Chapter Seventeen
Bridget rose early, as she did every morning, and slipped out of bed carefully so as not to disturb Bijou, who was stretched out on her bed snoring softly.
She walked to her washbasin and emptied the pitcher of warm water left for her by Harriet, the lady’s maid she shared with Aunt Marianne.
Then she used a clean washcloth and the rose-scented soap bar she’d purchased on her recent trip to York to wash her face, neck, chest, and arms thoroughly.
After cleaning her teeth with tooth powder, she went to sit at her dresser, where she picked up her brush and ran it through her hair.
Minutes later, her chamber door opened, and Harriet stepped inside with her morning tea.
“Good morning, miss. Sorry for my lateness, but Cook is in a bit of a fuss. She were out early at the fishmongers, getting what she needs for the fish soup that’ll be making up part of tonight’s meal, and she said everyone at the fishmonger’s were talking about Mr. Collins.
” She set the tea down next to Bridget and then took the hairbrush from her.
“What about Mr. Collins?”
“He was beaten, miss. Yesterday. Within an inch of his life, they say.”
Bridget’s heart began to race. The blood she’d seen on Nate’s shirt. It belongs to Collins, he’d said.
“Whoever did it, left him for dead.” Harriet started to brush Bridget’s blond locks.
“Mrs. Groby came home to find him lying in a bed of his own blood. Can you imagine? An’ now Cook says there will likely be no more meat coming from Groby’s slaughterhouse.
An’ she’ll have to find a new butcher, which she says, we should’ve done in the first place when Groby were arrested. There’s something evil afoot in that…”
Blood rushed to Bridget’s ears, and she stopped listening as Harriet rambled on.
Had Nate lost his temper and hurt Collins?
And what would Alice Groby think? That she’d invited her to spend the day at Villa De Lacey while Nate went to her farm and attacked Collins?
Impossible! Nate would never hurt anyone.
She was certain of that. But why hadn’t he told her what had happened to Collins last night?
Why had he hesitated? She chewed the inside of her lip, unable to rid herself of the unsettling feeling in her stomach.
Hadn’t the last year taught her that everyone had dark secrets—even those closest to her?
Bridget had no appetite for breakfast that morning. Instead, she sat in the breakfast room beside Aunt Marianne and sipped tea while Bijou ate a breakfast of scrambled eggs under the table. It was still too early for the guests, who preferred to eat between nine and ten o’clock.
“I do wish you wouldn’t feed Bijou under the table,” Aunt Marianne said. “What if one of the guests were to come in?”
“They won’t. It’s far too early even for the colonel.
You know as much, or you wouldn’t be here.
” After last summer, Aunt Marianne had taken to eating separately when some of the guests took to insulting her and treating her like one of the staff.
They’d done the same to Bridget, and it had injured her pride at first, but she no longer cared.
The murders last summer had put things in perspective.
“I take it you heard about Mr. Collins,” Aunt Marianne said.
Bridget nodded. “I shall have to go and see how Mrs. Groby is faring today.”
“No, you shall not!” Aunt Marianne said sharply. “I forbid it.”
“Aunt Marianne. She was here yesterday, and I owe it to her to…”
“Listen, Bridget. I have no idea what is going on in our once peaceful home, but Westmorland is changing. Ever since Wordsworth wrote that guidebook to the lakes, murder and mayhem have been raining down upon us. I have already lost my brother, and you are my last remaining relative. Should something happen to you, I don’t know what I shall do. ”
“Oh, Aunt.” Bridget reached for her aunt’s hand.
“Promise me you won’t go to Braithwaite unaccompanied,” Aunt Marianne said.
“I don’t want you going to that woman’s house.
Not now—not until we find out who is responsible for all this violence and that horrible murder.
I just cannot believe it is Mr. Groby. He has always been such a lovely man.
Your father had great respect for him. The real killer is still walking among us, Bridget. ”
“I think so too, Aunt.”
“It’s a terrible thing that has happened to Mr. Groby, but it’s not your job to save him. You couldn’t save your papa and now you—”
“Don’t.” Bridget withdrew her hand from her aunt’s grasp.
“No, listen to me. You’re all I have left, so you’ll keep yourself safe. Lest you want to send me to my grave too.”
“Oh, Aunt! Don’t say such things.” Bridget leaned forward and embraced her aunt.
“Promise me, Bridget.”
“I promise,” Bridget said, crossing her fingers. Aunt Marianne simply didn’t understand. She could not let another innocent man be condemned as a murderer for all eternity. Her papa’s friend would not suffer the same fate he had. She could not let it happen.
Bridget finished her tea and took Bijou outside. He immediately shot across the lawn, raced around like a demon, and then flopped onto his back and rolled happily in the grass. She strolled after him, unconcerned about Bijou’s safety now that the daffodils were gone.
It was still early. She needed to talk to Nate, but she supposed he wouldn’t be awake yet.
She simply couldn’t understand why he hadn’t told her about Collins yesterday.
Why not, unless he had something to hide?
The thought that he was hiding something from her—that he was responsible for what happened to Collins—made her stomach clench.
She didn’t think that she could withstand another betrayal.
She pressed a hand against her abdomen, closed her eyes, and took a deep, calming breath. Her body relaxed.
When she opened her eyes, she saw three figures toward the edge of the garden.
She blinked. One of them was Nate. He was crouched down talking to his son, who stood next to his nanny.
Bridget watched as Nate picked up the child and gave him a warm hug before setting him down again.
The nanny took Henry by the hand and led him back to the villa.
Nate slipped his hands into his trouser pockets and watched them go.
Bridget could see the heartbreak on his face.
So this is the only way for him to spend time with his son now.
How cruel of Lady Luxton. How selfish and vain of her to use her child against his father.
Nate walked toward her, a smile playing on his lips, and her heart melted. How could I have doubted him? What is wrong with me? Will I ever be able to trust anyone again?
“You’re up early,” Bridget said as Nate came toward her.
“Henry is an early riser. He eats in his nursery, and then his nanny takes him for a long walk. That seems to be his routine. Crossing paths with them allows me to spend a few moments in his company.” Nate looked down at his black boots. “It’s better than nothing.”
“I’m sorry,” Bridget said. This time, her heart clenched instead of her stomach.
Nate looked up and smiled, though the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “What about you? Why are you up so early?”
“I prefer to breakfast with Aunt Marianne. Also, I wanted to talk to you. We didn’t get to speak last night after I saw…well. The blood. And then this morning, I heard about Mr. Collins from Harriet. She said someone beat him within an inch of his life.” She searched his face for a reaction.
Nate ran a hand through his dark curls. “Yes, it was awful.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about it yesterday when I saw the blood on your waistcoat?”
Nate sighed. “I was exhausted, and I wasn’t ready to talk about it.”
“You didn’t”—she hesitated—“get into a fight with him, did you?”
Nate took a step back. “You think I beat him?”
“No! I—I mean, of course not. But why did you have blood on your shirt?”
“Because the magistrate and I found him lying in a pool of his own blood, and we carried him inside his cottage to tend to his wounds. I got some blood on my waistcoat in the process of helping him.”
“Oh.” Relief coursed through Bridget’s veins.
“You can check with Magistrate Hunt if you don’t believe me,” Nate said, coldly.
“Of course, I believe you,” Bridget said.
“But you doubted me. You still don’t trust me. After all this time!”
“You have every right to be cross,” Bridget said. “After everything you have done for me, yes, I still have mistrust and skepticism in my heart.” She shook her head. “My old, trusting self has gone. And sometimes I think I shall never get her back.”
Nate’s expression softened. “You’ve been through a terrible ordeal with your papa and the murders last summer.
It’s no wonder you’ve lost faith in people.
” He reached for her hands and clasped them in his, sending a swarm of butterflies swirling in her stomach.
“Bridget,” he said, “I don’t care how long it takes, I’m here to help you regain that trust. Whatever happens, know that I would never do anything to betray or hurt you. ”
Bridget’s throat went dry, and her legs felt somewhat weak as she looked into Nate’s deep blue eyes.
“Bridget,” he whispered, leaning toward her.
Kiss me. Bridget closed her eyes and waited for the feel of Nate’s lips on hers. She’d never wanted anything so badly in her life.
*
Nate closed his eyes and brushed his lips against Bridget’s soft mouth. Their lips barely touched, yet he felt his body come alive.
“Mr. Squires!” someone cried. “Miss De Lacey!”
Nate jerked back in surprise and opened his eyes to see Bridget looked up at him wide-eyed. Then they dropped their joined hands and turned to see what the commotion was all about.
Harriet was running toward them. When she reached them, she was so out of breath that she could hardly talk.