15. The Uncomfortable Journey
Fifteen
The Uncomfortable Journey
T he carriage interior was indeed comfortable but intimate, too intimate perhaps for someone harboring the kind of secret that could destroy everything in a flash.
Kate sat across from Mr. Moore and Vikram, the boy’s slender frame leaving ample room on their bench, but the space felt impossibly small with her keen gaze taking in every detail.
“You’ve brought work, I see,” Mr. Moore observed, noting the portfolio of papers beside her.
Kate glanced at the leather case with a slight smile. “After your thorough inventory yesterday, I thought I might review the quarterly figures during our journey.”
The carriage lurched forward with the familiar rhythm of wheels on cobblestone, making them sway gently in their seats.
“The journey will take most of the day,” Mr. Moore said. “We’ll need to stop at Brackley for fresh horses.”
“And lodgings for the night, I presume?” Kate asked, opening her portfolio.
“Yes. I’ve arranged rooms at the Crown Inn.”
“Excellent. My father always spoke highly of their accommodations.”
She withdrew several pages of figures, settling into work. And the way she mentioned the overnight stay, so matter-of-fact, so unsuspecting, did nothing to ease the tension that had settled on his shoulders.
“Mr. Moore-Sullivan says Thornfield has ghost stories!” Vikram piped up, turning to Kate with bright curiosity. “Is that true?”
Kate looked up from her papers, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Did he? Well, there is the tale of the Gray Lady who walks the east wing at midnight.”
“A real ghost?” Vikram’s eyes went wide with delighted fear.
“So the story goes. My mother claimed to have seen her when she was a girl.”
Mr. Moore shifted uncomfortably. “Perhaps we should focus on structural assessment rather than spectral residents.”
Kate’s smile turned teasing. “Where’s your sense of adventure, Jason?”
Their eyes met and held, and Mr. Moore felt that familiar flutter of heat mixed with caution.
“I want to see the ghost!” Vikram declared.
Without breaking Kate’s gaze, Mr. Moore said quietly, “Ghosts only appear to those who aren’t looking for them.”
“How philosophical,” Kate replied, her voice soft but carrying an edge of mystery. “Sometimes I think the same is true of truth itself.”
Neither looked away, as if the truth might blink into being if one of them dared to yield.
“We so rarely find what we seek,” Kate continued, her eyes never leaving his, “yet stumble upon what we never expected.”
“An interesting perspective,” he managed to say.
Kate returned to her papers then, though a faint smile remained on her lips. “I thought you might find it so.”
Outside the carriage windows, London gradually gave way to the countryside.
Mr. Moore leaned back against the seat and let his gaze wander out the window.
The familiar landscape was slowly fading, London was receding, and with every mile traveled, uncertainty grew in his chest. Was he traveling toward salvation…
or toward disaster? The question became more and more insistent as the minutes ticked by and the decisive moment drew near.
* * *
By evening, the Crown Inn emerged from the gathering dusk like a shelter at the end of their long journey. The proprietress, a big woman with kind eyes and correct manner, led them up a narrow staircase, her candle guiding their steps ahead.
“We’ve prepared your rooms as requested, sir,” the woman said over her shoulder. “One for the lady and yourself, and a smaller chamber for the boy.”
Mr. Moore felt his blood turn to ice. “There seems to be a misunderstanding. I had arranged for two rooms.”
The proprietress paused, looking confused. “Yes, sir. One for you and your wife, and one for the young gentleman.”
Kate stepped forward with a pleasant smile. “Thank you. That will be perfect.”
The proprietress nodded and continued down the hallway, keys jingling. Mr. Moore fell into step beside Kate, his voice low, almost a whisper, only for her ears.
“I can take the room with Vikram. You should have privacy.”
“And have the entire inn gossiping about why I don’t share a room with my husband?” Kate’s tone was reasonable, but there was steel beneath it. “I think not.” She gave him a look that brooked no argument. “It would draw unnecessary attention. We are Mr. and Mrs. Moore-Sullivan, are we not?”
The proprietress stopped at a door, unlocking it with a flourish. “Your chamber, sir, madam. The boy’s room is just across the hall.”
Kate entered the room while Mr. Moore hesitated outside the door, every instinct screaming at him to find another solution, but he nodded curtly. “Thank you,” he said to the proprietress and she turned away to open the boy’s room.
Jason followed Kate in and stopped two steps later. The master bedroom was modest enough, dominated by a single large bed that seemed to take up most of the available space. A fire crackled cheerfully in the hearth, reflecting a warm light across walls that suddenly felt like they were closing in.
“Begging your pardon, sir, ma’am,” said the inn’s boy, appearing at the threshold with their cases.
“You may come in,” Kate told him absently, already opening her portfolio on the small table tucked away in a corner.
The boy entered, placed the cases by the dresser, and withdrew with a bow.
Once alone again, Jason took one look at the bed, and felt his throat constrict. The intimacy of the space, the washbasin, Kate’s traveling case already placed on the dresser, the obvious expectation of shared quarters, sent panic racing through his veins.
“I should… I should check that Vikram is properly settled,” he said abruptly, already backing toward the door. “The boy may need assistance with his things.”
Kate looked up from her papers. “I’m sure he’s managing well enough. He seemed quite capable—”
“Nevertheless,” Jason interrupted hurriedly. “I’ll return shortly.”
He escaped across the hall before Kate could protest further, leaving her with her mouth quite open.
* * *
The boy’s excited chatter about ghost stories and the adventure ahead provided blessed distraction from the catastrophic situation waiting across the hallway.
It was nearly an hour before Mr. Moore finally ran out of excuses, helping Vikram organize his few belongings, discussing their plans for Thornfield, even reviewing the boy’s lessons.
When he could delay no longer, he returned to find Kate seated by the fire, her expression thoughtful and perhaps a touch concerned.
She had loosened her hair, which had been pinned severely for travel, and it now hung straight and smooth over her shoulders. She’d removed her traveling jacket and gloves, but remained in her day dress, though she looked more relaxed now.
The transformation was subtle but striking, making her look younger, softer somehow, and infinitely more desirable than ever.
Jason couldn’t take his eyes off her upon entering.
“There you are,” she said, looking up from the papers spread across her lap. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d decided to spend the night in the corridor.”
“Vikram had questions about tomorrow’s itinerary,” Jason replied, hovering near the door like a man afraid to fully enter his own room.
Kate’s eyes took in his still-formal attire, his waistcoat buttoned tight, his cravat precisely knotted despite the day’s travel. “You must be terribly uncomfortable in those clothes. There’s a washing basin behind the screen if you’d like to refresh yourself.”
She gestured toward a folding wooden screen in the corner, painted with pastoral scenes that seemed to mock his mounting tension. “The innkeeper was quite proud of their accommodations. Hot water and proper linens.”
Jason’s gaze followed hers to the screen, behind which he could glimpse the edge of a ceramic basin and fresh towels. The very thought of undressing, even partially, with Kate so near made his chest scream with panic.
“I’m quite comfortable as I am, thank you.”
Kate cocked her head, and furrowed her eyebrows. “Are you? You look rather…” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “Constrained.”
“Perhaps I’ll just…” He moved to the window, pulling back the heavy curtains to reveal the moonlit countryside beyond. The glass was cool against his palm, a welcome contrast to the heat that seemed to be building in the small room. “The view is quite pleasant.”
Kate watched him for a moment, then returned to her papers, though he could sense her attention wasn’t truly on the figures before her. The silence fell like a third irritably presence in the small bedroom, filled with unspoken questions and growing awareness.
Minutes passed.
The fire crackled.
Outside, an owl called across the fields.
Kate shuffled her papers, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet room.
Finally, she set the documents aside and looked at him directly. “You seem unusually tense this evening, Jason.”
“It’s been a long journey,” he said without turning, his back remained to her as a necessary wall.
Kate stood up and approached him slowly. Her bare feet made no sound on the carpet, but her lavender perfume gave her away, leaving a faint trail in the air that instantly sharpened his sense of smell.
“Then perhaps we should rest.”
Her hands came up to rest gently on his shoulders, turning him away from the window to face her. In the firelight, her eyes seemed to hold questions he could never answer.
“You’re still so formal,” she murmured, her fingers moving to the intricate knot of his cravat. “Let me help.”
Jason’s breath caught as her fingers worked at the silk, loosening the arrangement that had become like armor around his throat. The intimacy of the gesture—a wife helping her husband undress—should have been natural, expected. Instead, it felt like a death sentence.
“Kate, I—” he started, but she silenced him with a gentle touch to his lips with her index finger. A touch that did much more than simply silence him.