Chapter 28
Eyes heavy, Juliet stared out at the darkness beyond the carriage window, too tired to think straight.
The glow of a nearly full moon illuminated the countryside, casting eerie shadows over the hedgerows and open fields.
It’d been five hours—maybe six—since they’d left Bedford, so it had to be after midnight.
Her head bobbed with the rhythm of the wheels against the road, making it hard to stay awake.
She shifted against the squabs, determined to keep her eyes open.
Across from her, Mr. Russell had dozed off miles ago, leaving her to stand vigil—or sit, as was the case.
Not that she needed to, but it seemed the right thing to do, especially since Mr. Parker and Henry were deprived of even lolling their heads against the inside of a carriage wall.
Mr. Parker’s horse trotted slightly ahead of them, his silhouette black and stiff in the saddle.
Henry hung back a bit, riding alongside the carriage, his greatcoat billowing around his horse’s flanks.
He rode like a man holding himself together one breath at a time.
His head dipped every now and then. He had to be as weary as she.
But he pressed on, a commanding pillar atop his mount.
Unshakable and solid. The kind of man she could trust with her life.
The kind she wanted to belong to.
“You love him, do you not?”
The question crept out of the darkness, quiet and startling. Her head whipped towards the opaque outline of Henry’s father. How could he have possibly seen the longing on her face at this witching hour? Could he even now detect the dark red that was surely blooming on her cheeks?
She clenched her hands in her lap, willing her head not to duck or turn away. “You are very bold, Mr. Russell.”
“I would not be a successful entrepreneur if I were not.” Amusement laced his voice.
“Nor would I be a well-bred lady if I were to answer you, though I suppose that status could be called into question, being that I am currently traveling unchaperoned with four gentlemen.” Her lips quirked into a smirk.
“I see why my son is attracted to you.” His teeth flashed white in the gloom. “Yet I cannot help but ask what it is about him that draws you?”
“Henry is …” Unbidden, her gaze slipped back to the very man they spoke of. How to finish that? Noble? Stubborn? So handsome it stirred something reckless inside her?
“He is stalwart and loyal,” she said simply, knowing full well the description didn’t cover even a tiny portion of his virtues.
“Mmm,” Mr. Russell rumbled. “I should say Henry is too self-sacrificing for his own good, condemning himself for things outside his control. Though he tries, he is unable to right the wrongs of this wicked world.”
She turned to him, eyes wide. “Surely you do not fault him for Charity’s situation? He has done nothing but do his best to protect her in your absence.”
“No. I find no fault in that, but rather … Well, I suppose I should say he is given to a certain well-meaning habit. One that’s been ingrained in him since he was a child.”
Aha. There was a story here. She leaned forwards. “Does this have to do with the time he called you and your wife home from a business trip?”
He gave a grunt that might’ve been a chuckle. “He told you about that night, eh?”
“Just the broad strokes. As I recall, a hedgehog and some loose shutters were involved.”
“And a supposed ghost haunting the manor.” He looked out the window, silent for several moments.
“My wife and I came home from France expecting chaos. Instead, the night I arrived I found two frightened little souls under one blanket, shivering in the parlour like leaves in a storm. Henry’s arms around his sister, eyes big as moons.
I’ll never forget the way he looked up at me, like he’d failed somehow …
like it was his job to keep the darkness out. ”
Juliet’s throat tightened.
“After I explained away his fears to nothing more than circumstance instead of supernatural activity, he felt ashamed. I told him all was well, that no harm had been done. But somehow he believed I was angry.” Mr. Russell’s voice deepened with emotion.
“He couldn’t have been more wrong. I was grateful. ”
Juliet tilted her head. “Grateful?”
He gave a soft huff of breath. “My son’s letter didn’t pull me from something important.
It was the important thing. I came home, not because I had to, but because it reminded me why any of it matters.
My children needed me. And when I found them under that blanket, so frightened …
” His throat moved up and down as he swallowed.
“That was the first time I realized my son had a protector’s heart.
He was just a boy, but by heaven, he would’ve taken on the world for his sister. ”
Juliet’s breath caught.
“He’s never quite shaken the guilt of that night, has he?” the elder Russell said with a faint smile. “Thinks he wasted my time. But what he really did was show me the kind of man he was becoming. I’ve never been prouder of him than in that moment.”
“He is a good man, Mr. Russell.”
“That he is.” Turning aside, Henry’s father stretched out his long legs at an angle and thus, evidently more comfortable, fell back into silence.
But not for long. Soon thereafter, the driver called, “Easy now, girls,” and the carriage slowed to a halt.
Juliet frowned. “Why are we stopping?”
Mr. Russell chuckled. “The horses need to rest, and so do you.”
“But Charity needs us!”
“She needs us in fine form, not stumbling from fatigue.” He reached for his hat on the far side of his seat. “Do not fret, Miss Finch. If I know my son, this respite will only be a few hours, so I suggest you make the most of it.”
The door opened. Henry helped her down, watching her with quiet intensity, and his hand lingered on hers even after she alighted. “How are you holding up?” he asked.
She smiled. How like him to concern himself with her comfort when he’d been the one bumping along in a saddle. “This carriage ride is making me soft. I am used to tromping through woods at all hours of the night.”
He returned her grin, his thumb brushing over the curve of her cheek. “Minx.”
An ostler collected his bay. Another began unhitching the other horses.
Henry offered his arm. “We are only here long enough for the animals to rest, so I suggest you get what little sleep you can. Parker’s already arranging a room for you.”
His father joined their side, one brow arched. “What about for me?”
Henry’s mouth twisted into a smirk. “I was recently told I took on too much responsibility. Thought I’d give delegation a try. You are clever, Father. You shall figure something out.”
“Splendid. I’ll go make up a stall.” With a theatrical sigh, his father turned on his heel and marched towards the yard, tossing a dismissive wave over his shoulder.
Henry merely chuckled.
Juliet shook her head, half amused, half bewildered. These Russell men—equal parts charm and cheek.
A night mist curled around them as Henry led her to the front door of the black-timbered coaching inn. The White Hart, according to the placard hanging overhead.
Inside, nothing but vigil lamps lit the public room. Mr. Parker stood near a counter, speaking in low tones with a man in a stained white apron. At Juliet and Henry’s approach, they both looked up.
Mr. Parker nodded at her. “Your room is ready, Miss Finch. First one at the top of the stair on the left.” He faced Henry. “You should get some sleep too, Russell.”
“As should you, but not too much. We leave before dawn.” Henry placed a firm hand at the small of her back, guiding her to the narrow staircase.
How Henry’s broad shoulders would manage the climb without rubbing holes in the fabric of his greatcoat would be a miracle.
The wooden planks groaned behind her at his heavy steps.
When they finally located her room, he reached for the knob, then hesitated. “You will sleep, will you not?”
She shoved down a yawn and forced a smile instead. “Only if you do.”
He grumbled as he shoved open the door, then retreated a step.
She ought to go in. Common sense cried for her to take every advantage of the blessed relief a soft mattress would bring to her weary bones.
But she didn’t move. Couldn’t. Not when he stood there looking like that—like a man fraying at the seams, stitched together by duty and running low on thread.
She’d do anything to lift even a fraction of that burden.
It wasn’t much, but soft as a feather, she rested her palm on his cheek, her fingers grazing the stubble on his jaw. If nothing else, she would offer him hope. “We will find her, Henry. Your sister knows you will come for her, and God will take care of her until then.”
Hope—and fear—flashed in his eyes. “And if she is not in Tunbridge Wells? If this is all some wild-goose chase?”
She jutted her chin, resolute enough for both of them. “Then we will keep looking until she is safe.”
For several moments, he said nothing, just stared into the depth of her soul as he wrapped his fingers around her hand. Ever so slowly, he turned it palm up and pressed his lips gently against her skin. “I do not deserve you,” he breathed.
Inside, she melted, craving to nestle into the warmth of his arms. But this was not the time or place. Not yet. Though it killed her in a hundred possible ways, she pulled back.
Then curved her lips into a saucy grin. “Well, you had best make yourself worthy then, Mr. Russell—and I have no doubt that tomorrow you will.”