Chapter 21
I stood there for several long seconds, his footsteps echoing back to me. I half expected him to return, to kiss me again, or to relent and allow me to come with him. But he did not.
The front door opened and closed. I couldn’t help myself and moved to the window overlooking the front drive.
Alexander stood beside his horse. His raven hair, normally so neat, was disheveled from our kiss.
He spoke to the groom holding the reins, but I could not make out his words.
As I watched, Alexander took the reins and mounted smoothly.
Turning toward the road, he kicked his horse into a canter.
Heavens, the man looked fine on horseback.
He did not look back as he rode away.
I watched him until he disappeared into the distance, the trees swallowing him up. Despite my anger and the betrayal of being left behind, I touched the window, the glass cool against my trembling fingertips. “Please be safe,” I whispered. “Please.”
My knees shook. The events of the last few minutes were catching up to me. I stumbled to the great leather chair behind his desk and sank into it.
He’d kissed me. Alexander had kissed me.
I could still feel the shape of his lips on mine. His words echoed in my ears—he’d called me a danger, a distraction. I knew I was. I wasn’t Ginny or Verity. I wasn’t born into the world of solving crimes. I wasn’t useful.
But still, he’d kissed me.
My anger was fading. Yes, I’d proved myself capable that night at Vauxhall. But that did not mean I would not crumple entirely the next time I faced some unexpected danger.
He’d been right to go without me. Even if I did not like it.
I looked around the empty study, cold and quiet. The letter on his desk called to me, the one he’d written when he’d assumed he could leave without informing me. I huffed. The audacity, truly.
My irritation somewhat rekindled, I snatched up the letter.
Miss Lacey,
I have received a letter from Drake summoning me back to London to identify a suspect they have apprehended, whom they have charged with the viscount’s murder. I made the decision to return alone, leaving you within the safety of Briarstone’s walls until we can be sure you are out of danger.
There is little point in begging you not to be angry with me, so I shall only ask that you do not do anything foolish while angry. Such decisions are never well made.
There was a line of words next that had been so thoroughly crossed out I could only make out a letter or two. I bit my lip. What had he written? And would he have left it legible if he’d known we were about to kiss?
If you find yourself bored beyond reason, you are welcome to continue our research into the robberies. A new batch of notes from my clerk arrived with Drake’s letter, and I’ve left the bulk of my own records as well, which you may peruse at your leisure.
I shall return as soon as possible. Please be safe.
A. Rawlings
I tossed the paper to the desk, relishing the messiness of it against the strict and tidy lines of his ink stand, pens, and papers.
The smallest of rebellions against him, but it made me feel a bit better.
Perhaps I would begin a vast renovation of his study while he was gone, painting the walls or tearing down the curtains. Then he would regret leaving me here.
“He’s gone, hasn’t he?”
I sat up abruptly. Mrs. Rawlings stood in the doorway, hands folded against her stomach. She was fully dressed, with her hair done in its usual austere knot. She took in my state of undress with little expression.
“I saw him ride away,” she went on, stepping into the room. “Has he returned to London?”
“Yes,” I managed. “There was a development in the case.”
“But you did not go.”
It was not a question.
“No,” I said. “Apparently, I would be a danger to him.” I tried to speak without any emotion, as she seemed so easily capable of, but some of my hurt came through, my voice cracking.
She said nothing, only gazed at me with those perceptive eyes.
I swallowed. “He left you a letter.” I searched the desk until I found it, Mother scrawled across the front in Alexander’s confident, masculine hand.
She took it from me and read quickly, then folded it again.
“Well, Miss Lacey,” she said, “it appears we have been left to our own devices. You, of course, may choose to do whatever you wish. But I think it best to continue our charade as long as possible to keep you safe.”
This was certainly a turn of events. Not once in the last week had she ever given any sign that she wished to keep me safe.
“What on earth did he say in that note?” I asked, baffled.
She barked a laugh. “You think I would not do something like this of my own free will? That I must be ordered to by my son? No, this is my own attempt at recompense. I cannot change how I treated you in the past, but I can do my part going forward.” She turned back for the door.
“Go and dress. I expect you in the morning room in an hour.”
“And if I do not come?” I challenged. I was not feeling particularly amenable this morning.
She stopped, one hand on the door, and for a brief moment, I was lost to my memories. Alexander had kissed me against that door not ten minutes ago, his lips greedy and possessive. My face flushed, and I tore my eyes from it to look defiantly at his mother.
“It is your choice,” she said. “But you are not so unintelligent as to make the wrong one.”
A delightful woman, truly. And somehow, still a marked improvement from two days ago.
She left, and I sat alone in the study once again.
It would be a long few days indeed.
I did join Mrs. Rawlings in the morning room, and she said nothing to gloat.
Instead, she politely asked my opinion on the dinner menus for the week and whether I thought the gardener should plant white or yellow tulips along the front of the house.
I’d never had an opinion on tulips in my life, but I decided firmly on the side of white, if only to seem more informed than I was.
Mrs. Rawlings did not assign me any tasks, and I quickly grew restless.
I could have read a book, but I did not think even a novel would prove an adequate distraction.
Instead, shocking even myself, I fetched the basket of clothes from near the fireplace.
I found the little-boy-sized muslin shirt I’d been working on and threaded my needle.
Mrs. Rawlings furrowed her brow. “You do not need to do that.”
“Why?” I asked. “Are these not really for the poor?” I would not put it past her to have simply thrown all my work into the fire, not wanting my taint on even such humble garments as these.
“Of course they are,” she said sharply. “But I only forced you to because . . .” She stopped, apparently not wishing to remind me of how little she’d thought of me before.
“I have time,” I said, “and nothing else to do with it. I see no reason why I should not spend it so.”
She said nothing as I began to sew. I did not mind the actual task of sewing, but as in the past, it left far too much time for my thoughts to wander. And inevitably, they wandered right back to the study, to Alexander’s lips on mine and his hands on my face.
I cleared my throat, glancing at Mrs. Rawlings. Thank goodness she could not read my mind. I should not dwell on those memories, or she would eventually ask why my skin was flushed and my eyes hazy.
We had only a few minutes of quiet before we heard footsteps in the corridor—quick, hurried footsteps. For a moment, my pulse tripped, fear spiking like an arrow through my heart. Then the door opened, and Elijah stood there in the doorway, beaming, with Helen right behind.
I had to catch my breath, trying to rein in the sharpness of my reaction. I’d grown so used to having Alexander in the house, to seeing him throughout the day and knowing he was keeping watch. Having him gone was sure to set my nerves on edge. I would simply have to manage them.
“My, what long faces,” Helen exclaimed. “Are we in mourning?” Her ready smile was as welcome as the spring sun after a bitter winter.
I smiled at her in return, though it was perhaps a touch forced.
“In a way,” Mrs. Rawlings said crisply, standing to greet her niece. I stood as well. “Alexander has gone back to London.”
“Already?” Helen looked taken aback. “I thought he planned to stay a while longer.”
“His work could not be delayed.” Mrs. Rawlings held out her arms, encouraging Elijah.
Elijah ran and threw his little arms around Mrs. Rawlings. Mrs. Rawlings smiled down at him, wrapping him tight in an embrace. For a moment, I could see her as a young mother, holding her son, desperate to protect him. A lump formed in my throat, and I glanced away.
“Will he return?” Helen came to sit beside me on the sofa. “Elijah was so hoping to see him again.”
“When his business is concluded,” Mrs. Rawlings replied. “He still has matters to attend to here.”
“I see.” Helen glanced my way, and I did not think I imagined the curiosity in her gaze.
I smiled brightly. “It is good to see you again. It seems so long since the assembly.”
“It’s not been two days,” she said with a laugh. “Aunt, are you still torturing your poor companion?”
“I take great offense at that,” Mrs. Rawlings huffed as she let Elijah play with her gold pendant.
“No,” I said with a small smile. “Mrs. Rawlings and I have come to a sort of truce.”
“I am glad to hear it,” Helen said. “I greatly like the both of you, and I see no reason why you should not like each other.”
“Let us not be too hasty in that regard,” Mrs. Rawlings said.
A laugh bubbled out of me. “No, we would not want that.”
Helen shook her head and, thankfully, decided to change the subject. “I hope you enjoyed the assembly, Miss Albright, though we left early.”
I winced slightly, both at her use of my false name and the reminder of how abruptly Alexander had forced her to leave that night, because of me. “Yes, I did, though . . .”
“Though what?” She tipped her head to one side.