Sebastian felt the ground shifting beneath him. She saw too much, understood too much. Soon she would piece together the truth, and then—God help him.
“I wish I could promise you that,” he said. “But you’re right to be cautious. You know as well as I that people have motives behind everything they do.”
“Indeed. And I would like to know what yours are.”
“I cannot tell you more than I already have.” He removed his hand from her cheek, though it took all his willpower. “It gives me comfort to have shared these moments with you. At times, I think they may have to sustain me for whatever comes next.”
Rose folded his handkerchief into a small square but did not return it to him. “And now I must go before the rest of the household wakes and finds me gone. Prudence will worry if I’m not in my room when she comes for me.”
He nodded, rising to his feet and offering his hand to assist her up. For a second or two, she gazed up at him, tears caught in her dark lashes sparkling in the morning light. The urge to tell her everything—his real name, his true purpose, the way she’d somehow become important to him—nearly overwhelmed him.
She took his hand, and the warmth of her soft skin against his calloused palm sent waves of longing through him. “Lady Rose, there has never been a woman more lovely in the history of the world.”
She smiled, though sadness lingered in her eyes. “And like the roses, my beauty will fade and I’ll be left to wither on a thorny vine.”
“Say it isn’t so.”
“I’m afraid I cannot.” She lifted her skirt and turned away, then paused. “Sebastian, I’m not sure why I’m saying this, other than instinct. Please don’t disappear without telling me goodbye. Whatever secrets you carry, I’ve grown…fond of you. I would hate to wake one morning and find you simply gone.”
The words were like a dagger to his heart. He watched her walk quickly out of the orchard, dappled light casting dancing patterns over her retreating form, and knew that disappearing without goodbye was exactly what he might have to do.
When she vanished behind the row of hedges, he returned to the ladder with leaden steps. As he climbed the rungs to reach the ripening apples, he wondered if a man could die from the weight of his own deceptions. Nothing was as he’d thought it would be. Most especially the daughter of Lord Wentworth.
*
He’d filled threebuckets with apples for Mrs. Carter in less than an hour. Thorncroft had instructed him to deliver them to the kitchen when he’d finished. Thus, he set them into a wheelbarrow and headed out across the gardens toward the manor. When he arrived, one of Mrs. Carter’s cooks was just stepping outside, shears in hand, presumably to cut herbs from the beds nearby.
“Good morning,” Sebastian said. “Shall I take these inside?”
“Mrs. Carter would be pleased if you could.” She scampered away without making eye contact.
He carried two of the buckets in, figuring he’d come back for the third. The kitchen was abuzz with activity, already warm despite the early hour. Feeding a dozen additional people could not be easy. Yet, Mrs. Carter seemed to do it without breaking a sweat.
He placed the apples on the floor near the table, breathing in thedelectable aroma of frying bacon, roasted coffee, and cinnamon and cloves warming in a pot of morning porridge.
A crackling fire licked at the iron pot swinging from its sturdy hook in the hearth, and the brick oven radiated heat. When a maid opened it, Sebastian saw loaves of bread turning a delicious golden tan. The long wooden worktable in the center of the room was cluttered with flour-dusted dough waiting to be shaped, a row of eggs in their shells, and a pile of freshly baked scones. A brace of pheasants hung by their feet from a ceiling rafter.
Mrs. Carter stood at the table’s end, her sleeves rolled high, wielding a knife as if it were an extension of her arm. Scullery maids darted back and forth, carrying bowls, chopping herbs, and tending the bubbling pots on the range. A young kitchen boy struggled to keep up as he ferried logs from the woodpile to keep the fires blazing.
Sebastian set down the buckets. “I’ve another one. Shall I bring it in too or store it somewhere else?”
Mrs. Carter glanced up as she wiped her hands on her apron. “Thank you, love. These will do nicely for my tarts and pies. You must’ve been up with the rooster this morning.”
“Whatever you do with them, I know it’ll be delicious,” Sebastian said politely. “And yes, Mr. Thorncroft asked me to wake early to make sure you have what you needed.”
Mrs. Carter blushed, clearly pleased by his compliment and Thorncroft’s thoughtfulness. “Amos is such a thoughtful man. You thank him for me if you see him.” She paused, her expression growing troubled. “Though I do hope Lady Rose appreciates all our efforts on her behalf. Poor lamb.”
Sebastian’s pulse quickened. “Is something the matter?”
“Well, I shouldn’t speak out of turn,” Mrs. Carter said, lowering her voice as she continued chopping. “But I overheard His Lordship speaking with Baron White after dinner last night. Something about moving the ceremony up. Much sooner than planned, from what I gathered.”
Sebastian’s heart skipped a beat. “How much sooner?”
Mrs. Carter glanced around, then leaned closer. “Within the fortnight, if I heard correctly. The Baron seemed quite insistent about it. Said something about ‘settling matters quickly’ before returning to his estate.” She shook her head sadly. “That poor girl. As if this whole business wasn’t rushed enough already.”
Sebastian felt the blood drain from his face. A fortnight. That gave Hale’s detective barely two weeks to find something damning enough to stop the marriage. It gave Sebastian even less time to decide whether to abandon his mission or press forward, knowing it would destroy Rose’s world.
“You’ve gone pale, love,” Mrs. Carter observed, setting down her knife. “Are you feeling poorly?”
