Chapter 16 #2
Helen faced me, expression concerned. “Are you well, Miss Albright?”
“Yes,” I said briskly. “Perfectly well.”
She did not seem to believe me. “You are sure? I was watching the two of you dance, and it looked rather . . . tense.”
That was certainly one word for it.
It was then I noticed the whispers, the curious glances sent toward me—and toward Mr. Rawlings as he started for the front doors. How many people had been watching us like Helen had? My plan to go relatively unnoticed was certainly dashed away.
But it was hardly my fault that Alexander had danced the way he had.
I took Helen’s arm and moved her with me away from the dance floor, trying my best to hide from those searching gazes.
“We simply had a disagreement,” I said. “It is nothing, really.”
Helen nodded, still appearing doubtful.
“I had a wonderful time,” I assured her. “Truly, I did. You’ve been so kind. I never thought to expect it.”
She patted me on the hand. “It is not difficult to be kind, Beatrice.”
I gave a short laugh under my breath. “You might be surprised.”
She said nothing to that, though a shadow crossed her face.
We fetched our shawls and reticules, then made our way out to where Mr. Rawlings stood waiting beside the carriage. He did not meet my eyes as he helped me inside, and so I returned the favor by ignoring him entirely after he seated himself across from us.
Helen and I exchanged a few remarks about the evening on the ride to her home, but the tension was so thick I think we were all quite relieved when we arrived. Mr. Rawlings again alighted to help her down.
Helen paused before exiting, looking over at me. “I shall call on you soon, Beatrice,” she said meaningfully. “To see how you are getting on.” She spoke louder than necessary, as if wanting Mr. Rawlings to know she would be checking in on my well-being.
I smiled, touched that she would be so thoughtful. “Thank you, Helen. I should like that very much.”
Mr. Rawlings helped her down, and she leaned close to him and whispered something. He stood frozen a long moment, then seemed to come to himself. He said a few words in return, all too low for me to hear. Helen looked back at me, her lips curving up on one side.
“I think you might,” she said to him, then patted him on the shoulder and went inside her house.
Mr. Rawlings stared after her. Then his shoulders tightened, and he climbed back inside the carriage, which seemed to have suddenly grown much smaller without Helen’s presence.
He seemed preoccupied with his gloves as we started off again.
I cleared my throat. “What did she say?” I asked carefully.
He did not meet my gaze. “Nothing of import.”
He clearly did not wish to speak. Very well, I could keep quiet for once. Especially because I was afraid of what might escape me if we did tumble into a conversation after such a night. My tongue had never been particularly obedient, and I was already loose-willed and at odds with myself.
The rest of our journey was silent. I kept my knees carefully turned away from him so they would not brush his. The last thing I needed was more physical reactions proving my ridiculous attraction.
The carriage had not even come to a complete stop outside Briarstone when Mr. Rawlings had the door open. He stepped down on the pebbled drive and turned to offer his hand to me.
“You needn’t be polite,” I said, though I took it and stepped down. “I know you are angry with me.”
“Angry?” he repeated as though he’d never heard the word before.
“For making you dance.” I pulled my shawl closer about my shoulders, the breeze twisting my skirts.
He finally looked at me for the first time since we’d left the assembly. “I’m not angry.”
“Oh.” I’d truly expected something of a lecture upon arriving. Perhaps he felt bad for how he’d treated me in the garden.
“I am, however, thoroughly irritated at your muleheaded inability to ever listen to me.”
Or perhaps not.
“I’d rather be a mule than a sheep,” I said.
“Unfortunately.” He started for the front door. “A sheep would be much easier to protect.”
I cast my eyes to the cloudy night sky as I went after him.
Inside, only a few candles were burning, draping the front hall in shadows and silence. We made our way up the staircase, quiet again falling between us. It was just the two of us now, alone in an upper corridor of his house, and that fact made me wary, on edge.
He did not seem to feel the same. He strode directly past my door and stopped before his own, his gloves and hat clutched in one hand.
“Good night, Miss Albright,” he said, then went inside. The door closed behind him with a loud click.
“Good night,” I said pointlessly to the empty space.
I stood there in the silence, wrestling with my riotous emotions. Why should I feel disappointed? Why should I feel as if there was something left unsaid? Undone?
“Preposterous,” I muttered under my breath as I opened my door.
I’d already told Agatha she need not wait up for me.
I could manage myself well enough for one night—and undressing was certainly less arduous than dressing.
I strode to my dressing table in the corner and dropped my reticule there, draping my shawl over the back of the chair.
I sat and began removing my hairpins, my tightly coiled locks falling against my neck and shoulders.
I had just removed the last pin when I noticed it. My hairbrush. Hadn’t Agatha set it on the left side of the dressing table earlier? I remembered because I’d remarked on the fact that she was left-handed. But now my brush was nearer the middle of the table.
I was being silly. Agatha had obviously just moved it again, tidying up.
I sighed, turning in my chair to regard my room. How much longer would I be trapped here? Tonight’s escape into town had only made Briarstone feel more like a prison, especially not knowing when I might be released.
My thoughts began to creep back to that shadow-swept garden outside the assembly rooms, back to the moment when Mr. Rawlings had slid his gaze down to my lips. He had, hadn’t he? Or had I only seen what I wanted to see?
That was a sobering thought. Because it meant that I had wanted Mr. Rawlings to kiss me.
But that couldn’t happen. I was nothing more to him than a duty, a responsibility. Kissing him would help nothing, no matter how easily my body remembered the touch of his hands.
Drat it all. I needed a distraction, or my thoughts would never let me be.
Perhaps rereading Ginny’s letter yet again would calm my nerves. I opened the drawer of my dressing table. Then I paused.
My stomach turned cold.
When Agatha had come to help me dress earlier, I’d placed Ginny’s letter here in the drawer, with Clarissa Haythorne’s note folded and pushed to the back so I did not have to see it.
Both letters were still in the drawer. Now, however, Clarissa’s was perched on top, unfolded, her snide words peeking out at me.
And I knew immediately.
Someone had been in my room.