A Stranger at Fellsworth

by Sarah E. Ladd

  Owen took aim at a pheasant in the meadow and pulled the trigger. He did not miss his mark. “Miss Thorley is free to marry whomever she chooses.”

  Thorley threw his head back in raucous laughter that caused nearby birds to take flight. “A woman will marry whom she is told to marry.”

  Owen arched his eyebrow as Drake retrieved the game. “If that’s what you believe, then you misjudge your sister. And if you think you can intimidate or manipulate me, you are wrong.”

  Thorley’s smile faded. His hazel eyes narrowed. “Stay away from my sister, Locke. I’ll not repeat myself. Consider yourself warned.”

  It was Owen’s turn to smile. “You do not frighten me, Mr. Thorley. But perhaps it is you who should consider yourself warned, for if you upset your sister in any way, I will be there to make sure she is safe.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The door to the classroom flung open. Annabelle whirled around to see her uncle, winded and wide-eyed, standing in the threshold. Alarmed at the expression on his face, she lowered her book. “Mr. Langsby. Is everything all right?”

  Uncle Edmund surveyed the students sitting primly at their tables, stepped closer to Annabelle, and lowered his voice. “Miss Thorley, you have a visitor. In my study.”

  Annabelle blinked. In her months here she had never known her uncle to disrupt a lesson in such a manner.

  He turned to face the girls. “Ladies, I am sure you can continue your studies in silence while Miss Thorley steps out for a moment, can you not?”

  The girls nodded, and Annabelle frowned as she handed her book to young Kitty Miles to her right. “I will be back as soon as possible,” she instructed. “Please read aloud, one page each, until I return.”

  Once they were in the corridor and the door closed securely behind them, Annabelle took her uncle’s arm and whispered, “What is it? Is everything all right?”

  “Mr. Locke will explain everything.”

  Her heart leapt at the sound of Owen’s name, but then concern gathered when she glimpsed her uncle’s darkened expression.

  “You look worried.”

  “No, not worried. Just concerned.”

  She followed him down the paneled staircase, across the school’s main foyer, and through the narrow corridor to his study. Outside a dreary, early autumn rain pelted the school’s stone walls, and the gray, dismal light from the narrow windows ushered her into the chamber. Mr. Locke was waiting for her, just as her uncle had said.

  A full week had passed since Hannah stepped on the trap.

  A full week since Owen held her hand in his in the forest at dusk.

  A full week since her heart had truly opened to the thought of romantic love.

  As she entered, Owen turned from the window and swept his hat from his head. The day’s pewter glow settled on his broad shoulders and accented his black hair. His dark eyes flashed and then softened. A gentle smile tugged at his lips but never fully formed. The sight of him weakened Annabelle, but her giddiness was tempered by the unknown circumstances surrounding his visit. She clutched her hands behind her.

  His gaze flicked from Annabelle to her uncle and then back to her. “I hope I am not interrupting. I need to speak with you. It’s important.”

  Her words were barley above a whisper. “You could never interrupt me, Mr. Locke.”

  Uncle Edmund cleared his throat loudly, shattering the odd formality. His voice was strong, his words clipped. “You have news to discuss, and I have business to attend to. I shall return shortly.”

  Owen’s eyes did not leave the older man until he disappeared through the threshold. He then turned his full attention to Annabelle, and his words tumbled forth like water released from a dam. “I shared this news with your uncle, and he agreed that you needed to know.”

  She stiffened. “Goodness, you are making me nervous. Do you have news from London?”

  He stepped closer. His scent of earth and rain encircled her. “I have no news from London, but I do have news of your brother. He is here, Annabelle. He arrived at Bancroft Park last night. I wanted to let you know earlier, but we have been hunting today and this is the first I could get away.”

  His words, although low and soft, struck her. She did not realize she was holding her breath until her lungs began to burn, and she drew a sharp intake of air. She should have expected it. Had Owen not warned her of the impending visit? She waited to speak until she was certain she could keep her tone level. “When did he arrive?”

  He stepped even closer and ignored her polite question. “You need not pretend with me, Annabelle. I know this is distressing news.”

  She forced a timid laugh and clamped her hands before her to prevent them from trembling. So Thomas had found her. The room’s waning fire suddenly felt too warm. She lifted her face to look him in the eyes. “I’ll not pretend. Not with you.”

  “There’s more. Bartrell is with him. They both know you’re here, and your brother knows I helped you leave London.”

  Heat rushed into Annabelle’s face and panic lanced her nerves. “But how would he know where to find me?”

  Owen shook his head. “I don’t know. He was traveling with a footman, who I believe is Miss Crosley’s brother. Does that seem odd to you?”

  Annabelle chewed her lip. “It is not unusual for my brother to travel with a footman, especially since his valet was dismissed after my father’s death. That particular footman, though—Billy, I believe, is his name—is an odd choice. I am sure that Crosley, at some point, told her family of her whereabouts, and by doing so disclosed my location. I wonder if that is how Thomas learned I am here.”

  Owen lowered his voice, as if taking her into confidence. “I don’t know. Perhaps it was Crosley, but did you not also say that Bryant claimed to know your brother? He could have informed him as well. Listen to me. Your brother told me that he intends to call on your uncle, and he will probably ask after you when he does. I’ve no wish to alarm you unnecessarily, but I do want you to be careful.”

  The warmth drained from her face. “And Uncle Edmund knows he is to call?”

  “Yes.” His voice was still low, but a new tenderness radiated from his expression. “And there is something that your uncle does not know.”

  He took another step toward her. His chocolate eyes gleamed with endearment, just as they had that night in the forest. “Someone is feeding your brother information.”

  The discrepancy between his words and his expression puzzled her, and his nearness bewildered her senses. “Why do you say that?”

  He was close enough now that she could feel his warmth radiating in the chilliness of the room. She resisted the urge to lean into it. His gaze captured hers, refusing to allow her to look away. “Your brother told me that he knew I fancied myself to be in love with you.”

  She was powerless to look away. “In love?”

  His hand reached for hers. His fingers curled around her own—intimately. Possessively. He shifted so he was facing her fully and brushed her hair from her face. His touch was gentle. Affectionate. “I expect nothing in return by telling you this, but I could not let another day pass without making my feelings known.”

  Emotions bombarded her, fast and furious. Joy, giddiness, hope—all were released at his words. Forgotten was the fear that had consumed her only moments ago. Tears rushed to her eyes, but unlike the tears of the past several months, these were tears of happiness and optimism. A smile took control of her lips as she tried to organize her thoughts.

  Then the door creaked.

  Owen dropped her hand and stepped backward. The distance between them widened once again, and the warmth generated cooled.

  Embarrassed to have been caught in a tender moment, Annabelle fairly jumped backward. “Uncle Edmund.”

  “Well then, did Mr. Locke tell you his news?”

  Annabelle cast a sheepish glance back to Owen, whose demeanor was once again matter-of-fact. He stood with his hands behind his back, his posture straight, as if noth
ing had transpired between them at all.

  Still jittery from their encounter, Annabelle found her voice. “Yes, he did.”

  Uncle Edmund’s eyebrows drew together. “And are you all right, my dear?”

  “I am.”

  Owen retrieved his hat from her uncle’s desk before directing his words toward Annabelle. “Just be sure to stay here, close to the main buildings, while they are in the area. Your brother and Mr. Bartrell should only be here a few more days. Until then, stay clear of the orchards and gardens.”

  Owen turned his attention to her uncle. “Keep an eye on her, Langsby. I’ll let you know of any new developments from Bancroft Park. Good day to you both.” He bowed low and exited the room.

  Her uncle’s sigh filled the space, breaking the stark silence left in Owen’s wake. He scratched his head and turned to face his niece. “I know you came here for anonymity, and I am sorry that we were not able to provide that to you.”

  Annabelle only partly heard her uncle’s words, for she had moved to the large window and was watching Owen as he departed down the main drive.

  Her uncle, too, looked at the retreating form. “He is a good man.”

  Annabelle nodded, her eyes not leaving Owen until the rain made him impossible to see. She swallowed the lump forming in her throat, regretting the fact that she did not have the opportunity to respond to his affectionate words. She said, “He has been very kind to me.”

  “Kind, yes, but even a fool can see that his concern for you goes beyond neighborly regard. And do you return his favor?”

  Her flush returned as she moved away from the window and closer to the fire’s glow. She had been expected to marry Samuel, and her opinion on the matter had never been solicited. And now her uncle was openly asking her how she felt.

  When she did not immediately respond, he continued. “It has been years since I have been to London, and I certainly do not pretend to understand the young people and their habits. I know you must think me an old man who knows far more of running a school than of romance, and on that count you would be right. But I consider myself quite an expert on the human character and reading people. Mr. Locke may not be as gallant or refined as the men I am sure you were used to in London, but no man could be more loyal.”

  Unwanted moisture pooled in her eyes. Normally she would hide such a personal response, but she allowed her uncle to place a sheltering arm around her shoulders.

  “This I know. There is no need for you to worry or to fret. You are among friends and family now, a family who will protect you. You are safe here, Annabelle, and whatever you choose, wherever your path takes you, you will always have a home.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Annabelle brushed a piece of dust from her painting of Owen.

  It was not her best likeness, but she could still make out the charming cleft in his chin and the arch of his eyebrows.

  She had finished the piece several days ago in stolen moments when she was in her room alone. She had worked in solitude, for she could not risk one of the other women seeing her paint it. At the moment everyone was busy preparing for the festival, but for now, she rolled the dried painting and tied it with a blue satin ribbon.

  She sat back. Her lips turned up in a smile, and her stomach fluttered. She still couldn’t believe it. The memory of his voice’s tender inflection as he said the words sent a tremor through her.

  He loved her.

  She loved him.

  And she would tell him tonight at the festival.

  Jane bustled in, and Annabelle tucked the painting under her bed. A pretty flush brightened Jane’s cheeks. She carried a bundle of fresh flowers in her arms. “I have brought these for our hair. My, but your dress is lovely.”

  “Thank you.” Annabelle smoothed her hand down the front of her gown of pale lavender silk. If felt good to be dressed in such a gown. She felt feminine. Girlish. Pretty. She had to admit that she was looking forward to the festival. The stretch of gloomy, rain-drenched days had given way to a milder, sunnier clime, just in time for the festivities and preparations to take place. The idea of a pleasant diversion intrigued her, and she was excited to wear one of her older gowns. Owen’s warning about her brother still simmered in the back of her mind, but it had been several days since he arrived at Bancroft Park, and he had yet to make an appearance at the school. She hoped he had changed his mind and would not visit.

  Annabelle was about to ask Jane to put some of the flowers in her hair when Crosley entered the room, and the conversation between Annabelle and Jane fell silent.

  Annabelle watched Crosley from the corner of her eye. The former maid was dressed in Annabelle’s cast-off gown of pale-blue sprigged muslin. Her blonde hair was pinned away from her face, and the long locks flowed beautifully down about her shoulders. But her face was pale. Dark shadows formed half-moons beneath her light-blue eyes. She did not utter a word.

  Ever since Owen informed Annabelle that Billy Crosley was traveling with Thomas, she had been extra cautious around Crosley. She wanted to confront her about it directly and ask if she had betrayed Annabelle to her family, but she refrained. No good could come of arguing with Crosley now. Ever since Mr. Hemstead’s crime had been discovered, Crosley had been unusually quiet and somber. Annabelle knew Crosley was hurting, and she could not help but feel sorry for her.

  Crosley wordlessly gathered her shawl and left the room, and after the door closed behind her, Annabelle and Jane exchanged glances.

  Jane resumed her dressing, and Annabelle crossed the room to check her reflection in the small looking glass. She touched her face where the bruising had been. The shadow had been gone for months, and she looked rested. Gone were the shadows beneath her own eyes. She felt attractive again. Confident again. Happy again.

  She looked down at her gown. It was missing something. She dug in her trunk until she uncovered her amethyst necklace. She had not worn it since Mr. Bryant commented on it in her uncle’s garden. Mr. Bryant would undoubtedly be at the festival, but she did not feel frightened of him today. Not even the fact that her brother and Mr. Bartrell were so near could dampen her excitement. She believed Owen: he would protect her. With him by her side, no harm could befall her.

  “I can’t believe it is finally here!” squealed Jane, tucking one of the flowers into her hair as they left the school and stepped out onto the grounds. “It has been so long since I have been to a festival of any kind.”

  Annabelle looped her arm through her friend’s. Twilight’s purples and blues had fallen, and the rising full moon cast a magical glow on the grounds. The Autumn Festival was in full effect. Villagers and country folk had flocked to Fellsworth School, and the children bustled with excitement.

  Scents of tarts and cakes mingled with the roasting pork’s spicy aroma. Violins’ songs danced on the crisp autumn breeze, and on the far lawn, lines of villagers jumped and clapped in their country dance. The students bobbed for apples picked fresh from the orchard. In the blacksmith’s courtyard and stable areas, a boxing exhibition was set up for the men, and other contests of strength were taking place. Masculine shouts peppered the night, and children raced and played, the normal strict expectations set aside for the evening’s activities. This festival was not nearly as elegant as the balls in London—the food was not as sophisticated, the music not so refined—but to her, it was an enchanting sight to behold.

  “It’s a wonder, isn’t it?” Annabelle filled her lungs with the fresh night air.

  “It is.” Jane brushed a leaf from her gown. “And it is nice to see you looking relaxed. You have seemed so preoccupied of late.”

  “Have I? I did not mean to be.”

  “What does it matter if you were?” Jane lifted her face to the breeze. “Most people in your situation would be preoccupied, I would say. In fact, I daresay it will not be long before you leave Fellsworth School.”

  Annabelle stopped short. “Why would you say something like that?”

  “Don’t look so
shocked!” Jane’s laugh rose above the flutist’s ditty. “It is no secret around the school that you and a certain handsome gamekeeper have developed quite a bond.”

  “Jane!” Annabelle scolded as the heat reached up her neck. “Really, you shouldn’t say such things.”

  “But am I wrong?”

  Annabelle did not answer but resumed walking.

  The crowd ebbed and flowed, and yet Annabelle looked for Owen. They had not spoken privately since their interlude in her uncle’s study, but he had said he would be in attendance tonight.

  Then she saw him, making his way through the crowd. How her heart soared at the sight.

  He wore no hat. His dark, curly hair was combed into place, in spite of the breeze attempting to free it. Instead of his hunting jacket and buckskin breeches, he wore navy breeches and a tan coat. His dark-brown waistcoat contrasted against his ivory neckcloth.

  His gaze latched onto her—the simple act of which threatened to steal her breath. Attentiveness radiated in his expression, and a smile curved his mouth and dimpled his clean-shaven cheek. In him she was beginning to see a new future—one of family, of love.

  He stopped in front of them. He bowed.

  Annabelle and Jane curtsied, then Jane grabbed Annabelle’s arm. “Oh, I have forgotten. How clumsy of me. I told Louise I would help her carry out the tarts from the kitchen. Excuse me, will you?”

  Her reason for leaving was obvious. She wanted to leave them alone—as alone as they could be at the festival. But Annabelle found no embarrassment at the action. If anything, her experiences over the past months had thickened her skin and made her care even less what others thought of her.

  At the moment, all that mattered was Owen.

  He raised a playful eyebrow in her direction and leaned in close. “You look beautiful, Miss Thorley.”

  She took his extended arm. “Why, thank you, Mr. Locke.” She could not wait any longer. “Thomas? Is he gone?”