Chapter 7
The last of the dew was long gone from the rose leaves when Robin found Felicity Belvoir in the garden. She sat on a low stone bench beneath the arbor, sketchbook open on her lap, pencil moving in quiet concentration.
Most knew her as a guest of Lady Somerville, a lady of impeccable breeding and wit—but Robin knew her as something more: the woman Justin Weatherall had loved and left, and now couldn't seem to stop watching from afar.
The morning sun dappled the walk with shadows, and for a brief moment, Felicity looked like a figure caught between worlds—genteel society and something wilder, more uncertain.
“I hope I’m not interrupting the birth of a masterpiece,” he said.
Felicity looked up with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Only capturing a fleeting moment before everything changes. Sit with me, Captain.”
“You know I prefer Robin,” he said, taking the seat beside her.
“And yet you persist in behaving like a man who enjoys having secrets,” she replied mildly. “It rather suits the title.”
Robin chuckled and leaned back on his hands, letting the quiet moment stretch between them. The garden was peaceful. The only sounds were the distant murmur of Penelope’s voice through an open window and the rustle of leaves overhead.
“The house feels…tense,” Felicity said after a moment. “Even the children are quieter today.”
“Perhaps they sense the grown-ups have things on their minds.”
She turned to him, her expression unreadable. “Is it something I should be concerned about?”
He glanced at her sidelong, appreciating—as he often did—how unflinching her gaze could be.
“Possibly,” he said. “You really do care for him, don’t you?”
She closed the sketchbook and drew a line down its edge with her finger, then said, almost casually, “Whatever you and Justin are planning… be careful.”
Robin stilled.
“I haven’t asked. I won’t,” she continued. “But if your silence is meant to protect me, it’s unnecessary. I’ve lived through darker intrigues than anything Sussex can throw at me.”
“This one’s more… personal,” he said finally.
She looked at him for a long time. “Then make sure it doesn’t cost you more than it’s worth.”
“That’s the trick, isn’t it?” He offered a wry smile. “Knowing what it’s worth, and who’s counting the cost.”
She returned the smile, but there was sadness in it. “Justin thinks he’s the only man with something to lose. He isn’t.”
Robin didn’t answer. The wind shifted slightly, carrying the sound of the clock inside the house striking eleven.
“You should go,” she said. “I imagine your day is only beginning.”
He rose, brushed his hands down the thighs of his trousers, and inclined his head. “You always did see more than you let on, Lady Felicity.”
“That’s what makes me dangerous,” she said.
* * *
The cart, drawn by a single horse, waited patiently on the edge of the markets for Rachel to finish her errands, as outlined by Robin in a note she found yesterday afternoon left on her dressing table, along with a small purse of coins for the purchases.
She wasn’t sure that she wanted to know when he had come into her room, or how, except she was reasonably certain that her bedroom window was open a couple inches more than it had been when she had left the vicarage that morning.
Waiting patiently by the cart was Justin, looking non-descript with a tricorne hat pulled low over his brow.
Rachel reached for a modest sack of apples the greengrocer had wrapped in oilcloth, but Justin stepped in, hand already halfway to it.
“Here, allow me—.”
They said nothing more until they were well out of town, and the tense shoulders of her driver relaxed after they left the outskirts of the village.
“Do you think we’re quite safe, Lieutenant Weatherall?” she asked.
“We’re playing it safe, Miss Rachel.”
Justin turned his head and offered a reassuring smile. “But we can’t discount the fact that Hall will have people watching.”
Rachel nodded and turned her attention to the landscape around her.
Surely to anyone observing them, they would appear to be on an errand—just the delivery of goods. But now she viewed the landscape as she imagined Robin would if he were beside her and had no doubt that was what Justin was doing right now.
Here, near the coast—so close that Rachel could smell the brine—torrential rain and ferocious storms frequently turned the area marshy, but Justin picked his path carefully until they started on the rise.
Around them large rocks jutted out of the landscape; small shrubs huddled by them as if for shelter.
Perfect places from which to launch an ambush.
This was dangerous, but the fear was not for herself—it was for Robin.
Rachel braced herself against a gust of wind that hit the cart head on, then breathed deep to steady her nerves.
She squeezed her eyes tight, and at that moment she saw Robin in his highwayman’s guise on this midnight road. A muzzle flash. A scream. A figure falling down dead.
Rachel clenched her fists and forced her eyes open.
That seemed real. Too real. She had allowed her imagination to run away from her, surely. But the vision seemed real enough.
A glance toward Justin revealed no change of demeanor on his part, so Rachel forced her fears down.
“What was life like at sea?” she asked.
Justin glanced her way and relaxed for a moment.
“For myself and Robin?” he asked.
Rachel nodded, and she received a soft smile.
“Monotonous routine with the occasional spike of terror,” he answered.
“Then why would anyone do it?”
“The glory of king and country is not enough?”
Rachel wrinkled her nose at him.
Justin’s smile became the flash of a grin that quickly faded.
“Men are not made for an easy life. They must strive to make their way in the world, and the navy is as good a place as any for a man to make his fortune.”
“And that’s what you and Robin have done?”
He shrugged.
“He had more success than I. He did very well—especially after being promoted to captain. My fortune was far more modest.”
“And yet you don’t resent him for it.”
It was a statement, rather than a question. Robin, she had known for years. Justin was relatively new to their village, but it was obvious to anyone who looked that the two men were friends as well as brothers-in-arms.
Justin’s shrug was the answer.
“The only thing a man needs after finding his purpose is to win the love of a good woman,” he said.
“Well, you and the captain have no shortage of women to choose from,” she replied.
“Ah, well that’s where you’re wrong. As it turns out, not any woman will do. The heart is a very fickle thing. And when the damned thing has decided what it wants, no amount of very excellent reason or logic can dissuade it.”
Rachel silently absorbed the bitterly-spoken words. Clearly, he referred to himself and no other. Who was this woman? Did she know that Justin was desperately in love with her?
The conversation ceased, and the sound of the seabirds and the salt-tinged wind filled the void. Over Justin’s shoulder, the waters of the English Channel glinted in the daylight.
“Well, it is not always easy for women, either, Lieutenant,” she said, mostly to herself.
“Why did you agree to help us?” Justin asked suddenly.
Because Robin asked me.
“Because I am a curate’s daughter and it’s my duty to help a parishioner in need,” she replied.
“Is that the only reason?”
Rachel refused to answer. Robin’s declaration of love was made out of relief that she had been able to solve a problem for him, and even if he did feel anything more, there was also the expectation that he ought to marry someone more in keeping with his status.
“If you mean to winkle out of me a confession of love, you’ll find that I’m a far too practical creature to set my sights higher than I ought, Lieutenant Weatherall.”
At that, Justin laughed.
“Then we’re more alike than I thought.”
“Then heaven help the both of us!” said Rachel.
“Heaven help us indeed.”