“Know that, do you?” But the words didn’t come out mocking—they emerged … hopeful.
No smile touched Worthing’s expression now. Peace, however, saturated it. “Yes. I do.”
Again, Justin was reduced to staring. What stared back at him made him feel the dunce—though, granted, a relieved one. “You’re really not in love with her.”
Worthing chuckled and leaned into the side of his car again—at least, Justin assumed it was his. “Are you daft? I’d never survive it. If she isn’t trying to bore me to death with some obscure academic work, she’s trying to give me a heart attack, flying around on that wild stallion of hers.”
Though he’d never expected to experience such a thing, a grin tugged at Justin’s lips. In the presence of Worthing. “She’s magnificent, isn’t she?”
Worthing laughed outright this time. “That she is, and I adore her—in much the same way I adore my sister, who drives me nearly as mad.” He paused and then gave a sideways nod in the direction his hand had motored. “Go after her, you imbecile. And don’t relent until you have an actual conversation and have convinced her you can’t live without her. Address whatever’s keeping her from declaring her love for you and move on to all the happily-ever-after nonsense.”
For the first time in weeks, hope sparked to life. Justin took a step toward the Rolls-Royce but then paused. “Worthing … I’m in your debt.”
The grin reemerged. “Excellent. No doubt I’ll need a favor one of these days, when I’m the one gone stupid over some young lady.”
Justin smiled again and hurried to his car. Worthing followed, saying nothing while Justin cranked it and slid inside, but then he leaned toward the window. “Listen.” His voice was serious again, and as low as it could be and still be heard over the engine. “My first thought, when she said she was leaving, was that it was good—she’ll be away from the Rushworths, Pratt, whoever killed her cousin. But I can’t shake the feeling that the danger will follow her home.”
Cold dread overtook Justin’s heart. Of course it would. Anyone who would kill so easily wouldn’t let a few hundred miles get in his way. He nodded.
So did Worthing. “My advice would be to resolve this thing between you as quickly as her stubborn will allows—and then get ready. The tempest, I think, has only just begun.”
Because the words felt like truth, Justin nodded again. And because they were a terrible omen, he sighed. “I trust you’ll be in prayer.”
“Without ceasing. For the both of you.” He stuck a hand in, and Justin clasped it without hesitation. “Keep in touch. And if you need me, give the word.”
Funny how, in that moment, this man he had thought for sure was an enemy seemed like a certain friend. “Let’s pray I don’t have to.”
Without further ado, he backed out and joined the stream of cars and carriages. A quick stop at his townhouse to collect Peters and their things, and he’d be on his way. He’d rent rooms somewhere in Whitby, to be close by. And he’d simply wear her down with his presence. He would be there. Every hour, every day, knocking upon her door.
Praying, without ceasing. Until she let him in again.
Darkness cloaked the familiar heath by the time Deirdre found a moment to step outside. Still, it was earlier than it should have been. She hadn’t finished unpacking for the baroness yet, but she’d been dismissed. No doubt the lady chafed at her presence.
The air had a nip to it, but it still smelled of spring in the country—a scent she had missed acutely in London. But she hadn’t counted on being back so soon. And knew, now, she wouldn’t be here long. The baroness would talk to his lordship soon.
Then Deirdre would find herself called forward after prayers, denounced in front of them all. Mrs. Doyle would gasp and press a hand to her mouth. Mr. Graham would rumble out a cough of outrage. Beatrix’s eyes would go wide with shock.
And Hiram … Hiram would look at her with that profound disappointment that would shatter her heart into a million pieces.
“Escaped finally, did you, Dee?”
Her eyes slid shut against the warm, cheerful voice. She buttoned the jacket she had slipped on and sank onto the stone garden bench. “How have you been, Hi?”
He chuckled as he took the seat next to her. “It was quiet while you were gone, as expected. Though I can’t say as anyone was surprised at the wire saying you were on your way back. Murder though—didn’t expect that.”
The image kept gnashing at her, popping up whenever she closed her eyes. The major, in a pool of his own blood, his limbs at odd angles. She shuddered. “I’m the one who found him. When I went to see Uncle Seamus.”
“Oh, Dee.” His arm came around her shoulders, and he pulled her to his side.
She sagged against him and wished she could stay there forever. But what was the point? She would soon be gone. Back to Kilkeel in disgrace. Then what would Mum do? “I’ve ruined everything, Hiram. Lord Whitby and the baroness were so kind, so supportive—but I’d tossed it all away long before that. They’ll sack me soon.”
Hiram’s hand stroked over her hair. “What do you mean, sweetheart? You’ve done nothing wrong.”
Sweetheart. She savored it for a moment, let it turn over in her mind. It clashed against the guilt. “I have, though. I already confessed it to the baroness. I … it was Pratt. He approached me in the village a year ago.”
Hiram went stiff, but he held her all the tighter. “Approached you how?”
Her stomach hurt in the remembering. How she had turned down a side street to make it the quicker to the post office and had all but run into him. How, at first, she had been struck dumb by his beauty—up until then, she had only glimpsed him from afar when he prowled around Whitby Park. But he must have seen her. He knew her name, her position, her salary … her family’s situation.
“He … he said he knew how my family was struggling, and he wanted to help. That I had two choices—I could either become his mistress or … or feed him information on who Lord Whitby would name heir.”
“DeeDee.” He turned a bit and wrapped his other arm around her too. Sorrow laced his tone. “Why’d you say nothing? You could have told me. Told his lordship.”
She should have. That was so clear now, but at the time … “It seemed so silly. I had little information to give, but he paid me well for it. But then the baroness came, and he’d grown so impatient. Threatening—which was always lurking under the surface; I knew that all along—that if I hadn’t agreed, it would be trouble to find my family, not pound notes.”
She fisted her hands in his shirt and pressed her forehead to his shoulder. “Now what am I to do? I’ll be dismissed, possibly arrested, and my mum …”
“Your mum’ll be fine.” He pressed a kiss to her hair. “You’ll be fine. His lordship won’t want the attention of pressing charges, and we’ll find other positions. I’ll take up farming, if I must.”
“Hiram.” She wanted to cling to that we, but it wasn’t right. “No. It’s my trouble, my wrong. You can’t be the one to pay for it.”
“And you think it won’t be punishment for me if you leave, if I must do without you?” He touched a hand to her face to turn it and then feathered his lips over hers. “I love you, Dee. Where you go, I go. We’ll marry, and I’ll help you take care of your family. I promise you.”
She should refuse. But she was too selfish. Sliding an arm around his neck, she kissed him soundly, letting the joy of it scrub at the bitterness and regret. It couldn’t obliterate them, but it eased their harshness. “I love you, Hiram. I’d be honored to be your wife. Though sure and I’m sorry to come to you with such trouble at my heels.”
“We’ll face it together.” He brushed at the hair coming loose from its pins, and the moonlight gilded his smile. “Two are stronger than one, aye? We’ll start looking for other positions. Together.”
She nodded and rested against him again. But her mind went back inside, up the stairs, to the chamber where, if the baroness had found sleep,
she was no doubt thrashing about in the throes of her nightmare.
Her ladyship couldn’t escape her troubles, and heaven help her but Deirdre felt responsible for them. Bound to her through them, obligated to help. And she would, if she were given the chance.
But that seemed a very big if.
Twenty-Seven
From her seat at her window, Brook could hear the rumble of the Rolls-Royce as it made its way down the drive. She wouldn’t look up from her book. She wouldn’t. She had no need to see the silver paint, the golden head—though today the top would be up, as the rain was coming down in torrents. She had thought it would keep Justin at home, or wherever he’d been staying the past fortnight.
No such luck. Of course, if her father wouldn’t keep entertaining him …
Her fingers curled around the edges of her book—Kant, and the German was nearly impossible. Especially when she was not watching the Rolls-Royce disappear over the knoll. With an exasperated breath, she tossed it to the window seat and took to her feet.
Deirdre stepped out from the dressing room. “Do you need something, my lady?” Her words were quiet and eager, as they had been each of the interminable fifteen days since they’d left the hospital in London.
Brook knew Deirdre was waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop. Waiting for Brook to tell her father, and for her father to dismiss her. And several times, she had nearly confided what Deirdre had confessed. But then she would stop. Dismissing her wouldn’t get the letters back or erase the secrets told. Dismissing her would mean needing to find a replacement, and that meant someone new who could be bought and bribed.
Deirdre would make no new betrayal. She might be, right now, the most trustworthy employee to be found.
Brook forced half a smile. “Nothing. Thank you. I’m going to find my father.” Not meeting her gaze, Brook kept on for the door. She didn’t want to dismiss her … but she hadn’t quite forgiven. She had tried. Had prayed the words. But she was still so empty inside.
Papa was, as expected, in the library. When she entered, it wasn’t just the scent of pipe tobacco and paper and leather that greeted her, though—there, too, lingered the scent of lemon and spice. Justin. She very nearly retreated, but then she’d be left with only her own company, and she had days ago grown annoyed with herself. “Have a pleasant chat, Papa?”
Justin had been here hours today. Hours.
And her father had the gall to smile over his newspaper. “I did. We were discussing the latest advancements in aeronautics. You should have joined us, my dear. You would have enjoyed it.”
“Papa.” She sank into her usual chair, at right angles to his. “Why will you not turn him away?”
“Because I enjoy his company.” He reached for his pipe and put it between his teeth, though he didn’t light it. He never did while she was in the room, after she’d once coughed. “Clever young man. I can see why you like him so well.”
“Liked.”
“Come now, my dear, we both know you’re only so miserable because you’re in love. One of these days you’ll relent long enough to talk to him, and it will take but a single honest, earnest conversation for you to put aside your differences.” He took the pipe out again and used it to point at her. “When that day comes, I would prefer the pleasure of saying ‘I knew it all along’ to the regret of saying ‘I’m sorry for treating him poorly while you were at odds.’”
“Papa.”
“You cannot avoid him forever.”
Why not? Why would he not go away? Back to London or Gloucestershire or India or Africa or anywhere—so long as it wasn’t Whitby Park? She rested her elbow on the arm of the chair and then her head in her hand. “I don’t want to see him. There’s nothing left to say.”
“I think there is.” He put newspaper and pipe aside and leaned forward, resting his hand on her knee. “Brook, whenever I walk into your room, I see the same book sitting on your bedside table. What does it say to do?”
“That isn’t fair.” She had tried looking for comfort in La Bible. She had tried to find answers. But it had just been words these past weeks, never sinking deeper than her mind. “I know we are to forgive. And I will. But that doesn’t mean that we can go back to the way things used to be.”
“Who ever said you should?” He sat back up, shaking his head. “But God does not just instruct us to forgive—He instructs us to trust. To trust that, even though life hurts us, He will take care of us. That even if we lose the ones we love, He will sustain us through it.”
Her brows knit. “Trust is not my problem.”
“Isn’t it?” He gave her knee a squeeze. “You are afraid to love, my dear. Afraid that if you do, it will only come to a miserable end. And it may—life comes with no promises. But it’s worth it. It’s worth the risk.”
She shook her head, intending it to be a denial that she was afraid. But with each movement, her resolve shifted. “No. No, it’s not worth it. How can I possibly love him when it means arguing like we have been? When it means he doesn’t want me to spread my wings lest I get hurt in the flight—”
“Brook, he is the one who taught you how to fly! But is it so unreasonable that he asks you to look before you leap?”
How was it that Justin could make her feel the fool even when he wasn’t in the room? “What is the point, though? We will only hurt each other. Or … or lose each other later.”
He gripped her hand, resting their clasped fingers on the book she’d left on the side table last night. “Must I quote Shakespeare at you, my dear? ‘It is better to have loved and lost—’”
“No! It isn’t!”
Silence greeted her outburst, and it reigned long enough to make her glance at her father’s countenance. To see the patience there … and the sheen in his eyes. Of all the people for her to have said such a thing to …
His fingers tightened around hers. “Should I not have loved your mother, then? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Papa …”
“I lost her. I lost you. And it brought me to my knees. It tormented me for years and made me shut myself off from society. But it brought me to my knees—and the Lord was there, through it all, supporting me. The Lord was there, shaping me through my loss into the man He wanted me to be.”
She lowered her head, her gaze. “I didn’t mean …”
“You did. But you don’t understand, Brook. Had I run away in fear from the things she made me feel, I would not have mourned any less when she died. I would have mourned more. Mourned the loss of the happiness we could have had and didn’t. I would have mourned what could have been and wasn’t. I would have been even more miserable, I would have turned bitter, I would have been hounded not just by questions but by crippling regrets.”
“But—”
“If Justin were killed today, and you had all this between you, what would it do to you?”
Her breath balled up in her chest, choked her.
He patted her hand and then leaned back. “Love is much like Oscuro, my dear. Yes, it is dangerous. You may get hurt. But the victory of the ride … Would you be willing to miss out on that, just because at any time he might shy at something and send you to the ground?”
And now her lips tugged up. He knew her language all too well. She sat up straighter—and then started when running steps burst into the room.
Deirdre halted halfway in, her eyes wide and her hands shaking violently as they clutched at a slip of paper. “Beg pardon. But I—it’s my mum.”
Brook pushed herself up even as her father did. He stepped forward, the pipe in his hand again. “What has happened?”
She was glad he had asked. Her tongue was knotted. Pratt had made good on his threats.
Deirdre must have known her thoughts. She looked her way, shook her head. “Sickness, it says. Bad. My brother, he says I need to come home. I know I oughtn’t to ask—”
“Of course you ought.” Brook slid up beside her father, knowing he would have said the same. “You need to go to
her.”
“You can make the afternoon train west if you hurry. I will send ahead to procure a steamer ticket for you.”
Deirdre blinked rapidly and clutched the paper to her chest. “I’m indebted to you, your lordship.”
“We’ve been through this, O’Malley. Family first. And give your uncle our regards—he’s still there convalescing, is he not?”
“Aye. And thank you. And again, thank you.” With watery eyes, Deirdre flew from the room.
Brook turned to her father. “May I drive her? She cannot walk in this weather.”
“Of course.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “But be careful of all the mud. And consider what I’ve said. I hate seeing you like this, Brook. You are meant to be sunshine and tempests, not dreary fog and rain.”
Unable to think of any response, unable to think why it sounded like such a compliment, she could only wrap her arms around him and hold on for a long, fortifying moment. Then she ran from the room in search of Deirdre.
“But I want to come. I want to meet her, DeeDee, and if it’s bad enough that they’re calling you home …”
Tears stung at the implication, but Deirdre couldn’t give them purchase yet. Couldn’t let them overtake her. She swallowed the fear down and paused at the end of the servants’ hall to put a hand to Hiram’s face. “I know. And if I get there, and it’s that bad, I’ll send you word. I promise it, I will. But I couldn’t take the time to explain to his lordship why you should come with me. We’ve said nothing, and now—”
“Now the train leaves so soon, and you must be on it.” Because he was Hiram, he brightened. Nodded. Leaned down to press a quick kiss to her lips. “Send me word no matter what. Let me know you’ve got there safe, or I’ll worry all the week long.”
“I promise. I’ll wire you before I board the ship, again when I dock, and then from Kilkeel. I promise.”
The Lost Heiress Page 31