Chapter 18
Frederick moved through the forest with Brandon at his side and Zahra between them, keeping her near as moonlight patterned the path in pale light and shadow.
There was no knowing who waited in the night, whether from Blake’s mission or Pennington’s thefts, though Frederick doubted Pennington’s designs were sinister.
From all accounts, the man seemed ill-prepared for his own passion and zeal.
And the consequences of them.
Because if Frederick got hold of him, the man might not be able to see or talk for a few days without feeling considerable pain.
Frederick kept his face forward. On the path that would spill out into an opening where the ruins and the chapel waited.
And Grace.
The single thought drove him forward at a steady clip, despite the way his impaired vision made every root and branch a potential obstacle.
He’d removed the spectacles once they’d stepped from the house into natural darkness.
The moon gave enough light—perfect lighting, actually.
Not too much to inspire an ache in his head, but plenty to highlight shapes and movement.
Zahra kept pace at his side, her breathing steady even as his stride lengthened. Brandon remained on her other side, likely guarding her as fiercely as Frederick was.
They’d almost reached the chapel when a stumbling silhouette emerged from the direction of the ruins. Brandon came to a stop, raising his wrench as a weapon, but Frederick identified the uneven gait and profile at once.
“Blake.” He rushed forward, catching the man beneath the shoulders, instantly feeling some wet, sticky substance. Blood? “Good lord, man. You’re bleeding?”
“Yes, but you should see the other two,” Blake said, shooting him a faint grin.
“Messy business, that.” Then he sobered, his weight sagging against Frederick, a clear indication of Blake’s condition.
“I must get back to the house. Evie’s in danger, and the authorities need to be alerted to collect the man I left bound inside the ruins. ”
Man bound inside …
Frederick’s attention shot to the door of the ruins and then back to Blake.
He was in no condition to make it back to the house alone, despite the fact that he was a spy and probably possessed more determination than sense. Frederick looked over at Brandon, gaze locking with an unvoiced directive.
The butler’s attention moved to the chapel for only a moment before his entire body stiffened into action. “I’ll take him, sir. And call the police.” He replaced Frederick at Blake’s side but kept holding Frederick’s gaze. “You bring Lady Astley home, sir.”
Frederick almost smiled.
The good man.
No, the great, unassuming, faithful man. Christopher Brandon! A contemporary of Frederick’s grandfather, not just in age but in spirit and heart. As quietly loyal as his Austen namesake.
He gave a firm nod. “I will.”
They parted ways, and Frederick focused back on the chapel path, steeple in clear view.
A sudden sense of urgency rushed through him.
He looked down at Zahra. She was quick but still so small.
“Ever done a piggyback, Zahra?”
The little girl’s brows rose, and with the slightest grin and a bend of Frederick’s knees, she climbed onto his back. He took hold of one of her legs, clutched the lantern with his other hand, and set off at a run. Crossing the space at almost double time.
Moonlight gave the chapel its own spotlight in the clearing surrounded by forest. The scene was a strange mixture of welcome and danger, as the dark firs encircled the space like sentries, daring him forward into the fray.
He almost snorted at the thought. Something Grace would think. He, a knight charging to her rescue.
But he would. Over and over again.
Blind or not. Healthy or not. As long as God allowed.
He paused at the chapel steps and lowered Zahra to the ground, taking her hand and bringing her behind him as he reached for his revolver. The chapel door stood wide, displaying only what could be seen by the moonlight filtering in through the windows.
An empty nave greeted them, but not silence.
The distant sound of voices carried toward them from the left.
“Here, Papa.” Zahra tugged him toward the font, where a tapestry was pushed back, revealing the disguised door standing open. Stone steps led down into shadow, and the smell of damp earth and old timber wafted from it.
An aching crack of wood sounded, followed by an inhuman moan.
Frederick’s stomach dropped.
The tunnel could collapse at any moment. What was Pennington thinking?
He isn’t. Which was the clear problem.
“Papa, I can hear them,” Zahra whispered, pressing close to his side. “Mama and the man. They are talking.”
Frederick drew Zahra to the top of the steps and knelt, bringing himself to Zahra’s eye level.
“I need you to stay here,” he said, squeezing her shoulders. “Hold the lantern so we can see the way back up. Do you understand? You must stay here, no matter what you hear.”
“But—”
“I will bring her back.” Frederick cupped her face gently. “I promise. But I need you safe. I need to know you’re waiting for us here.”
Zahra’s gray-green eyes met his, held. Her expression grew solemn, and she nodded.
“Good girl.”
Gun at the ready, he descended the stairs. Uneven, hewn by hand centuries ago. Frederick kept one hand on the earthen wall to guide him, the faint light of Zahra’s lantern growing weaker the deeper he went.
But voices urged him forward. The faint glow of another lantern glinted ahead.
And then … Grace’s voice.
He increased his pace, even as a tuft of dust dropped in his path from overhead.
This was mad.
All of it. And at his own home!
How far down were they? Fifty feet? More?
Grace’s words echoed from somewhere ahead: “We need to leave, Mr. Pennington.”
Frederick almost broke into a run. The man was desperate. Too desperate for sense or safety.
A low groan emanated from overhead. A deeper, louder warning.
Frederick’s blood ran cold.
The timbers. The ancient supports.
“No! we are too close.” Pennington shouted, then the sound like something hitting wood echoed toward Frederick. Then a reverberating crack.
“Grace!” Her name exploded from Frederick’s lungs, stifled by the earthen walls.
“Frederick?” came her response, just as he rounded a corner in the passage that opened into a chamber, barely lit by a single lantern held aloft by the young private.
Grace stood atop a pile of stones with Pennington beside her, his face tight, pale.
Dust sifted down from the ceiling like rain. “Grace!” Frederick called again. “You need to get out of here!”
But it was too late. Whatever Pennington had done, the crack he’d ignited, careened into another. Then another.
The ceiling splintered.
Frederick didn’t think. Didn’t calculate. Just moved.
He grabbed Grace by the shoulders and yanked her into his arms, pulling them together toward the tunnel in a wild stumble away from the falling debris. Frederick twisted mid-fall to take the impact, his body curling protectively around hers.
Rock and earth thundered down exactly where she’d been standing.
The world became noise and dust. Frederick pressed Grace’s face into his chest, his arms locked around her, his body a shield between her and the collapsing tunnel behind them.
But this was only the beginning. One thunderous crash would ignite another.
They had to get out.
He had the vague awareness of Pennington rushing past them, heading for the exit.
Coward.
“Run,” Frederick said, hauling Grace to her feet, half carrying her through the tunnel. Debris pelted his back—stone, timber, earth—but he kept moving.
Dust coated everything, choking the air.
Frederick pressed Grace closer, never looking back even as the sound of collapsing earth roared behind them.
His foot found the first step. Then the next.
Zahra’s light glowed up ahead like a beacon. Until finally, mercifully, they reached the top.
His pulse thundered in his head, his body shaking. He didn’t stop until he placed Grace gently onto one of the pews, staring down into her face.
“Are you hurt?” His voice was rough, desperate, hands already moving over her arms, her face, searching for injuries. “Grace? The baby—?”
“I’m fine,” she managed between coughs, even attempting a smile. “We’re fine.”
But she was trembling. Or was that him?
His heart hammered as if trying to break through his ribs.
If he’d been a few seconds later …
He pulled her tighter, pressing his face into her hair, breathing her in. Dust and earth and Grace. Alive. Whole.
And she clung back, her palms pressing into his back. Her breath on his neck.
She was safe.
They were safe.
His body released its tension with a shuddering sigh. He pulled back, cradling her face, his thumbs brushing dust from her cheeks.
“I can safely say, I have not missed this particular aspect of our adventures, darling.”
A burst of laughter escaped her, sending one of her fiery strands of hair dancing, before she brought her palm to his cheek.
“I adore the adventures and your valiant rescues, but I’ve not missed near-death experiences.
” Her smile softened. “And I know you’ve had to witness too many of them in recent months to ever wish for another. ”
His smile fell. “I should never have let you out of my sight,” he said roughly. “Should never have—”
“Frederick.” She kissed him, quick, soft. “We’re safe.”
We’re. His gaze dropped to her stomach. Not just the two of them. The three.
Zahra appeared at their side, and he tucked an arm around her, pulling her into their embrace. Four. And if Lily were here, that would make all of them. His family. His heart.
“I do wish I’d been able to get those jewels, though, Frederick.” She frowned, a single tear trail leaving its mark along the dust of her face. “To restore something to your family that was lost. To restore even a portion of what my father’s bankruptcy cost you—”