He’d figure out the clue. He’d get out of prison. And he’d follow them to Bern, resolved to seize the owl at any cost. After all he’d endured and survived—after he’d come so far and risked so much—Clara knew full well he’d stop at nothing now to make good on his parting oath.
“Mark my words, Clara. You will seeme again.”
CHAPTER
37
The bandages on Theodore’s hand were worth it in this moment, when, on April the twenty-third, Miss Stanton alighted from the train in Bern and accepted his proffered arm without hesitation. She simply rested her glove upon the crook of his elbow and favored him with a smile. Ever since he’d popped that rat on the snout, she’d taken to smiling at him with an air of familiarity that beckoned him to come closer. Close enough to awaken hope, which was a treasure that far exceeded the discomfort of a few scraped knuckles.
Relieved of its passengers, the locomotive heaved a sigh of exhaust. Steam drifted along the platform, swirling amid the swishing skirts and flapping overcoats of countless travelers who made their way through the low-hanging clouds. Just ahead of them, Mrs. S. forged their path through the crowd, ermine “stole” around her neck, basket of “lunch” in her hand, and trio of “puppies” scampering before her on their leashes. He scrutinized the haze of tourists pressingin on every side. It would be all too easy for a bloke to sneak up on someone in such a throng.
Adjusting the lapel of his coat, Theodore reassured himself that the weight pressing against his ribs—the pearl-handled pistol from his new friends in the Strasbourg police force—was still secured in an inner pocket.“To protect those youlove,mon frère. May you never have need of it.”
While the gift had been bestowed with the best of intentions, the gun’s cold barrel prodded at his failure on the Grande Île, revealing his inadequacy like dirty fingerprints on gleaming steel. Forrester never should’ve gotten so close. Never should’ve gotten his hands on Clara and the all-important clue in her pocket. He eyed the train cars warily, any number of which Forrester might’ve gained passage on without his notice.
“You look as though you’re trying to repair a clock with a mallet.” Miss Stanton nudged his ribs with an elbow. “What is causing you such consternation?”
Theodore followed Mrs. S. in skirting a stack of unclaimed trunks. He didn’t need to distress Miss Stanton by bringing up that louse.Avert and—
“Don’t you even think of changing the subject, Mr. Kingsley, or I shall be forced to employ a secret weapon, sharp and deft in the art of extracting information.”
He chuckled. “You’d sick Mrs. S. on me? I’m both honored and terrified.”
“As well you should be. Now, speak. Before the matter troubling you does irrevocable damage to your handsome face.”
Handsome, eh? He grinned, tucking that compliment away to be addressed at a more opportune moment. “The matter troubling me is no more than a lingering sense of regret.” And none too little guilt. “I should’ve seen through Forrester’s trap. I should’ve kept you safe.I should’ve kept the man from walking off with the motive and means to continue his pursuit.”
There was a moment of silence. Then Miss Stanton tightened her hold on his arm, drawing him closer, securing their bond. “Your hands aren’t the ones that keep me, Mr. Kingsley. But they fought for me, and for that, I shall ever be grateful.”
Theodore exhaled a breath he’d been holding. Miss Stanton was right, of course. Ultimately, the protection of those he loved fell under God’s purview, and the Lord of angel armies would not—indeed, could not—be thwarted. Not by any blunder of his, and not by the likes of Forrester. That was an assurance of greater weight than any pistol.
Switzerland’s capital city welcomed them with a brisk breeze, a sky of brilliant blue, and the clip-clop-clatter of horse-drawn carriages. Mrs. S. marched toward a queue of carriages. “Rest your webbed feet, duckies,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ll find us a driver who’s affable to animals.”
Theodore gaped. “Have I just been distinguished with the endearment ofducky?”
“Indeed you have. Apparently Mum thinks you’re worthy of the honor.”
“Really, now.” He lowered his face toward Miss Stanton, still snug on his arm. “Does she also think I’ve a handsome face, or is that just you?”
Miss Stanton’s fair complexion reddened like a rose, and she shifted her gaze to the street, attempting to conceal the enchanting blush. A maneuver that failed miserably without the aid of her favorite bonnet. “Which way ought we to go, I wonder?”
Changing the subject, was she? Now the woman was pilfering his tricks along with his heart. How annoyingly clever. Well. Two could play that game as well as one. “I do believe, my dear Miss Stanton, I left that choice up to you when last we danced.”
Dancing in Mr. Kingsley’s arms felt more akin to a dream than a memory. One Clara would gladly resume here and now if the man saw fit to waltz her down the streets of Bern. At the moment, however, Mr. Kingsley searched her face for an answer to the question he’d asked days ago. The one she’d yet to answer.
He pulled her even closer to his side, near enough to feel his heart beating through his overcoat. Through her glove. “Have you decided which way we should go, or are you still uncertain?”
Oh, she was quite certain.
Certain that Theodore was the truest friend she’d ever known.
That he was one of the finest men she’d ever met.
That if he were to kiss her now, she’d come undone in the best way, and if he were to break her heart, she’d come undone in the worst.
God help her, she loved this man! She loved Theodore Kingsley with all her heart, but was she brave enough to say as much and accept his suit? Of that, she was not certain. Not yet. She needed more time to sift her emotions with prayer. If she’d done as much the first time ... if she’d sought the Lord’s guidance before accepting Mr. Forrester’s proposal . . . how much pain might have been avoided? How much pain wasstillcaused by the likelihood of Mr. Forrester following them to Bern? By the fear of what desperation might drive him to next?
No, she mustn’t act in haste. For both their sakes, she must know the door to the past was firmly barred and the door to her future clearly marked by Providence. “Mr. Kingsley—”
