From farther up the beach, a sixsome came ambling down the beach. Each of the gentlemen carried picnic baskets, while the ladies strolled beside them with parasols and reticules. Did the slender, blue-dressed figure belong to Miss Haverfield?
Felton scrambled to his feet. He brushed the sand from his breeches and raked his windblown hair back in place—just as the girl turned to look at him. ’Twas Miss Haverfield indeed—complete with golden curls, clear blue eyes, and a cunning grin he could never quite resist.
He’d no more than smiled back, however, when she turned away her head. She spoke to the gentleman next to her—a tall bloke with a bright red Brutus haircut—and gave the grin Felton was always enjoying to the ugly gent instead.
Who was the man anyway?
He’d never been at church before, at least not that Felton had ever noticed. But then, he had been a bit preoccupied as of late. Had he missed a new courtship between Miss Haverfield and this stranger? Then why had she still been laughing and smiling at Felton only last Sunday?
Not until they were nearly in front of him, a few feet closer to the water, did some of the group glance over.
The girls frowned and raised their brows.
The gentlemen, one by one, tipped their hats.
But Miss Haverfield did not deign herself to look his way again. Was he good enough to speak to at church or alone sometimes when they’d take secret rides together, but not in front of her own friends?
When they’d passed farther up the beach, some of the girls leaned closer as if in whispers. One or two of them glanced back at Felton, realized he still watched them, and swiveled back around just as quickly.
As if he were some sort of repugnant, stinking, filthy fool of a man. As if he carried murder in his veins. As if the audacity that he would show his face—that any Northwood would show his face—was indecent and unhuman and inconsiderate to the helpless villagers of Lodnouth.
Felton kicked at the sand and walked back to where he’d left his horse. Someday it would not be this way. Someday people would look at him and not see the terrible thing they thought his father had done.
Christ, please.
He leaned his head into his horse’s neck, closed his eyes, and tried to keep back the hurt that chipped away at his soul.Please guide me to find the truth. I want it to end.
Eliza unlatched the door of the potting shed and hesitated. Minney would doubtless scold her. After all, the girl’s one great pride was being the first to greet Merrylad and let him loose every morning.
But Eliza had awakened long before the dawn, having been plagued with nightmares so real she’d been crying by the time she shook herself awake. She had no intention of going back to sleep after that. She’d already been clawed by the beast enough for one night.
As soon as she entered the dark building, Merrylad lifted his head from the pile of rags under the window. He came to his feet, shook his head and body, then came trotting to her.
She took a seat at the wooden workbench and table. “Good morning to you too, sweet. Sleep well?”
He stared up at her, made a happy-sounding groan, and nuzzled closer between her legs when she rubbed both ears.
“That’s my boy. I missed you too.”
The door, which Eliza had left cracked open to allow in more light, made a slight whine.
“Hush now, Merrylad. ’Tis naught but the wind.” She smiled and traced her finger along his wet nose. “You are as skittish as I. Comes from reading far too many books—”
The door slammed shut.
Eliza jumped to her feet and placed her hand over a pounding heart. “The wind,” she said again, more to herself than to Merrylad. She edged around the table and grabbed the knob of the door.
It wouldn’t open. Had it jammed?
With both hands on the knob and her foot on the wall, she gave it another hard yank. Still nothing, as if it had been locked from the outside. But surely not.
Glass shattered behind her.
Eliza whirled, just as a flaring torch fell through the broken panes of the window. Merrylad scampered back and barked. Flames devoured the dog’s makeshift bed, started up the leg of the table, and pushed smoke into the shed so fast she couldn’t see beyond the window.
“Fire!” She pounded the door again. “Someone…fire!”
A bucket. Hadn’t she seen a bucket in here?
