Chapter Twenty
13 October 1822
L ora perched on the edge of the drawing room chaise, her hands knotted in her lap. The late afternoon light slanted through the windows, casting golden patterns on the Aubusson carpet. She traced its swirling designs with her gaze, willing the chaos in her mind to settle. Her fingers tightened, twisting a loose thread in the fabric of her gown. The delicate china clock on the mantel ticked steadily, each movement of its gilded hands marking a moment she wished would pass more quickly.
“Lady Lora,” She flinched, her hand flying to her chest. “Forgive me, my lady. I didn’t mean to startle you. Would you care for more tea?” Mrs. Kelly hovered near the untouched tea service with its gleaming teapot and unused porcelain cups.
Lora glanced up, her eyes momentarily unfocused. “Oh, no, thank you, Mrs. Kelly. I’m quite all right.”
The housekeeper hesitated, worry lines etched on her face. “Very well, my lady.”
The housekeeper left the room, passing Harriet, who glided through in a swirl of autumn color muslin and reserved anxiety. Her concern for her dear friend was obvious by the set of her mouth and look in her eyes.
“There you are! I was beginning to think you’d hidden yourself away.” Harriet crossed the room with grace, then settled beside Lora. “I was here earlier but was told you weren’t receiving callers. Really, Lora, did your morning not go as you planned?”
Lora’s fingers tightened around the embroidered handkerchief. Its delicate fabric crumpled slightly under her grip. Planned? All she wanted to do was ensure the highwayman was delayed until Rockford arrived, not… “My morning ride was… more eventful than I anticipated.”
Harriet tilted her head. “Eventful? I don’t know if I should be concerned or delighted. Now you must tell me what happened. Did you encounter a dashing stranger on your ride?” She winked conspiratorially.
A flicker of something, fear, perhaps, flashed in Lora’s eyes before she masked it with a practiced smile. “Nothing of the sort. I merely lost track of time while riding and found myself farther from home than intended.”
Harriet studied her, the teasing glimmer in her eyes dimming. She let out a small sigh and took Lora’s hand gently. “Lora, forgive me. I was only trying to bring back your smile.” A pause. Then, more softly, “Mrs. Kelly mentioned you were out of sorts.”
Lora opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat. How could she possibly convey the whirlwind of emotions in her head, the lingering dread, the relief, the confusion? She glanced toward the window to avoid Harriet reading more of her inner thoughts than she wanted.
“I’m just a bit tired,” she finally managed. “Perhaps planning the gala has been more difficult than I thought. I don’t know what I would do if you hadn’t agreed to help.”
Harriet’s gaze softened. She reached out, placing a gentle hand over Lora’s. “Then it’s settled. If you’re indebted to me, I demand we have fresh tea and not talk of tiring rides.”
Before Lora could protest, Harriet tugged on the bell pull. Mrs. Kelly reappeared as if summoned by intuition.
“Would you please bring a fresh pot of chamomile tea, Mrs. Kelly? And perhaps some of those lovely lemon biscuits?” Harriet requested with a warm smile.
“Of course, Lady Harriet.” The housekeeper’s glance flickered briefly to Lora with quiet understanding and relief.
As Harriet turned her attention back to Lora, she began chatting about the upcoming gala, her words a soothing hum that required little in the way of response. Lora appreciated the effort—Harriet’s unspoken gift of companionship without obligation.
Yet, beneath the veneer of casual conversation, Lora’s thoughts churned. ‘ I enjoy a challenge. ’ The sound of the highwayman’s voice, the flash of his eyes. The phantom sensations refused to fade, and the searing grip of his hand still burned on her arm. She resisted the urge to rub the spot, unwilling to draw Harriet’s notice.
“…and Lady Weatherby simply insists on wearing that atrocious feathered hat, can you imagine?” Harriet chattered, her nose wrinkling delicately. “Honestly, someone ought to advise her otherwise.”
Lora nodded absently. “It’s certainly… distinctive.”
Harriet observed her quietly for a moment. “You know, you don’t have to pretend with me.”
Lora’s gaze snapped to Harriet’s, a hint of apprehension in her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that if something is bothering you, you can tell me,” Harriet replied softly. “You’ve been distant. It’s unlike you. Is it Rockford? Has he said anything, done something?”
“Not at all!” Lora’s eyes widened as she sharply shook her head. She hesitated, torn between the desire to confide and the instinct to protect herself, and perhaps Harriet, from the darkness of the day’s events. She took a steadying breath. “It’s just been a rather overwhelming day. That’s all.”
Before Harriet could press further, the drawing room door opened once more. Rockford stepped inside, his presence commanding yet welcome. Dressed impeccably, there was a subtle tension in his posture. His eyes immediately focused on Lora.
*
“Lord Rockford.” Harriet stood and greeted him with a pleasant surprise. “What brings you to Fallsmith Manor this afternoon?”
He offered a polite bow. “Good afternoon, Lady Harriet. I hope I’m not intruding.”
“Not at all,” she assured him. “We were just about to enjoy some tea. Would you care to join us?”
His gaze flitted to Lora, then back to Harriet. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“Nonsense.” Harriet turned to Lora. “I just remembered there’s a matter I must speak to Mrs. Kelly about concerning the gala invitations. Please make yourself comfortable. Lora could use the company.”
Before either could protest, Harriet excused herself with a subtle smile.
An awkward pause settled as the door closed behind her. Rockford took a tentative step forward, not knowing what he would face. “I hope you don’t mind the intrusion.”
Lora managed a small smile. “You’re always welcome here.”
He clenched his hands at his sides, resisting the urge to reach for her, to reassure himself she was truly safe. “I came to see how you were faring.”
She lowered her gaze. “I’m perfectly fine.”
How could she say that after what she’d been through? “Are you?” He searched her eyes, desperation seeping into his tone, the same desperation he felt when he realized the depth of the consequences of their plan.
She sighed softly, the mask slipping just enough to reveal a hint of the turmoil beneath. “It’s been a long day.”
“I can only imagine,” he murmured, the words tasting bitter. How his heart pounded when he found her in that lodge. The fear, the rage, the helplessness. “You went through quite an ordeal.”
She looked up sharply, a flash of warning in her eyes. “Please, not here.”
He straightened, biting back his impulse to respond. His own pain was nothing compared to hers, but it gnawed at him just the same. “Of course.” He tilted his head. “My apologies.”
Mrs. Kelly returned, carrying a tray with a fresh pot of chamomile tea and a plate of delicate lemon biscuits. “Here we are. Shall I pour, my lady?”
“Thank you, Mrs. Kelly, but I can manage.”
As the housekeeper departed, Rockford watched as Lora busied herself with the tea service, the clinking of porcelain providing a welcome distraction for her.
He noticed the slight tremor in her hands and refused to let her struggle further. He covered her hand with his.
Lora raised her chin and stared at her.
“I find I’d rather walk in the garden. It’s warm for October. Join me?”
She paused, and he watched as she silently debated. He hoped she would agree with the idea of open space, away from prying eyes.
“Yes, I think I would.” She picked up her wool shawl from the end of the chaise and wrapped it around herself.
She accepted his offered arm, and they made their way through the French doors into the gardens.
The Fallsmith garden paths were lined with manicured hedges and bursts of colorful blooms. The soft fragrance of roses mingled with the earthy scent of the late afternoon. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves overhead, whispering secrets only the trees knew. He and Lora went on.
As they walked silently next to each other, he noticed the more they walked, the more the tension lifted from her shoulders. They reached a secluded alcove with a stone bench nestled beneath a canopy of gold wisteria leaves tipped with red.
Lora paused. “Shall we sit for a moment?”
“Of course.” He hoped the garden walk was doing its magic.
They settled onto the bench, a comfortable distance apart.
“I appreciate your company, Rockford, but…” Lora hesitated. “There was no need for you to come.”
Rockford turned to face her, his expression a mix of worry and admiration. “Lora, I know you’ve been through an unimaginable ordeal.” His voice was gentle yet firm. “I wanted to be here, beside you, give you whatever strength you need. That’s what friends do. That’s what people…like us do.”
Every fiber of his being wanted to reach out, to comfort her, but he restrained himself, aware that his turmoil mirrored hers. He took a deep breath, hoping it would calm him.
She took a steadying breath, pressing her hands together. “I keep replaying moments in my head, but it’s like looking through fogged glass.” She met his gaze. “Something about his voice… and there was a scent—something I’ve smelled before, but I can’t place it.”
All he could do at the moment was listen and be her steadfast anchor. He had sat with many soldiers, letting them talk out their fears, but this was different. This was Lora.
“There were… voices. Muffled, but some things are stuck in my head. One person had a distinctive sound.” Her eyes darted to the garden, searching for unseen answers.
His brow furrowed, but he remained quiet, letting her find her own pace.
“And there was a scent… something familiar, but I can’t place it. I’ve encountered it before, but I can’t be sure.”
He wanted her to remember, not because of the mission, but to stop her torment. His helplessness gnawed at him. He hoped his presence was enough to help her find her strength.
Lora looked down at her hands, fingers twisting together. “There were footsteps… they sounded different. Like someone had a… I don’t know. It was an odd rhythm. Now I’m not even sure if I really heard it.”
Rockford’s gaze softened with empathy. “These are valuable observations, Lora. Even if they seem fragmented now, they could be meaningful.”
Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked up at him.
Rockford moved closer, his heart aching as he watched the tears roll down her cheek. She was a woman of immense strength and pride who rarely showed vulnerability. This rare moment tore at him more than any physical wound ever could. Gently, he placed his arm around her shoulders, hoping his warmth could offer the comfort that his words could not.
“You’ve done more than enough. We’ll piece it together, bit by bit.” He pulled her closer, his voice now a whisper. “I should never have gotten you involved in this.”
She nestled closer, her lips parted ready to speak, but the distant crunch of footsteps on gravel shattered the moment.
Gently, he released her as Harriet appeared around the bend.
“There you are!” Her stare changed into a relieved smile. “I was beginning to think you’d both gotten lost.”
“You were correct, Harriet. I needed to get out.” Lora glanced at Rockford. “We’ve been enjoying the garden.”
Harriet’s eyes flickered between them. “I see. I hope I’m not interrupting?”
“Not at all,” Rockford replied smoothly, rising from the bench. “I was just about to take my leave.”
Lora stood as well, her gaze meeting Rockford’s. “Thank you for calling.”
He nodded, his eyes holding hers. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” With a polite nod to Harriet, Rockford turned his footsteps, fading down the flagstone path as he made his way to the garden gate.
*
She watched him go, the absence of his presence settling like a whisper of cold air against her skin. She longed for him to stay but feared it would unravel what fragile composure she had left. His visit had been a comfort, a tether to normalcy, but some battles had to be faced alone.
Harriet walked beside her, silent but present. As they reached the door, Lora hesitated, glancing back to where Rockford had stood only moments ago. His concern had been genuine, his touch reassuring, but some battles she had to face alone.
The memory of the highwayman and his threats still lingered, no longer a looming specter but a shadow at the edges of her thoughts.
Taking a steady breath, she stepped into the house with Harriet and closed the door softly behind them.