Chapter Twenty-Five
The carriage left the cove road and settled into the smoother way toward Sommer-by-the-Sea.
Wind off the water softened to a steady breeze through the open window, carrying the faint salt of drying kelp.
Leticia sat opposite Gabriel, his hat beside him on the seat.
He had the stillness he wore when thinking, not distant, but assured.
Lady Eastbury tapped her closed parasol once against the floor as if to signal the day to behave. “We shall stop in the square.”
“For Beckett’s?” Leticia asked.
“For seedcake,” her aunt said. “If I send Peters, they will call it fresh and hope I do not know the difference. If I arrive in person, they will find their best and add a proper slice as a courtesy.” Her lips curved. “I enjoy being served what I actually requested.”
Gabriel’s mouth eased. “Practical.”
“Plain sense,” Lady Eastbury said, looking toward the turn into town.
“We’re off to speak to Barrington,” Leticia said.
“Very well,” her aunt said, pulling on her gloves. “I will be home within the hour.”
The carriage drew up before Beckett’s shop, the windows bright with glass trays.
Warm spice and sugar drifted into the street.
Lady Eastbury accepted Gabriel’s hand, stepped down, and crossed the threshold with the calm assurance of a woman who did not beg favors and did not need to.
She gave them a brief nod that meant she had everything in hand.
They set off toward Barrington’s.
The square had taken on its late morning order.
A delivery cart rattled toward the hotel.
A pair of navy officers walked in conversation without lowering their voices.
An elderly gentleman moved at a dignified pace, leaning on a cane polished by use rather than vanity.
Shops wore their best faces. The baker’s boy darted out with a paper twist for a waiting girl and received a grin that would set him up for the day.
They turned up the path to Barrington’s house. Before Gabriel could lift the knocker, the door opened.
Kenworth stood as if expecting them at that very moment. “Welcome, my lady. Lord Ashcombe.”
“Good morning, Kenworth,” Leticia said. “Is Colonel Barrington at home?”
“Not just now. He left an hour ago with Mrs. Bainbridge. A short ride along the cliffs. They will return by the afternoon.” Kenworth’s tone shifted slightly, lowering the way one might when offering a morsel meant for the right ears.
“Professor Tresham sent word this morning for the Colonel. Something about having found a document of interest.”
“Would you give him a message?” Gabriel asked. “We wish to meet him tomorrow at Lady Eastbury’s home at nine.”
Kenworth inclined his head. “I will see to it.”
“Thank you,” Leticia said.
They left their card and turned back toward the square.
At the corner, a vendor called above the rattle of a dray. The warm smell of buns reached them. Gabriel paused, paid for two, and handed one to Leticia.
“You are very good at small rescues,” she said.
“I like buns,” he answered, trying not to smile.
They walked beneath the beech trees, where the air always carried a light scent of drying leaves and the faint sweetness of fallen ones crushed underfoot. She ate in small bites, more from habit than hunger, the sugar and spice steadying in their ordinary way.
Halfway down the lane, she sensed a faint pull at the back of her neck that meant attention.
Not fear, just a prickle of notice. A boot scraped behind them.
Another set of steps shifted, as if testing its pace.
She glanced toward a bow-front window where a woman was polishing a glass.
The reflection gave a narrow view of the street of a gentleman standing a little too still near the edge of the pavement.
His hat set at a careful angle. Not close. Not far.
Gabriel did not change stride. He reached across without comment and brushed away the sugar at the corner of her mouth.
The gesture was unhurried enough to look like affection and ordinary enough to be exactly that.
The man near the window studied a sign he could not possibly read from where he stood, drifted on.
“Eat,” Gabriel said.
She ate. When she was two bites from finished, he took the rest from her hand and finished it in one clean bite.
“That was mine,” she said.
“I am uncommonly daring,” he said.
“You are insufferable.”
“Only when it saves time.”
She laughed in spite of herself, the sound easing the tension and leaving space for her thoughts.
One thought took hold. People were searching for the sixth gem, speaking of it now in low voices at the edges of rooms, as if it were a matter of record and not a story.
What if it was hers? What if the brooch in the drawer was not only a memory?
What if her mother had known? Not by accident, by choice.
The idea did not fit with the woman who had tied a ribbon in her daughter’s braid and told her she would grow into herself at her own pace.
Yet the mind held two things well. It could love and doubt without losing either.
“You have gone quiet,” Gabriel said. He did not press, only marked it as he marked so many things, with silence.
“Thinking,” she said.
He nodded and let that be enough.
They reached her aunt’s house. The small front garden sat in neat order, the privet hedge clipped the week before, and smelled green and clean. Peters opened the door before the knocker fell, with the air of making a door welcome rather than merely admitting them.
“My lady. Lord Ashcombe.” His tone placed Leticia as one of the household, and Gabriel as expected. “Her ladyship has not yet returned. The garden is very pleasant. Shall I have tea laid in the morning room for when you come in?”
“Please,” Leticia said.
They walked through to the back. The stone path warmed the soles of their shoes. Roses climbed the south wall with more ambition than discipline. The lavender held bees in honest work. Someone had left a cushion on the bench under the pear tree to catch the sun.
They took the path once without speaking. Gabriel stopped and faced her. “May I ask you something?”
“You may,” she said.
“When you look at me, what do you see?”
She held his gaze. It was not an indulgence to answer properly.
It was a responsibility. “I see a man who notices more than he says. I see steadiness that does not need to be admired. I see a mind that waits for all the pieces and still chooses when the picture is not yet complete. I see someone who is careful with other people’s hearts.
” She drew a breath. “I see the man who stood between me and the edge of a cliff without making a speech of it.”
He didn’t answer at once. His gaze held hers until the air between them was taut.
He stepped closer, his hand warm along her jaw, steadying her as if the ground itself might shift.
She rose to meet him, the first brush of his mouth deliberate, not a question but a claim, deepening until the ache in her chest eased and something fiercer took its place.
The kiss settled where it landed, easing something that had been tight for too long.
When they parted, she kept his hand a moment longer than necessity asked, knowing the world was still the same, though she would never see it that way again.
“That was… good,” she whispered, because anything more would have been too much.
“Yes,” he said, which was as much as he needed to say.
The garden door creaked. A maid stood with her hands folded. “My lady. Her ladyship has returned.”
“Thank you,” Leticia said.
They went inside. The morning room was ready with tea. Lady Eastbury stood by the table with the air of a commander reviewing provisions. A paper-wrapped parcel rested beside the cups like a trophy.
“Two seedcakes,” she said. “We will not be found wanting.”
“You prevail where others falter,” Gabriel said.
“Competence frightens the idle,” Lady Eastbury replied, pleased. She seated herself and reached for the pot. “Tell me the plan. I am prepared to approve it if it suits me.”
“We called at Barrington’s,” Leticia said. “Kenworth will tell him to come here tomorrow at nine.”
“Very good. Nine gives you an hour and does not encourage dawdling.” She poured, added, “I must send to Turnbull and Sons for a cleaner. I want my jewels ready for the soiree. You may as well take any of yours that need attention.”
Leticia’s mind went at once to her mother’s brooch. “I will,” she said. “It could use a fresh polish.”
They spoke of small things while they ate a thin slice of cake.
The crumb was warm and delicious. Lady Eastbury had found the words for it years ago.
Cake should taste like comfort, not apology.
This did. She asked after Mrs. Bainbridge and nodded, pleased to hear they had been out together and were at ease.
She mentioned a note from the vicar about the chapel and looked as if she had strong opinions about the placement of runners.
“I am out for a short call,” she said when the tray was cleared. “Mrs. Denholm’s maid is unwell. I promised broth. I will return before four. If Peters tries to enlist either of you in the question of the pantry shelves, refuse him. He has decided that gentlemen have views about vinegar.”
“I shall be firm,” Leticia said.
Lady Eastbury touched her cheek, and Gabriel’s hand as well. “You both look well,” she said. It was a benediction offered as a remark. She was gone with the brisk step of a woman who kept promises by habit.
The house settled. The quiet that followed was not the quiet of emptiness, but of trust.
They returned to the morning room window. From there, the garden looked contained and well behaved. It was different to walk inside it and feel the work of bees and the drift of leaves. Leticia rested her palm against the wood, the paint smooth under her fingers.
“Barrington at nine,” Gabriel said.
“Yes.”
They sat a little longer. He told her a short story about Kenworth and a deliveryman that ended with three crates bowing to a set of steps. She laughed, and the knot in her middle loosened. He made things bearable without pretending they were easy.
By late afternoon, Lady Eastbury returned. They took another cup of tea to please her. She listened while they repeated the next day’s order and approved the plan once more, adding a slight adjustment to remind them she could.
When it was time, Gabriel rose. He had an appointment of his own and the habit of keeping it.
Lady Eastbury saw him to the door, told him she would expect him for breakfast at half past eight if he arrived early, and that he would get a plate even if he did not.
He thanked her with his usual quiet courtesy.
Leticia walked with him to the front step. The air had cooled with the autumn afternoon. He looked out across the street as if testing the evening, turned back to her.
“Until tomorrow,” he said.
“Tomorrow,” she answered.
He did not reach for her hand in the open doorway.
He did not need to. The look they exchanged held more promise than touch could have managed.
He went down the steps and set off along the pavement with an easy stride.
She stood where she was until he reached the corner.
He paused there and lifted his hand the smallest degree. He went on and was lost to the turn.
She climbed the stairs to her room and crossed to the window.
From there, she could see the corner and the bit of pavement beyond.
She set her hand to the frame and leaned into the view.
She had not meant to do it. She did it anyway.
She watched the place where he had gone out of sight and felt her heart lean after him with more certainty than she had allowed herself before.
She was close to an answer. Not a distant one, a near one.
She had only days left to give him that answer. Not many. Enough to be honest.
She let the curtain fall back into place and turned toward the dressing table.
The late light struck the glass and threw a small gold square onto the wood.
The box lay where she had left it, neat, ordinary, wrapped in soft cloth inside.
Her mother’s brooch belonged to a life that had once looked simple.
It might belong to a different story than the one she had told herself. The thought came and stood its ground.
She pushed the idea aside, not banished, not settled, set aside so the rest of the evening could sit without wobbling.
She sat at the table and smoothed the cloth there as if smoothing a page that had picked up a crease and would soon be read.
The room sounded like itself: a small sound from the street, a faint clink from the kitchen below, the clock on the mantel keeping an even count.
Tomorrow would be full. There would be answers to ask for and questions to hold back. There would be Barrington at nine and the matter of polish at Turnbull and Sons. There would be the quiet place in the garden she could carry with her. There would be the memory of a kiss that did not ask twice.
She drew a breath that reached all the way down. She opened the latch.