“I am sorry I hurt you,” he said.
Anna nodded. If she spoke, she feared her voice would crack.
“I would undo that part if I could…”
“No,” she said softly. “You wouldn’t. Not if it meant Bell was taken.” She gave another small nod. “That’s why I believe you.”
His thumb brushed over her knuckles so gently she might have imagined it. She did not.
“When this war is done,” he said, “and if Providence is kind, may I call on you as something other than Captain Whitby’s courier?”
Anna’s heart leapt in her chest. “That depends.”
“On what?”
She swallowed hard. “On whether you are still tragically flawed.”
His smiled. “I suspect I will be.”
Anna met his gaze. “Then I suppose I shall have to consider it.”
“That’s more mercy than I deserve. But you didn’t say no.” His finger brushed over her knuckles again.
Anna studied him, this man who’d made himself useful to the enemy so he could serve the cause. He wore calm like armor, had frightened her, saved her, and somehow found his way past every sensible defense she possessed.
“No,” she said quietly. “I did not.” For one breath, she thought he might kiss her hand.
Instead, he bowed over it, his lips stopping just short of her knuckles. His restraint affected her more than the kiss would have. When he released her, the loss of his hand send a shiver up her spine.
Nathaniel put on his glove, settled his hat, and stepped into the garden. At the path, he looked back. “Miss Turner.”
She gave him a single nod. “Mr. Reed.”
His gaze held hers. “Put two sheets and one towel on the line if you need to send word.”
Anna smiled. “And if I am still cross with you?”
“Then I shall assume three towels.”
Her smile broke into a grin. “Wise of you.”
He grinned back before he set off. Anna watched until the garden swallowed him, and the sound of his steps faded beyond the west gate.
Only then did she close the door. For a moment she stood with her hand on the latch, listening to the house breathe around her. Mrs. Fenwick’s voice rose in the kitchen. Mercy laughed. Somewhere above stairs, Mrs. Pembroke gave an order that sounded like it ought to have been obeyed by a regiment.
The British still occupied the town and the war hadn’t ended because one prisoner escaped and one locket left by the garden gate.
But Josiah Bell was free and another message was moving.
She crossed to the kitchen, then paused by the small window that looked toward the back yard. The laundry line stirred in the evening wind, empty now, but waiting. Anna touched her fingers to the place where the locket had once rested against her skirt.
In God We Trust.
The words felt different now. Steadier. As did the words from Martha Washington’s letter hidden in the case.
Mercy called her name from the kitchen, disrupting her thoughts.
Anna drew in a breath and turned from the window. Tomorrow there would be dishes, linens, thin walls, dangerous men, and messages hidden in ordinary things. But tonight, beneath the fear, something had settled inside her. She’d made a choice for the cause. A man riding into danger with her trust tucked against his heart.
