As always when I lay down to sleep, my mind drifted through the catalog of memories I had of him. The distracted way he combed through his hair when he was contemplating. The deep baritone of his laugh and his smile that spread across his entire face and creased his eyes. His strong jaw as it skipped when he was holding back a thought. Or the way his piercing eyes danced when he was amused.
His kindness and gentle nature.
The passion he had for healing.
The passionate way he kissed, giving so much of himself.
I felt a stirring in my belly at the thought of him under me, holding me to his body.
How could I delay for even one moment?
There was no sense in being foolish now. I’d come this far, I didn’t have to wait much longer.
Eventually exhaustion got the better of me and my body gave up the fight.
Chapter 20
To Catch A Train
Henry decided to set out before first light.
McCleary pulled the carriage around and loaded the bags on the back.
Farthington Manor was quiet other than a few servants stoking fires and baking bread in the kitchen. He had no desire to bid his father farewell. He doubted that he should speak to him again save for the day he would be able to prove Miss Clayton’s innocence.
With only a tingling of pain in his leg, he stepped into the carriage and settled down on its dark leather seats. The first train into London departed at seven and he planned to be on it.
McCleary clucked at the horses and the carriage lurched forward.
Last night’s conversation with his father played through Henry’s mind for the first part of his journey.
How could he be related to that man?
He knew he was much more like his mother, a fact that was continuously brought to his attention by his stepmother. Never as a term of endearment, however, always in a tone that suggested it as a stain upon his character.
Perhaps his father was much better suited to that witch of a woman after all.
A layer of dew rested on the fields, giving the impression of a blanket of snow. Steam rose from the ground as the sun slowly crept its long fingers westbound. Shadows danced between the trees as they moved through the forest road at a quick pace.
He checked his pocket watch again. He did not want to miss that train.
The greater the distance he placed between himself and here the better he would feel.
Up ahead, he noticed a person—hard to say if it was man or woman—loitering in the middle of the field.
That’s odd, he thought.
The gypsies must have moved in overnight, their encampment no doubt hidden off in the trees to the west.
This one was probably foraging for food. Perhaps a crop not thoroughly picked through.
What a nuisance they were. And a danger as well. Last year they were to blame for stolen livestock and grain from nearby farms. He’d write a letter to the constable once he reached Oxwich if there was time.
I heard the sound of a carriage before I saw it approaching.
Should I try to thumb a lift? Was that even done? How would that look if a woman scurried out of a field and flagged down a carriage at this hour?
Perhaps not the best idea.
April had been over all the do’s and don’t’s of nineteenth-century behavior with me and thumbing a lift in the early hours of the morning firmly fell into the don’t category.
Either way, the carriage was going towards Oxwich and I wanted to be going the opposite direction.
I’d decided to go straight to Dormer House. There was no sense in delaying the inevitable. I would have to face the earl at some point. Perhaps enough time had passed and Isobel’s deception had come to light.
It was the desire to see Henry that drove my decision. Waiting even a moment longer was not an option.
I swung my shawl around my neck and over my head, trying to warm myself from the brisk air.
The black carriage drew closer and then I noticed the earl’s familiar crest on its side.
Henry?
A thrill of excitement burst through me.
Could it be him in that carriage? Or was it the earl?
Storming out in front of the earl’s carriage would be a disastrous move. On the other hand, letting Henry pass me by would be a tragic one.
Indecision threatened to overwhelm me completely.
Quickly I shoved the rest of my belongings back into my bag and then turned again toward the carriage.
Soon it would pass.
With squinted eyes I tried to make out its occupants. Large rays of sun broke through the tree line and straight into my line of vision, blinding me.
It was hopeless.
A large bird swooped down and landed on a low-lying branch, for a moment pulling my attention away.
Harold?
Had he followed me here?
The carriage started to pass me by.
Panic rose in my chest.
Stop! my thoughts screamed out. Stop!
Harold immediately took to the sky and with a violent plunge dove down onto poor McCleary with such force that he dropped the reins and sent the spooked horses into full flight.
For Christ’s sake, bird!
I broke into a run, not that I was any match for horses at full gallop.
When I reached the road, I saw the bend up ahead. They could never make that turn at this speed. Again, I cursed my luck with my choice of spirit animal.
“Stop!” I screamed out loud to no one in particular. Nothing could be heard above the roar of the carriage and the hooves pounding the ground.
And then something amazing happened.
A flock of birds swooped down in front of the horses and sent them skidding to a halt like some sort of feathery wall.
When the dust settled, the carriage door swung open and there he was, his tall, lean frame unmistakable and alive.
Henry!
Chapter 21
The Gypsy Woman
Henry was composing the letter he’d write in his head. He knew the constable would be grateful to know the gypsies had returned.
All of a sudden he heard the eerie cry of a hawk and then felt the carriage jostle about as Mr. McCleary banged around in front.
What the blazes was he up to?
Before Henry could even finish that thought he was slammed to the back of his seat as the horses bolted.
He was thrown from side to side as the uneven road pitched him violently out of his chair. At any moment, the carriage was likely to flip over.
What on earth had spooked them?
He braced himself for the inevitable, grabbing hold of a handle on the inside of the door and wedging his legs against the front.
Perhaps a dramatic death was the answer. His troubles would all be forgotten.
Just as quickly as it had begun, the carriage came to an abrupt stop, throwing him hard against the inside.
He wasn’t about to hang about waiting for this charade to repeat itself and so he opened the carriage door and stepped out, his legs a little wobbly from the shock.
“McCleary?” he called out.
“I’m all right, my lord, the horses had a fright, was all, and so did I,” McCleary said from his seat in front of the carriage. He struggled to catch his breath.
The horses snorted and pawed at the ground. Their coats were frothy from the exertion.
“What the devil got into them?” Henry asked.
“It was a bird, my lord, he just came down out of nowhere and attacked me, like,” McCleary said as he slowly came down to check the horses. Blood dripped from a wound on his head. His hat had fallen off his head in the attack.
“McCleary, you’ve been hurt.” Henry felt concerned.
“It’s nothing but a scratch,” McCleary said, dabbing his fingers in the blood. “I’ll be fine.”
Henry looked to the sky to see if the feathered beast was still around. If he’d had his hunting rifle on hand he’d have sh
ot the blasted thing.
That was when he felt the presence of the gypsy woman. She must have come out to see the spectacle.
The sun broke through the breaks in the trees, showering her with a golden light.
With a swift move, she pulled her blue shawl from her head and her blonde wavy hair fell down past her shoulders.
Henry gasped.
Emma. He mouthed her name in disbelief. He had all but given up hope and there she stood in flesh and blood.
Or was he in fact dead and this was an apparition?
Regardless, he welcomed it. If this was what his demise brought, then so be it, he would be a happy ghost.
“Emma?” He tried the name out loud, hoping that it was not simply a hallucination. The laudanum he’d taken had often left him with such elaborate visions.
“Henry!” Emma screamed and ran towards him.
Forgetting his leg, he made a less fluid attempt to meet her halfway.
They collided in a passionate embrace, both crumpling to their knees as the shock and excitement made them buckle.
A flurry of kisses peppered his face until he crushed his mouth to hers in a dizzying display of passion.
He felt immediately intoxicated with her scent. The touch and feel of her. The urge to squeeze her tight was blinding.
They both pulled away and laughed out loud.
“My dear sweet Emma, there are no words to describe my feelings. Seeing you here has dumbfounded me completely.” His lips brushed her forehead and he pulled her close to his body.
“Henry, I wanted to come back sooner but I couldn’t. So much has happened.”
There was a very loud throat-clearing and both of them turned to look at McCleary, standing a little ways away, feeling uncomfortable with the scandalous nature of their encounter.
Henry helped Emma to her feet.
“My lord, if you are to catch your train, we should be on our way.” McCleary gave a raised eyebrow to Henry.
Of course, that’s where I was headed until…
What was he now to do with Miss Clayton? His father would see her imprisoned immediately should he catch wind of her arrival.
“We can’t stay here, darling, it’s not safe for you. Come with me,” Henry pleaded.
“Not safe? I just left not safe,” Emma said, looking concerned. “What is going on, Henry?”
“Come with me and I will explain.”
“Okay, just let me grab my things.” She darted off into the field.
Henry walked over to McCleary.
“Your discretion in this matter would be of utmost importance, sir,” he said pleadingly. He really didn’t know where this man’s loyalties fell. His father had a way of bullying people into submission.
“I was always a big fan of your mother, my lord, and will therefore remain your servant at heart.”
“You are a good man, McCleary, I shall never forget that.”
“I will pray you not to, sir. Should this ever come to light I will depend upon your honor.”
Emma emerged with a large bag, which she seemed to carry with ease.
“Let me relieve you of that, my dear,” Henry said, being the gallant gentleman that he was.
“Knock yourself out,” she said with a coy smile, planting it at his feet and giving him a lingering kiss.
Where did she come up with such expressions? Why on earth would he wish to knock himself out? He shook his head with a smile and bent down to pick up the bag.
Quite a bit heavier than it looked, he thought, feeling slightly winded when he passed it off to McCleary.
Both men gave each other a knowing look.
What a woman, it seemed to say.
Chapter 22
Betrayed
It had been several days now and still no word from Miss Eileen Redford.
Isobel felt most distressed over the whole ordeal. She hated how Mrs. Trebor fretted about Miss Redford’s disappearance. Such overwhelming concern for a woman who was merely a servant really.
“Something must have happened, she’s such a responsible girl, perhaps she’s been taken by highwaymen? You must do something, Mr. Trebor,” Mrs. Trebor rattled on to Mr. Trebor, who had spared no time searching for the missing woman.
The whole debacle over Clara stealing her ring was all but forgotten. Did they not understand how victimized Isobel felt? Her nerves frayed. Why didn’t they show more concern for her? She was their honored guest, after all! No, it was all about poor Miss Redford this and poor Miss Redford that.
She never should have insisted that the woman deliver that letter. It was during her errand that Miss Redford had disappeared, never to be seen again.
How could Miss Redford do such a thing to her? Especially in her time of crisis. Isobel had hoped to bask in the limelight for a time longer. She wanted to be known as the person who’d uncovered the thief in the household. A hero of sorts. Now that had been taken away from her, the opportunity lost.
She hated Miss Redford and her wretched disappearance. For all anyone knew, Miss Redford had simply taken a more lucrative employment somewhere else. Isobel had even suggested as much to Mrs. Trebor.
Now Isobel sat by the window pretending to read, her mind working hard to divert her thoughts to more pleasant things.
Mr. Dudley had seemed quite taken with her at dinner last night. They’d spent a whole evening in confidence with one another. A true connection she felt they had. He was handsome and very rich, a man worthy of her flirtations.
Not at all like poor Mr. White—the thought of his pathetic advances and meager temperament. It was a shock that he’d had the courage to follow through with her plan.
Now where had that got him? Alone in London, just scraping by.
She wanted a man who was not shy about taking what he wanted. Mr. Dudley was such a man. Even with his wife sitting there at the same table, he didn’t hesitate to show his interest in her.
Of course, Isobel had no intention of being anyone’s mistress, but she was confident that Mr. Dudley was the type of man to make things happen. He would find a way to turn away his wife if Isobel demanded it.
Mrs. Trebor walked towards her at the window.
“Is that Mr. Dudley coming up the road then?” she said, more to herself than to Isobel.
“Oh?” Isobel faked indifference but inside there was a jostle of excitement. She’d known she had not misjudged him.
“Whatever would he be here for, I wonder?”
Really the woman was insufferable. Was she deliberately being obtuse?
“Excuse me, cousin, I’m going to lie down. I’m feeling quite tired.” Isobel rose and made her way upstairs.
“I hope you’re not coming down with anything, dear, it would be terrible if we were all to catch a cold.”
As soon as Isobel was out of sight she picked up her pace. When Mr. Dudley called upon her she wanted to look her best. She wanted to be irresistible to him.
Quickly she rummaged through her dresser to find her favorite shawl. She dug down to the very bottom. There it was, its fine fabric feeling soft to the touch.
That’s odd, she thought, the first bout of alarm making her breath catch.
The journal.
She remembered putting it away here, Mr. White’s letters tucked neatly in its leather-bound jacket.
Where was the journal?
It had been days since she’d even thought about it. So much had happened, with the stolen ring and then Miss Redford.
Frantically she emptied all her drawers, throwing stockings and unmentionables indiscriminately to the floor.
It was gone!
The letters, the journal were gone.
A feeling of dread reared its ugly head. She would be ruined if any of those letters fell into the wrong hands.
Was this Miss Redford’s doing? Had she sought to destroy Isobel all along? Even the idea of her betrayal seemed far-fetched. Why on earth would she do such a thing?
If not her then who? Who would wa
nt to hurt Isobel?
There was a knock at her door.
“Lady Isobel, are you all right, dear?” Mrs. Trebor asked with concern.
“Fine, just a little tired,” Isobel lied.
“Mr. Dudley was here to deliver a message. His wife has invited you to join her for tea.” There was a hint of amusement in Mrs. Trebor’s delivery.
She wondered how this day could possibly get worse.
Isobel wanted to scream.
“I am not feeling well at present, cousin, I’m not sure if I’m up for the journey. Could you please relay my apologies to Mrs. Dudley?”
“You’ll be able to relay them yourself, dear, as she’s presently on her way here.”
Just like that her day had gotten worse.
Chapter 23
Together
I watched Henry as he carefully laid my bag near the dresser of my room in the Crown and Anchor and turned towards me.
A motion that at one time would have seemed fluid now revealed a hint of his previous injuries. His pain was obvious to someone who knew him well but he never once mentioned it.
Such a stoic man.
“How have your injuries healed?”
“They could have been far worse.” He moved to join me. “Everything physical will mend well enough, but had you not returned to me, Miss Clayton…” He broke off, emotion running through his words. “My heart would have been broken beyond repair.”
He wrapped me in a tight embrace. His chest felt warm and intoxicating, the smell of him like coming home.
Unmistakably Henry.
“Please call me Emma. Miss Clayton always feels like you’re talking about someone else. Plus”—my smile broadened—“I love hearing you say my name.”
He brushed my cheek with his hand.
“I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to get back but with the help of…” I broke off when I thought of Harold. “I’m sorry about the whole carriage thing.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, darling, that was hardly your fault.” He looked down at me like I was being crazy.
Instinctively I bit my lower lip. “Well, I may be partly to blame,” I said sheepishly. “But we’ll get to that later. Tell me everything that has happened.”
The Wayfarer's Daughter: A Time Travel Romance (The Wayfarer Series Book 2) Page 9