached the front of the manor, the constable and his horse were past the front gate, heading down the road west toward Rotherham.

  Outside the estate, Sam disappeared into the beginning of the trees, parallel to the road. He could catch glimpses of the constable’s white trousers through the greenery. Sam felt no emotion, just a single-minded obsession with his target. Nothing intruded, not terrain, not compassion, not scruples. Past each tree, the man’s uniform made a perfect target. Sam’s pistol was in his pocket, where he always kept it. All he cared about was that this one man was a threat to Julia, that the constable could return anytime and discover them. If this were an Eastern country, Sam could wield justice himself.

  Yet why not? The farther they got from Hopewell Manor, the more he considered disposing of the man permanently. The constable could have seen something suspicious and would report it to his superiors. It was better not to take a chance—

  And then Sam felt the comfortable grip of his pistol, and he had no memory of reaching for it.

  Chapter 15

  A shock went through Sam as he realized what he had been contemplating. He brought his horse to a stop, letting the constable plod slowly on his way, out of sight.

  Sam had almost killed him, regardless of the fact that this was not a war, that the constable was an innocent man doing his job. The police force would have sent another constable, prompting an even bigger investigation. He dropped the pistol back into his pocket as if it burned him.

  The trees were still close around him, and the woods seemed strangely silent. Sam realized he hadn’t left the manor since he was attacked in the gardens. He turned his horse about, looking all around him, his hand on the pistol again. He had no sensation of being followed.

  Yet he’d left Julia alone. He kicked his horse into a trot until the trees thinned and fell away behind him, then he increased to a gallop.

  When he entered the gates to the estate, his brother Henry was there, obviously waiting for him. Sam didn’t want to talk to anyone, not when he was this rattled by what had almost happened with the constable, and by the thought of Julia alone, but he had no choice. He swung down off the horse and met Henry’s worried gaze, then looked around to see that they were unobserved.

  “Did you see anyone near the manor?” Sam asked.

  Henry looked taken aback. “Are you worried about your attacker in broad daylight?”

  “Julia is alone in there.”

  “She’s not alone; she has the entire staff.” Henry glanced at the horse. “Bareback?”

  Sam shrugged. “It’s always good for a horse to learn to accept commands under any situation. Considering I bought the animal with little time to examine him, he functioned well.”

  Henry nodded, but was obviously skeptical. “How goes the investigation?”

  “Slow. I do have one question for you, though—have you ever seen evidence that the grounds were disturbed in an unusual way? And I don’t mean someone just prowling about.”

  His brother looked at him blankly. “You mean as if someone besides me or my men had been digging?”

  Sam nodded.

  “I can’t think of an incidence—and you know how particular I am about my work.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence between the brothers, and Sam knew it was because he was so distracted.

  “It’s remarkable how much Julia looks like a young man,” Henry said. “The way she holds her shoulders, the length of her stride—”

  “Keep your voice down, please.”

  Henry rolled his eyes.

  “I trained her as well as I was able to,” Sam explained.

  “Trained her?”

  “We camped on our way here from Rotherham. That’s where I showed her how to transform herself.”

  “You’ve had to spend a lot of time with her,” Henry said slowly.

  “Almost a week now.” He gave his brother a look that would have cowe
d any soldier under his command.

  Henry only cocked his head. “I used to try and keep you away from her. Don’t you remember?”

  “It was a lifetime ago. And this is not the same thing at all. She needs my help.”

  “That’s exactly what you said all those years ago.”

  Sam didn’t need to be interrogated by his own brother. His body was still primed for combat, his blood pumping through his veins as if he would need to attack someone to make these feelings go away. Gathering the reins of his control was an exercise he obviously needed. He took a deep breath and strove for tranquillity.

  Henry didn’t let him speak. “Just because she’s running from the law doesn’t mean she’s brought down to our station.”

  Sam hated hearing his own thoughts flung back at him. “I know that,” he said between gritted teeth. “Henry, I know what I am, and I don’t need you to remind me. I have an assignment to do here, and when I’m done, I’ll return to my command in India.”

  “Does she know that?”

  “Yes.” Or did he only assume that?

  Henry sighed and lifted off his hat to run a hand through his damp hair. “I seem to have returned to the part of the worried, careful brother. I hope I’m not offending you.”

  “You’re not. It seems strange to have someone worry about me again.”

  Henry looked at him as if he saw too much. “Then you’ve been alone too long, Constable. You’ve always had people worry about you. Come to dinner.”

  “No.”

  “My wife and children don’t know you.”

  “But isn’t Ma living with you?”

  Henry slowly nodded. “You look very different with the beard.”

  “But it still has traces of the Sherryngton red. Thank you, but I must decline. I have to get back to the house.”

  “I’ll take the horse around for you.” Henry seemed hesitant, frustrated, and sad.