Chapter 23
Why did I make such a foolhardy request of him?
Thalia brushed her fingertips across the pages of her diary: the gloomier entries where she had lamented her solitude, the loneliness so vivid in her memory that it ached afresh; a paragraph where she had written about Henry returning to Holdridge after many months, wondering if they might dine together this time; a sentence of apparent disappointment that they had not dined together and had not, in fact, interacted at all.
It was subtle within the pages of her own thoughts and feelings and the events of her life over the past four years, but Thalia could pick out tiny glimmers of yearning. Little moments of wanting more than she had asked for, not in terms of ‘things’ but her husband’s presence in her world.
“You may ask anything of me, here and now,” Henry had said on their wedding day, as they entered the carriage together, to head to her new home. “Whatever it is, I will oblige you. But you can only ask it now: a wish, if you like.”
Maybe it was the sight of those unsettling men in the distance, maybe it was the circumstances of the wedding; maybe it was her anger toward her father for putting them all in such a dire situation; maybe it was the fact that Henry had seemed so cold and indifferent; maybe it was stubbornness, ignited by the realization that she could not fulfill her mother’s dying wish.
Whatever the reason, she had given her fateful answer: “Very well. I wish to be left alone. I wish for us to lead separate lives. I wish to not have to think about this marriage if I do not have to.”
She did not know what she had expected from him, but she had not expected his agreeable reply of, “As you wish. I am so often away from my residence that you may consider it yours. Do what you will with it. I shall have to return here and there but, otherwise, consider us separate from one another. Live your life however you please, as long as you do not bring my family name into disrepute. After all, that is the point of this, to benefit my standing in society and to rid your family of debt.”
“Is that our deal, then?”
“If you accept the terms, then yes.”
She had readily accepted and thought herself incredibly lucky to receive an entire manor to herself, to do with as she pleased. It had taken a matter of months before she realized it was a poisoned chalice and that solitude did not suit her at all.
According to her diary, she had tried to get her father to let Dorothy live with her, but he had refused.
So, she had filled her time with founding schools and publishing women’s books, and it had almost been enough.
But even among the entries of pride and excitement about her endeavors, there were crossed-out sentences asking, I wonder if I should tell Henry…
I wonder if Henry would like to hear what I am up to…
I wonder if I should suggest new terms… I cannot do this alone anymore.
With a lump in her throat, Thalia removed the letter from the back of the diary and smoothed it out on her lap. The response was brief, but not unkind, yet it carried a new meaning as she read the words: she was not to get her hopes up that anything would change.
That way, if he left once his task was fulfilled, it would, perhaps, hurt that little bit less to be alone again.
“Your Grace?” Baxter appeared in the doorway of Henry’s study.
Blinking away the blur of his strained eyes, for he had been reading letters and writing replies for hours by candlelight, Henry glanced quickly at the butler. “Is it my wife? Another headache?”
Indeed, he had not left his study for three days. Not because he wished to avoid his wife, but because he did not yet have answers for her. After all he had promised, he did not know if he could see her again until this mystery was solved and he could confirm, without doubt, that she was safe.
“No, Your Grace,” Baxter replied, the ghost of a smile upon his lips. “You have visitors.”
Henry set down his quill and rubbed his eyes. “Visitors?” He looked toward the carriage clock on his writing desk. “But it is almost ten o’clock.”
“It is His Grace, the Duke of Shawton and His Grace, the Duke of Foxhill,” the butler replied with a wry look. “They are most insistent.”
Leaning back in his chair, feeling his shoulder crack, Henry nodded. “Send them in.”
As the butler turned to go, however, Henry suddenly called him back. “Has there been news of Gibbs yet?”
He had sent Baxter to Farhampton to arrange a meeting with the Viscount, only to discover that Gibbs had been absent from the manor for almost a week. Kenneth did not know where his father was, but did not seem perturbed by the absence, as if it were common enough.
Henry, on the other hand, was very perturbed indeed. It reeked of suspicious behavior.
“None yet, Your Grace, but it has barely been two days since I sent out my hounds. They must have time to sniff out the fox,” Baxter replied, his voice taking on a chilling edge, as it occasionally did. “We will likely hear something soon.”
“Yes, of course. Of course. I must have patience. Thank you, Baxter,” Henry replied, decidedly impatient. “May you fetch some of the good brandy up from the cellar? I expect the gentlemen will be thirsty.”
The butler bowed his head. “Certainly, Your Grace.”
With that, Baxter departed, and Henry was left wondering, not for the first time, why his butler remained in service with him when he could easily become a spy for the Royal Court.
Indeed, the man was a constant mystery with an endless array of skills and secret talents, and an extensive list of equally mysterious acquaintances who could find out anything. Almost anything.
At least he is on my side. I should hate to be his opposition.
A few minutes later, the study door burst open and Luke and Owen exploded into the room, looking as if they had sprinted all the way to see him.
“Where is the fire?” Henry asked in jest, as he rose to greet them.
Owen smiled a rare smile. “We found them.”
“Well, we found one of them,” Luke interjected, grinning.
Henry froze. “The highwaymen?”
“The very same,” Owen replied.
“Where is he?” Henry demanded to know. “Did you bring him with you? I must speak to him at once.”
Stepping forward, Owen put a calming hand on Henry’s shoulder and urged him to sit. “He has agreed to meet with us tomorrow,” he said. “There will be no need for aggression or interrogation; he is willing to cooperate.”
“Only because Owen asked so very nicely.” Luke chuckled.
“The man is no longer in the business of attacking carriages on the road, but has a rather reputable position at the courthouse,” Owen explained, casting a stern look at Luke.
“He does not want to lose that position, nor the income attached. As such, he is willing to answer any and all questions, but it must be tomorrow, when his wife and child are not at home.”
Restlessness caused Henry to shift in his seat.
If the man who had put a pistol to Thalia’s head was known and out there right now, unfettered, then how could Henry sit still?
He wanted to put his fist through the man’s face, wanted to make the man feel as frightened as Thalia must have done…
which was, perhaps, why Owen had orchestrated it this way.
“You need to be calm,” Owen said, as if he could read his friend’s mind. “The man is not going anywhere; believe me when I tell you that. He is just the right amount of scared, and with men like this, it is a delicate balance.”
Henry clenched his jaw, a muscle twitching close to his eye. “They threatened her life, Owen.”
“I am unsurprised,” the stern, scarred man said with a scowl.
“That being said, you must take tonight to steady yourself, so you do not meet this man all hotheaded. You must be clear about the questions you wish to ask, and though it will not please you, you must be willing to accept the fact that he will not be punished for his part in things.”
Anger flared in Henry’s chest. “Not be punished, after what he did?”
“Not if you wish to concentrate on the true culprit,” Owen said. “The fellow hardly seemed capable of enacting such a scheme of threat and intimidation. Rather, he appeared to be an underling. A tool to execute someone else’s plan.”
Luke nodded in agreement. “Do not settle for the minnows, Henry, or you risk the bigger fish escaping.”
It did not sit well with Henry at all. The prospect of meeting with the man who almost took his wife’s life and not knocking out the fellow’s teeth at least was an injustice that made his blood boil.
Perhaps, I can send Baxter to the man afterward, to gain some satisfaction. Nothing irredeemably bad, but something, enough to make Henry feel as if he had avenged the terror his wife had endured on that night. Even if, back then, she had not yet been his wife.
As if summoned by thought, Baxter entered with the good brandy, poured out a glass for each of the three men, then left with a bow of his head, putting the decanter on the side-table for them to help themselves.
“How is she?” Luke asked, as put his nose to the edge of the glass and took a great inhale of the aromas.
Henry hesitated, remembering what Thalia had said about telling no one. But this was different. These were his friends. If he could not trust them, after all they had already done to help him find her assailants, then who could he trust?
“She has regained her memories,” he said, swirling his brandy.
Luke sat up straight, eyes wide. “What? When? Why did you not send word to us?”
“Would she be able to confirm the identity of the man we have found?” Owen said, rather more bluntly.
Henry cast the latter a warning look. “She is not going anywhere near such a man, even if she could. We shall just have to hope that you have found the right cretin.”
Owen seemed dissatisfied with such a response, but he said nothing more about it as he sipped his drink and sat back in the armchair.