Chapter 12 #2
Hetty sat up, interested now. “That’s what the man who struck me… accidentally, was angry about. His tools had been stolen.”
Mr Bramwell nodded, his long fingers easy on the reins as he guided the pony around a bend.
“There are lots of minor things, a few items from a delivery that must have been taken in broad daylight, as the place is locked up like a fortress at night. Then a penny or two from the odd pay packet, goods arriving that are not of the quality I ordered.”
“But surely whoever made the order—”
“Is my prime suspect,” he agreed. “But I cannot prove it. If Mr Ridley is at the bottom of this, he’s got nerves of steel, for he looks me in the eye every morning without so much as a flicker of guilt.”
“But it’s got the men worked up,” she guessed.
He nodded. “There was an accident due to shoddy goods. Since then, they’ve all been on edge, and I can’t blame them.”
Hetty considered this. “Then you must lay a trap. Catch the villain in the act.”
He sent her a look of exasperation. “I know that! But what manner of trap, and how?”
“Order something valuable,” she suggested at once. “Something small and portable enough to be lifted with ease. If the thief is as bold as you suggest, he’ll not be able to resist. What about the ironmongery for the doors and windows? Are they valuable enough to tempt him, do you think?”
He considered this, nodding. “Certainly. Mr and Mrs King have chosen the best of everything, especially for the public spaces, which are all solid brass fittings. I’ll think on it. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Does this mean you won’t shake me after all?”
He laughed at that, glancing at her in concern. “I never would have. I just… seeing you on the ground like that and the men all riled up. It shook me. I wanted to bloody murder whoever had done it.”
“How chivalrous of you,” she said lightly, though her heart was pounding at the idea he cared enough to be so angry.
Mr Bramwell snorted. “I’m uncertain chivalry is the motivating factor, but as you like.
Just… don’t do that again, please. I’ve told you before, a building site is a dangerous place for anyone, but especially for a lady.
You aren’t dressed appropriately and you do not know what to look out for.
Promise me you won’t arrive unannounced like that again.
If you wish to look around, tell me and I shall escort you on a visit. ”
“Truly?” she asked in surprise.
He pulled a face but nodded. “Better that than having to carry your lifeless body up to the Hall.”
Hetty rolled her eyes, irritated by this unlikely suggestion. “If you weren’t so pigheaded about avoiding me, I wouldn’t be forced to hunt you down. You said we were friends, but since then I’ve seen neither hide nor hair of you… oh, no. I take it back. I’ve seen a fair bit of your hide.”
To her utter delight, a tinge of red crested his cheeks, and he swallowed, shifting uncomfortably on the seat beside her.
“Ah. Umm… yes. I’ve been meaning to… to apologise.”
“Whatever for?” she asked innocently, deciding she was going to enjoy this and make him squirm.
He cleared his throat, carefully avoiding her eyes. “You know very well what for.”
“Goodness, Mr Bramwell, you sound rather cross. I thought this was an apology.”
Silence reined for a moment longer and then he groaned. “Dammit, Hetty. I’m sorry. You know we hadn’t the faintest idea you were there, or we’d have never…”
“Run around in nothing but your skin?” she suggested sweetly.
He cast her a wrathful glance and then huffed out a laugh. “Quite. I’m afraid we gave you quite a spectacle. I hope your sister was not mortified beyond mending.”
“Mortified? Good heavens, no. Cilly was transfixed by the sight of your brother in all his manly splendour,” she replied, before she could think better of it.
Clapping a hand over her mouth, she stared at him in horror.
“Mr Bramwell. I shall never tease you over this again if you will forget what I just said and never repeat it. Especially not to Lord Rivington.”
He looked alarmed at the suggestion. “Good God, what manner of cad do you take me for—no, don’t answer that on second thoughts. Suffice to say, my lips are sealed.”
Hetty relaxed, knowing she could trust him. “Thank you.”
He glanced at her again. “Was she really?”
Her lips quirked as she remembered Cilly’s enraptured expression. “Indeed.”
“And what about you?” He spoke lightly, the words rather teasing, but Hetty sensed rather than heard the slight edge to them.
“Oh, no. I was quite unmoved by the sight… of Lord Rivington,” she said it slowly, deliberately, though she knew very well she ought not to. There were those blasted oughts again.
She held his gaze, noting the way his eyes darkened with a little frisson of excitement.
“Hetty,” he said, a husky quality to his voice which was so thrilling she shivered.
“Yes?” she replied, barely whispering the word as anticipation thrummed beneath her skin.
He fell quiet again, and then remarked brusquely, “You’d better put some steak on that bruise.”
Hetty glowered at him and folded her arms. “Thank you so much for your concern, Jenkins has the matter in hand,” she groused, turning away from him.
“Don’t look so annoyed. We’ve spoken about this,” he said crossly.
“No, you spoke about it. I listened. I know very well that my father won’t approve of you, but that aside, I don’t see why you are so set against me when you clearly… well, you feel something for me.”
“Yes, the strong desire to shake you at intervals,” he retorted before shaking his head. “I didn’t mean that. I do like you, Hetty, but you don’t understand.”
“Then explain it to me,” she snapped, relenting when she saw the pain flickering in his eyes. “Please, Gideon,” she said, daring to use his given name, though he’d not invited her to do so.
His expression softened, the sound of his name wielding some kind of magic as he relaxed a degree, but he still shook his head.
“I cannot. It’s private. A family matter, but…
but I promised never to marry, Hetty. That’s all you need to know.
Even if I had the funds, which I do not, it makes no odds, it changes nothing. ”
“Because your mother is in an asylum?” The words were out before she could think better of them, and she stared in horror as his face turned ashen.
“Who told you that?” he demanded, such dread, such fear in his voice that she deeply regretted having said anything.
Hetty swallowed, noting that they had just turned onto the driveway that led to the Hall, she was running out of time to make him understand.
“No one told me, Gideon, and I shall never tell another soul, I haven’t done so.
Not even Cilly and we share everything. But you must not let your mama’s fate dictate yours. You know, I had an aunt and—”
“How do you know this?” he said, interrupting her before she could continue, and any warmth or affection was absent from his voice now. He was truly angry, and Hetty swallowed, twisting her fingers together, wishing she could recall the last two minutes and play them differently.
“W-when you fell asleep, the time you came to the Hall. Your coat was getting all wrinkled, so I picked it up to fold it more carefully and… and a letter fell out.”
“So you read it?” he exclaimed, eyes wide with incredulity.
“Certainly not!” she shot back, stung that he would think such a thing of her.
“I just saw the sender’s address when I put it back.
Not deliberately, I wasn’t looking, but I recognised it.
The aunt I mentioned, you see, she went to the same place and after everything else you’d said about being wedded to your work and now that it is because of a family matter, well, it seemed obvious. ”
“You are quite the detective, Lady Henrietta,” he said coldly, and there was no trace of admiration in the words now.
“Gideon,” she said, putting her hand on his arm but he was rigid now, tension rolling off him in waves.
“I believe we have reached your destination, my lady. Please stay away from building sites in the future.”
And from me, he didn’t say. He didn’t need to. She could read it in his eyes clearly enough.
“Don’t be cruel, Gideon,” she whispered, aware of Howard and a footman approaching the gig. “I meant no harm. Far from it.”
“Lady Henrietta has suffered a slight mishap,” he called to Howard, ignoring her words as they hurried forward and helped her from the gig. “I hope you make a swift recovery, my lady. Good day to you.”
Within moments of her alighting from the gig, he had urged the horse into a trot, and she could do nothing but watch him disappear down the driveway. Tears prickled at her eyes, but she refused to cry. He was a stubborn brute, and she was better off without such a man in her life. She really was.
She made it all the way to her room before her heart told her she was a dreadful liar and she burst into tears.
Gideon Bramwell might be a stubborn brute, but her idiotic heart had determined he was the one it wanted because it was a glutton for punishment, clearly.
He was also scared to death of ending like his mother; he was afraid to let anyone close, especially her, because he liked her.
But knowing that did not help her if she could not break down the walls around him.
“Stupid, stupid, pig-headed lout,” she sobbed, and determined she would find a way to reach him, one way or another.