Chapter 14
Gritting his teeth, Henry crossed the room like a storm about to break and planted a hand on Parker’s shoulder. Better that than throttling the man. Beyond him, Charity’s eyes widened. So did Juliet’s.
“Parker.” The name flew past his lips hard and sharp. “I would have a word with you.”
Parker wrenched away, leaning heavily on his cane, then pivoted. If violence were a foreign language, Henry needed no translation for the hostility darkening his brown eyes. “I require no censure from you, Russell. I was just taking my leave.”
“Oh, but I insist.” He tipped his head towards the nearest corner.
“Very well,” he agreed, though his sucked-in lips looked as if he’d rather keep an appointment with the grim reaper. “I shall humour you, if only to avoid the scene you seem intent on creating.”
Without wasting a moment more, Henry strode away. Parker wasn’t nearly as quick on his feet, but each of his steps was determined.
“I told you to stay away from my sister,” he growled as soon as Parker came within hearing.
Parker planted his feet, staring him down. “I take orders from no man.”
“And yet you will have no choice when you are in gaol. I hear turnkeys spare no flying fists when it comes to insubordinate convicts.”
“Oh, Russell.” Parker shook his head. “I tire of your threats. I have done nothing untoward against Charity, though I can see you do not believe me.”
He huffed a snort. “Why should I?”
Parker studied him, an almost-imperceptible twitch tightening his left eye. “If I meant your sister any harm, do you really think I would be stupid enough to be so obvious?”
The thought lodged under Henry’s skin like a sliver too far embedded to be removed.
Parker’s words, his momentary flash of weariness, and the bitterness in his tone didn’t add up to a villain bent on frightening a woman to flee her home.
And if logic played out and Parker truly did mean ill intent towards Charity, he would likely work harder to remain anonymous instead of approaching her outright at a public function.
Unless he was just trying to throw him off the scent.
No. His fists clenched with a force that trembled up his arms. He could trust no one when it came to the safety of his sister. He wasn’t about to lower his guard when so much was at stake.
“I caught you staring at Charity at the Harvest Festival, and now this.” He swept his hand towards his sister. “What am I supposed to believe?”
“Believe whatever you like, but do not let your preconceived notions cloud your judgement.” Parker advanced a step, the set of his jaw grim.
“You may think me many things, but I am no fool. Nor am I an enemy. If your aim tonight is to accuse me, then by all means do so, but I detect there are greater matters afflicting you and your sister.”
Henry swallowed. Hard. What on earth had he discussed with Charity and Juliet? Then again, it could be a bluff, a closely held hand of cards that contained nothing but deuces and a useless joker. “Pretty words, Parker, but I do not trust you.”
“That is your prerogative.” He shrugged one shoulder. “But know this … some men are reckless in their anger. I am not one of them. Despite what you or she may think, I would do anything to ensure her well-being.”
“Hah!” he spat. “Many a lie is garbed as a truism.”
“Then I suppose it is up to you to decide which it is. In the meantime, keep your distance from me or you may find yourself on the wrong side of those bars you are so quick to lock me behind.” He rapped the end of his cane against the tile.
“And with that, I bid you good night, for I find I tire of this whole charade.”
He bypassed him with a swing of his cane against Henry’s shin. An accident?
Or a power play?
Juliet tensed as Henry strode away with Mr. Parker, the man’s uneven gait a detriment to keeping up with Henry’s long legs.
Henry’s steps were measured but not stilted, his voice hadn’t rasped, nor his face hardened into a mask of steel.
But a layer beneath that reserve? Fury boiled.
She sensed it in her gut, unsure whether she ought to admire his restraint or be unnerved by the simmering intensity of it.
Either way, there was no denying he was a passionate man …
which blew life into a reckless, foreign craving to be the one who evoked that fire.
Then be the one to calm it.
Charity stepped closer to her, the slight rustle of her silk skirts blending with the music filtering in from the ballroom. A few eager patrons filed in the door and, upon seeing her and Charity, strolled to the farthest table loaded with auction items.
“Perhaps,” Charity murmured, “we should stop this before Henry does something we are all sure to regret. It’s not as if Mr. Parker said anything patently offensive.”
“True.” She pulled her gaze from Henry. “Yet sometimes the danger lies not in a person’s words but in the spaces between them.”
Charity bit her lip, one finger brushing absently along the scrolls of a silver candelabra on the auction table. “You don’t understand. That’s just his way.”
“You defend him?” Interesting. Did she harbour feelings for the man? Juliet peered deeply into the woman’s eyes, seeking truth. “Do you regret breaking things off with Mr. Parker?”
Charity glanced over her shoulder, clearly seeking the object of their conversation.
He stood as a ramrod, face a mask, apparently repelling whatever Henry said with posture alone.
At length, she once again faced Juliet. “No. What was between us could not have been. Not then. I did the right thing.”
“And now?”
“Now?” She glanced up at the chandeliers as if the answer might be found in candlelight. “No,” she whispered, then snapped her eyes back to Juliet. “No,” she repeated louder. “I suspect we are very different people than who we used to be, though I confess I don’t wish to see him like this.”
Juliet watched Parker thoughtfully. He had come upon her and Charity so quickly she’d had no time to steer her friend out of his path, and though he’d said little, the sheer force of his presence had required of her a conscious effort to withstand.
“Well, he certainly is bitter. And blunt. He had no right to comment on Henry’s choices—or mine.
He does not even know me. And how did he hear you were planning to leave for Italy? ”
One of her slim shoulders rose, the golden organza on her gown shimmering in the light. “He’s always had a way of knowing things about me, which I admit is unnerving. But I don’t believe he meant any harm in greeting me here tonight.”
“Maybe not, but there’s something about the way he speaks—as if everything is a test. I could be wrong, but I can’t seem to shake the feeling that he wants me gone …
or did during our conversation. I think he wished to speak to you alone.
Though, I suppose he didn’t say any of that aloud.
It was more the tone. The way he asked about my presence here.
Not suspicious, exactly—just … guarded.”
Charity laid her fingers on her sleeve, giving a little squeeze. “Mr. Parker enjoys being perplexing. You are giving him more power than he deserves.”
Was she? He hadn’t threatened her, not directly.
And still, the way his voice dropped when he spoke—low, deliberate.
Calculated. It echoed in her mind … “Be careful whom you trust.” That had been his parting remark.
It could have been a warning. Or it could’ve been genuine concern.
She didn’t know him well enough to be sure.
“I just don’t trust him,” she said softly. “Not yet. Charity, tell me true, do you think he is resentful enough to be the one behind the letters, the flowers, the threats?”
“Edwin Parker is a complex man. Difficult at times. Imprudent at others. But …” Her gaze crept to the two men huddled in the corner, her lips pursing before she continued. “He loved me once—ardently—and a love like that never really fades.” She looked back at Juliet. “Does it?”
“Perhaps not, but bitterness can cause love to twist into a distorted version of what it used to be. Something sharp, cutting deeper than any blade.” She pressed her hand to her chest as her own words sliced into her.
She’d harboured—nay, cherished—bitterness for so long now that it’d carved a hole where a soft heart had once beaten.
She’d clung to her father’s betrayal, the immense pain of it, like a drowning woman holding to a log, all the while not realizing the very thing she’d held on to might eventually pull her under.
Forever. She was the one twisted. The one still bleeding from a wound she refused to bind.
But how to break free from that which she’d embraced for so long?
A sigh breathed out of Charity. “I suppose that is why forgiveness is so vital. The worst of us—even Mr. Parker—deserves such mercy, for is that not why our blessed Saviour came to earth in the first place?”
“Oh, how I envy your faith,” Juliet whispered, the admission slipping out before she could trap it behind her teeth.
Charity angled her head. “What was that?”
“Nothing.” Bah. This strange fire in her chest was far more than nothing. She smiled against the sting of tears. She hadn’t felt such a stirring in her soul since before her father’s disgrace, a yearning not just to believe in God, but to trust in Him, to surrender and be at peace.
And oh, what she wouldn’t give for a little peace.
“Look, here comes my brother.” Charity rose to her toes, neck craning. “And there goes Mr. Parker.”
Henry swooped over like a bat from a cave, coattails flapping behind. “We are leaving at once.”
“Don’t be ludicrous. The auction hasn’t even begun yet.
” Charity picked up the candelabra as if her brother required tangible evidence and, after waving it about, gently replaced it.
“Besides, it appears whatever you said to Mr. Parker has caused him to flee. Can we not enjoy the rest of the evening?”