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But perhaps a part of her had known his true feelings all along, even though his words and actions hurt her deeply. Perhaps that was the reason she’d forgiven him so easily, why she’d accepted him without any hesitation. Because underneath it all, she could still see the angry boy who’d been standing by his mother’s grave.
A shadow went by in the distance. Elizabeth drew to a halt, her heart flying to her throat. “Who’s there?” she called out without thinking. It was certainly one of the help, she knew, but she couldn’t stop the fear bleeding through her veins.
The shadow came to a halt, then drew closer. Elizabeth swallowed harshly, preparing to run. She didn’t question the irrational reaction, didn’t think twice about why she was so on edge. But when Harold stepped into the glow of her candlelight, Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief, realizing how foolish she was acting.
“Harold,” Elizabeth sighed. “What are you doing lurking in the dark?”
“I was contemplating something, My Lady,” Harold stated. As usual, his gaze rested slightly over her shoulder. Elizabeth had figured out only a short while ago that it was because his vision was impaired, and when she’d asked William about it yesterday, he’d agreed.
“What’s that?” she asked. Harold’s voice was the same as it always was, but the fact that he was acting so oddly was reason enough to be on edge again.
Harold held out a small slip of paper. “This just arrived a short while ago. Considering how late it was, and the fact that His Grace is not present, I took it upon myself to scan its contents. After I read it, I did not think it was something I should keep to myself, so I’ve decided to inform you of this, as well. It is quite distressing.”
“Distressing?” Elizabeth echoed as she reached for the paper. It was folded, a simple note. For some reason, that increased her apprehension. “What did it say?”
“Please,” Harold said, reaching for the candle in her hand. “See for yourself, My Lady.”
Elizabeth couldn’t get much from his expression, nor his tone. So, taking his words at face value, she was already dreading opening this note, but she did so all the same.
Only four words were scribbled on it: I’m coming for you.
Dread sank within her like large boulders, rooting her to the spot. She could only read the words over and over again, not wanting to believe that this had been sent with ill-intent. But it was not signed, not addressed to anyone in particular. And for some reason, the terrible scrawl was enough to convince her that this was a threat.
“Do you know who sent this?” she asked Harold, looking up at his impassive face. He’d been here for quite long, so perhaps he had a clue.
But he shook his head. “Unfortunately not, My Lady. The post boy was simply a ratty child who scurried off the moment the note was out of his hands. It may very well be someone disreputable, or someone who wished to hide his identity and sent it through an unusual route. No one comes to mind, unfortunately.”
But a few ideas did come to hers. Elizabeth refolded the paper and reclaimed the candle from Harold. “Thank you for sharing this with me, Harold.”
He nodded. “I understand that you have His Grace’s interest at heart, and that you have become entwined with this household as a result. As such, you are as important to me as His Grace is.”
She hadn’t expected to feel so happy hearing that. First Minnie, now Harold. “Thank you, Harold. I shall take this note along with me and will share it with His Grace when he returns on the morrow. Please, have a good night.”
“You as well, My Lady.”
Harold bowed deeply, his body almost perpendicular to the floor. Elizabeth might have smiled at the sight had she not been struggling to tamp down the unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach. She turned back the way she’d come and began making her way to her bedchamber. There would be no walk tonight and no letter writing. She knew there was no longer any hope of that.
Her mind was a riotous mess, with so many things rushing to her head at once that she could hardly process them all. It wasn’t until she’d returned to her bedchamber, until she’d left the note on the desk, blew out all the candles save for the ones by her bed and crawled into bed, that she finally let herself focus on that one feeling twisting painfully within her.
I’m coming for you.
Elizabeth knew this might not be the case, that William might have made his own share of enemies that were just as likely to send something so ominous. But she couldn’t chase the feeling away.
She could think of only person who would want to find her, who was most likely to send such a thing—James Stone, the Earl of Horenwall.
