“You remember me well?”
“Some.” His voice softened with a smile. “I used to chase you when our parents would enjoy an evening of battledore and shuttlecock.”
“Then we were friends?”
“I never quite viewed it as such. I was four years older, you know.”
She should have stopped asking him questions. What did anything matter at this point? Even if she used to belong to the Gillingham family, she didn’t now. After all, despite the fact that his lordship had seemed heartbroken to see her again, he had fled from her presence and still had not returned.
But then again, hadn’t Captain forsaken her too? Where did she belong in all of this? She was a stranger to both worlds. A stranger to everyone. A terrified damsel on a mountaintop of ice, too high for anyone to reach her and too insignificant for anyone to care. Why had there always been a rescuer in all of her imaginings?
No one was here to rescue her now.
“I would not be opposed, though, to becoming friends now.” As if he’d read her thoughts. As if he knew her loneliness. As if somehow, in all her confusion, he could offer a balm she desperately needed. Or was he merely after what she knew?
“Well, Miss Gillingham?”
“If you were my friend, would you take me back?”
“To the forest? No.”
“Would you tell me where Captain is? Would you help me see him?”
“You don’t understand—”
“No, I don’t. Why is it so important that I must remember who murdered my mother these many years later? Why must I be here? Not even Lord Gillingham is glad of my return, and Captain will not come for me, and I remember nothing of any such night—”
“You will remember. You must.”
“But why?”
“Because fourteen years ago, my father was accused of that murder. His dashed watch fob was discovered near the body—a mere coincidence, considering we’d been over and played games only a week before. He must have dropped it then, and while no one could prove he’d killed Lady Gillingham, no one could prove he didn’t.” His jaws tightened as he urged the phaeton faster. “And the reason my box pew was empty today was not just because my mother is ill or my brothers are away.”
“What are you saying?”
“That even if mine had been the last box pew in the church, no one would have dared sit there.”
“Why?”
“Because Northwood is a bloody name, Miss Gillingham—and you’re the only one who can cleanse it.”
The library felt like the forest all over again. Quiet, alone, with wooden shelves towering on each side of her in likeness to trees. The only difference was there was no cottage hidden somewhere in the books.
And no Captain.
How easy would it be for her to hurry out to the stables, mount a horse, and ride away from here? Would anyone try to stop her? But what if she couldn’t find her way back? What if Captain, for whatever reason unbeknownst to her had allowed Felton to take her in the first place, made her return?
If only it made sense, then she’d know what to do. Captain’s love was never something she’d doubted. It was just there, unchanging, confirmed every time he looked at her or smiled at her or told her stories. If she didn’t have that, was there any point in returning to the cottage at all?
No, she must not think that way. She must be patient. Just because Captain had not come for her yet did not mean he wouldn’t.
She would wait until he did.
At least until she discovered a better plan.
With Felton gone and Mrs. Eustace not yet returned from church, she settled into a chair next to the unlit hearth and started on the poems ofThe Lady of the Lake.If only she could live in the pages of such a book. She’d nearly finished the first canto when she heard loud voices from somewhere in the house.
Taking the book with her, she left the library and followed the distinct voice until she found Mrs. Eustace standing at the foot of the main staircase, damp with sweat, bun askew, and arms flailing as she ordered a footman to ride for the doctor. She turned upon Eliza with a frown. “Well, as you can see, I have met with great catastrophe on my way home. Did you not think to wonder about me when I never returned?”
