Chapter Thirteen #2
He bent and kissed her forehead, asking nothing further of her. Selina closed her eyes for a moment and allowed herself to remain where she was.
“You are shivering,” he said presently.
“So are you.”
“I was attempting to ignore it.”
“You were composing a dignified way to mention it.”
“I had nearly succeeded.”
“Then I am pleased to have interrupted you.”
By the time the rain ceased, the western edge of the sky had begun to clear. Sunlight broke beneath the retreating cloud and spread across the wet valley, turning the river briefly to gold.
Nathaniel brought the cob from beneath the trees and returned it to the shafts. Selina took his arm as they descended the slippery slope and did not immediately release it when they reached level ground.
They drove home slowly, their sleeves touching upon the narrow seat. Neither moved away.
***
Georgiana was waiting in the front hall.
The happiness of the folly receded at the sight of her. She stood near the foot of the stairs with a candle in her hand, though it was not yet dark enough to require one.
“What has happened?” Nathaniel asked.
“I may be mistaken.” Georgiana spoke too quickly, as though she had repeated the qualification many times while waiting.
“I tried to persuade myself that I was. But I went into the village with my maid this afternoon, and there was a carriage outside the Wexford Arms which looked exactly like Mr Rowland’s. ”
Selina removed her wet gloves slowly. “Exactly in what respect?”
“The colour. The yellow line upon the door. One of the lamps sits slightly crooked because it was struck in March.” Georgiana looked from Selina to her brother. “I saw it waiting in the mews more than once. I think I should know it.”
“Did you see Rowland?”
“No. Nor his coachman. That is why I said I might be mistaken. We had nearly passed the inn before I noticed it, and I did not wish to stop and draw attention to myself.”
“You did well,” Selina said.
“I told myself that another gentleman might own a similar carriage. But the lamp…” Georgiana’s fingers tightened around the candle. “If it is his, he has followed us.”
“Or he has come ahead of someone else,” Nathaniel said.
“Or wishes us to know that he is here,” Selina added.
Georgiana looked towards the front door as though Rowland might already be standing beyond it.
“There was no one I could tell,” she said. “Not anyone who would know whether it mattered. I have been waiting for you to return.”
“You have told us now.” Selina crossed the hall and took her cold hand. “We shall have someone sent to the inn quietly. Until we know who arrived in that carriage, we assume nothing.”
“You do think it was his.”
“I think you recognised something you had reason to remember. That is not proof, but neither is it something we shall dismiss.”
Nathaniel summoned Bassett and instructed him to make discreet enquiries through the steward. Georgiana remained beside Selina while he spoke.
“What do we do if he is there?” she asked.
“We discover why he has come before allowing him to discover anything from us,” Selina said.
Her voice was calm. Nathaniel looked at her once but did not expose the fear beneath it.
“You should go upstairs and change before dinner,” Selina continued. “We shall tell you as soon as we know anything certain.”
Georgiana hesitated, then nodded. At the turn of the stairs, she looked back.
Nathaniel waited until she was out of hearing.
“You are frightened,” he said.
“Yes.”
She had promised him no lies.
He came to stand beside her, close enough that their wet sleeves touched once more.
“If the carriage is his,” Selina said, “then his presence here is an escalation. But we do not yet know what form it will take.”
“He has come onto my ground.”
“That may make him more vulnerable. It does not make him harmless.”
“No.”
They stood together in the hall, watching the closed front door while rainwater gathered beneath them upon the flags.
It was nearly an hour before Bassett returned. By then Selina and Nathaniel had changed out of their wet clothes and joined Georgiana in the small drawing room, where none of them had made much pretence of attending to the tea.
“The carriage belongs to Mr Felix Rowland, Your Grace. He took a room at the Wexford Arms this afternoon and enquired how far the inn stood from the gates of Wexford Park.”
Nathaniel’s expression hardened, but he did not move.
Georgiana set down her untouched cup. “Then I was right.”
“You were,” Selina said. “And because you recognised the carriage and told us, he has lost the advantage of surprising us.”
“He wished us to know that he had come,” Nathaniel said.
“Perhaps. Or he wished to be near enough to watch the house without approaching it. We should not decide his purpose for him.”
Nathaniel looked at Bassett. “No message is to pass between the inn and this house without being brought directly to me. If Mr Rowland approaches the estate, I am to be informed before he reaches the door.”
“Very good, Your Grace.”
After Bassett withdrew, Georgiana looked towards the darkening windows.
“What do we do now?”
“For tonight, nothing,” Nathaniel said. “Tomorrow, we discover what brought him here.”
“And until then,” Selina added, “we deny him the satisfaction of knowing that his arrival has frightened us.”
Georgiana glanced at her. “Has it?”
“Yes,” Selina said. “That is why we shall be careful.”
Nathaniel’s hand found hers beside the tea tray. He did not cover it until she turned her palm beneath his.
Outside, the last rain fell from the trees in slow, heavy drops. A mile away, Felix Rowland waited at the village inn.
This time, they knew where he was.