A shot fired.
The carriage horses jumped, and his own horse whinnied behind him.
A woman screamed.
Whitten shouted.
He could only focus on the battle he engaged in with Annabelle’s brother.
Owen grabbed the smaller man by the coat and slammed his fist into his jaw. He was not expecting the fist that came back, striking him on the cheek. The blow fueled Owen’s anger, and he landed another punch that knocked Thorley unconscious.
He lifted Thorley up by his lapels and turned to see blood streaming down Whitten’s arm. But Whitten was not on the ground. He had his gun fixed on Bartrell, while Burley and Bartrell exchanged blows.
He was about to assist Burley when he noticed a flash of black streak through the forest. Miss Crosley.
Next to him, Thorley lay unconscious. Annabelle stood behind him. Before him, Burley was overtaking Bartrell and Whitten had his gun fixed.
Owen raced around the carriage, and within moments his long stride overtook Miss Crosley’s. He grabbed her by the waist and easily flung the small woman over his shoulder to subdue her.
“Let go of me, you animal!” Crosley screamed and flailed. She pounded his back and kicked her legs.
He had no idea what role she played in this, but he would find out.
When he returned to the carriage, Owen retrieved a length of rope from the driver’s box and secured Miss Crosley, despite her thrashing. She spit at him and cursed him, but he said nothing.
Once she was secure, Owen moved to Thorley’s unconscious body, tied his arms behind his back, and propped him against the carriage wheel. Owen looked down. Blood trickled from his hand where he had stopped the horses. He climbed up in the driver’s seat, set the brake, and then returned to the ground and motioned for Annabelle to stay where she was.
Burley had subdued Bartrell, and Whitten still had his gun pointed at him. Owen paced before them before choosing his words. He had thought that Thorley was the mastermind behind the plot, but after witnessing the conversation in the cottage, it was clear: Bartrell was the man behind this entire ordeal.
“It’s over, Bartrell.”
Bartrell laughed. “You’ll have to kill me if that is what you want. I’m a gentleman, or have you forgotten? You’ll be hanged for hijacking this carriage.”
“Hijacking?” Owen stepped to the back of the carriage and released the trunks secured there. He used his knife to slice the leather bands holding them secure, and he pushed open one of the lids to reveal pelts. He slammed the lid closed.
Owen sauntered toward the man. “I must commend you, Bartrell.”
Perspiration dripped down Bartrell’s wide face. “How dare you speak like that to me.”
“I must say you devised quite a plan. Using Thorley to befriend Treadwell to gain access to his land. Hiring a man at the school to carry out the real work. And how convenient for you that Miss Thorley chose to relocate to Fellsworth with her maid, whose brother just happened to be your scapegoat’s footman. Interesting, indeed. So where were you selling the game? London? Bath? I suppose it does not matter now, does it? You will not be doing it again for a very long time.”
“You can accuse me all you want,” spat Bartrell. “You will never prove it.”
“Oh, won’t I?” Owen raised a brow. “What I can’t figure out is how you got Thorley involved. We both know he does not have an original thought in his head. Hardly the sort of man to pull off something like this. But you—you saw his dire financial need and exploited it.”
Bartrell threw his head back in laughter. “You have no idea what you are talking about.”
Owen shrugged. “Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t. Or perhaps that is what McAlister meant when he told Miss Thorley that her brother was in trouble. Maybe he was going to expose your little operation to Treadwell. Was that it?”
Bartrell’s bloated face reddened at the sound of McAlister’s name. “McAlister was a fool.”
“A fool or a wise man, he still lost his life. I suspect that his loss had to do with the fact that he disagreed with you and your methods. You killed him, didn’t you?”
At this Bartrell raged, and Burley struggled to keep the large man at bay, but Whitten stepped forward and Bartrell stilled at the sight of the gun.
Suddenly Bartrell jerked away from Burley, lunged at Whitten, and wrenched the gun from him.
Owen charged forward in response and jumped on Bartrell, then grabbed his arm and forced it up.
The gun fired.
Bits of fire stung Owen’s arm, and the familiar scent of gunpowder wafted around him.
Bartrell hit the ground with a thud, and Owen landed on top of him. The obese man struggled and fought, but he was no match for Owen’s strength.
Within minutes they had subdued him, and Whitten secured his hands with a length of rope.
With Burley and Whitten corralling the criminal, Owen jumped up, chest heaving, and turned to Annabelle.
It was time to get out of here.
Time to get these people to the authorities.
Time to get Annabelle home.
She stood at the edge of the road where he had instructed her to stay. Her hands were over her mouth, and her eyes were wide, unblinking. He reached out to take her hand. It trembled as she placed it in his.
Her clothes were wet. Dirty. Her hair streamed down around her face. Once her foot stepped on the road, she looked around, first at her brother, then at Miss Crosley, and then at Bartrell.
She turned her attention to Owen, and they stared at each other for several moments. As he moved toward her, she fell into him. He was not sure if she embraced him or if it was the other way around, but when they melded against each other, he knew this was where she was meant to be.
Relief flooded him. She was alive. Unharmed. Unmarried.
He pressed his lips to the top of her head. He could feel her tremble beneath his touch. He could feel the toll the fear and uncertainty had taken on her as she shivered in his arms.
“Shh. It is all right now. Everything will be all right.” His words seemed so inadequate.
She lifted her head off his chest, the tears in her eyes making them shine even more brightly. “When I saw him point the gun at you, I thought . . . I thought . . .”
He brushed her hair from her face and let his palm linger on her cheek. He rubbed a tear away with his thumb. “Oh no. Don’t you worry about anything like that. I’m not about to let someone like him kill me. After all, I have too much to live for.”
She closed her eyes and leaned into his palm. She drew a shuddery breath and rested her hands on his chest. Her words were so soft he almost missed them. “Please never let go.”
He tightened his arms around her and drew her closer. He slid his palm down the side of her face and tilted her chin toward him. Her kiss was even more tender, more sweet than he could imagine. He would have been content to stay in her embrace the rest of the day, but Whitten’s cough caused him to turn around.
“We’d best get this motley crew back to Fellsworth.” Whitten’s voice was gruff. “I imagine the magistrate will have a thing or two to say to them.”
Owen glanced at Bartrell’s pitiful face before he turned back to Annabelle. He kissed her again and turned to return to the task at hand. But her hand on his arm stopped him.
She fixed her red-rimmed eyes on him, and a shaky smile trembled her lips. “There is something I didn’t get to tell you last night at the festival.”
He thought it an odd thing to say. “Oh? What’s that?”
“I love you, Owen Locke. I love you with everything that I am.”
Fierce yearning rushed through him, and he pulled her to him once more. “You will always have me, my Annabelle. Always.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Annabelle stepped into Fellsworth’s small jailhouse.
“You don’t have to do this.” Owen ducked under the low threshold to step in behind her, followed by Treadwell.
Two
days had passed since the incident at the carriage. Two days since Bartrell, Thomas, and the Crosleys had been apprehended. Two days since Annabelle became truly free.
But even though the physical threat had passed, her heart struggled with things yet unresolved. She looked to the cells that housed the men: Mr. Bartrell, Thomas, and Billy Crosley.
She gathered her courage. “I have to talk to them.”
Owen squeezed her hand. “Treadwell and I will be just on the other side. We’ve business to tend to with the magistrate.”
Annabelle nodded and smoothed her skirt, then knit her fingers around the hem of her shawl. She waited several moments for her eyes to adjust to the lack of light. Long, narrow windows allowed a small amount of light to permeate the darkness, but most of it came from the candles dotting the room.
She gathered her courage and turned to face Crosley, who was in a cell with one other woman. The sight tugged at her, and she could not help but bring to mind the years they had shared. The laughter. The secrets. But now, Crosley’s betrayal, while not altogether surprising, seemed to cut almost deeper than that of her brother.
Annabelle was ready to leave this mess behind her, but she needed to make her peace. “Crosley.”
At first Annabelle thought Crosley was not going to respond. She did not have to. But after several moments, Crosley stood from the room’s only chair and sauntered toward the bars.
The past two days had altered Crosley’s appearance. Her usually tidy hair hung untethered to her waist, full of tangles. Gray circles darkened the area beneath her reddened eyes, and her black gown had a rip on the shoulder.
Annabelle cleared her throat and extended a bundle. “I brought you this.”
Crosley eyed Annabelle’s hand. “What is it?”
“Bread, cheese, and an apple.”
Crosley sniffed and turned up her nose as if she was going to refuse.
“Take it. I don’t want you to be hungry.”
Crosley accepted it and tossed the bundle onto the table next to the chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “What are you doing here?”
“I want to talk to you.”
“About what? To gloat? To prove that you were right and I was wrong?”
“I am just trying to understand what happened, that’s all.” Annabelle cut her eyes toward Owen and Treadwell, whose backs were to her as they spoke with the magistrate. “I’ve no wish to cause trouble for you. I only want to understand.”
“Understand?” Crosley flung her hand in the air. “How could you possibly understand me? You, in your gilded, pampered world? No, Annabelle. You will never understand me.”
“But we left London together. We could have helped each other. Why did you betray me?”
“I did not betray you. That is what you do not understand. Don’t you see that this had nothing to do with you? It had everything to do with helping myself. I told you I never want to serve another person as long as I live, didn’t I?”
Crosley paced the small space. “’Tis no secret now. I wrote my brother where I was after we arrived. After all, I had no secrets to keep. When he found out I was in Fellsworth, he told me that he worked with a man by the name of Mr. Hemstead, and he introduced us by letter. By the time I was fully aware of what they were doing, I was already in love with Mr. Hemstead. We were going to get married. The poaching was only supposed to be temporary, but Mr. Bartrell is so powerful. Nobody can get away from him. Even after Mr. Hemstead was sent to prison he would not let me out of the ring. Not with my life.”
Tears rushed to Annabelle’s eyes. She didn’t know if Crosley was being truthful or not, but she knew all too well how terrifying Mr. Bartrell could be.
Crosley wiped moisture from her eyes. “He killed Mr. McAlister.”
Annabelle winced. “Who did?”
“Mr. Bartrell. I heard them discussing it, and when they noticed I was there, Mr. Bartrell told me if I said anything he would kill both Billy and me. He’s a monster, Annabelle.”
Sympathy pulled at Annabelle. Crosley cleared her throat. “I thought Mr. Bartrell might give up the notion after Mr. Locke found Mr. Hemstead. But when he found out that you were in love with him, he became irrational. He was obsessed with you, wanting to marry you. He started to pressure Mr. Thorley all over again. That is when things began to crumble.”
Annabelle heard her name, and she looked over her shoulder at Owen and Treadwell, who were waiting for her. She looked back to Crosley. “I’m so sorry, Crosley, but I have to go.”
They stared at each other for several seconds. Then Crosley spoke. “I don’t know what is going to happen to me. But for what it’s worth, I am sorry if I hurt you. I see now that I was wrong, but I suppose I deserve what I get.”
“You have my forgiveness, Margaret.” Annabelle sniffed. Emotion was welling within her. She nodded. “Good-bye.”
As she returned to Owen’s side, she saw her brother from the corner of her eye. She stiffened. Whereas she had wanted to speak with Crosley to make peace, part of her never wanted to see Thomas again. He had broken their family bond long ago. The ties that bound brother and sister had been severed.
Still, when she looked at him, she saw the eight-year-old boy in the portrait her mother had painted, and sadness overwhelmed her. But the thought of how much this would hurt her mother compelled her. She garnered her confidence and tightened her grip on her satchel.
“Thomas.” She stepped toward his cell, forcing her eyes to meet his. Stubble darkened his chin and cheeks, and his eyes were little more than slits.
He did not respond.
“Do I really mean so little to you, Thomas? How could you betray me like that?”
He leaned against the bars. “You’re the one who betrayed me, Belle, not the other way around. Do you know how hard I worked to find a suitable husband for you after Goodacre? And you threw it away and ruined everything—everything—in the process.”
He was turning the situation around on her. Would he never understand?
Annabelle sniffed. “And what of Eleanor? Do you know what is going to happen to you?”
“Thanks to your beau, my future is now uncertain.” Thomas ignored her question about Eleanor and glared at Owen. “Can you live with that, Belle, knowing what he did to your brother?”
Annabelle followed his gaze to Owen. He was the only thing in her world that made sense. Nothing her brother could say would change her mind. There was something else she needed to clarify. “Crosley said you didn’t kill McAlister.”
“Bah!” Sarcasm laced Thomas’s tone. “After all this, you think me guilty of murder?”
“What am I to think?” she shot back. “You were covered in blood that night. I heard the gunshot. Of course I was scared.”
“It’s no secret now. Miss Crosley has already told the magistrate of the murder, and her brother gave a firsthand witness. But no, it wasn’t me.”
“It was Mr. Bartrell.”
Thomas looked to the ground.
“Why would you align yourself with someone like him?”
“I did what I had to do.”
Her throat began to tighten. Tears would well if she was not careful. The pain of being brushed aside by someone she had known all of her life stung. She drew a steadying breath. She had come here for a reason. She reached into her satchel and retrieved a folded piece of paper.
“What’s that?”
She turned the letter over in her hands. “Mama kept a prayer journal. You probably didn’t know of it, but she did. I took it with me when I left London.”
He huffed. It was no secret that Thomas shared their father’s view on such things.
But Annabelle would not be deterred. “She wrote a prayer for you, Thomas. I thought you would want it.” She extended the paper toward him.
After several seconds of stillness, he snatched the letter from her.
“She wrote one for me too. It has brought me comfort over the past several months. I hope it does the same for yo
u.”
He stuffed the letter in his pocket but said nothing.
Annabelle fretted with her shawl. She had done what she came here to do. “Good-bye, Thomas.”
He nodded but still said nothing.
Walking away from him was harder than she anticipated. She did not know what his future held, but as she walked back toward Owen, she knew what hers held.
Owen took her hand. “Are you ready to go?”
She squeezed his hand and nodded as they stepped out of the jail’s shadow and into the bright afternoon sunlight. “Yes, I am ready. Ready for so many things.”
Chapter Forty-Five
COTTAGE IN KIRTLEY MEADOW
SURREY, ENGLAND, 1820
Annabelle tucked her hand in her husband’s. The sensation of it would never grow old.
Winter had passed, and now swallows swept from tree to tree and the spring flowers were opening their petals to greet the sun.
“Are you ready to see your new home?” Owen’s eyes were as bright as those of a child about to receive a new gift. He gripped the gate to Kirtley Meadow and arched his eyebrow.
Annabelle laughed at Owen’s eagerness.
Hannah, dressed in a new gown of cream satin with a wide pink sash, ran through the gate first, and then Owen held it open for Annabelle to enter.
She started to step through it, but he caught her hand and pulled her back. He wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her playfully, the stubble on his chin tickling her face. “There was a time I thought I would never marry again, and here we are, Mr. and Mrs. Locke.”
She still blushed from his flirtatious attention, and she hoped she always would. “I like the sound of that. Mrs. Locke.”
He kissed her again. Longer. More passionately. “It suits you.”
Hannah called to them from ahead, and Drake came trotting down the lane.
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