“I’ll send men, not callow youths, to watch over your dig,” Rafe promised. “And I’ll monitor things myself as much as I can.”
“But what if there is danger?”
He offered a grim smile in reply.
I had forgotten that a hardened soldier, even a wounded one, still had fight left within him.
Then a long breath escaped him. “I wish that was all I had to share with you. I wrote a colleague of mine, one with connections to the Navy. It appears your brother is gravely ill.”
Rafe’s words hit me with the force of a blow.Daniel, gravely ill.My mind raced, the room spinning as I processed the news.
“Can we not free him?” I managed to whisper, though my heart was already sinking.
Father struggled to rise from the settee, his face as pale as parchment. His movements were slow, his hand gripping the mantel for support. “My poor son. I must go to him at once and procure aphysician,” he murmured, his voice cracking under the weight of emotion.
I felt the pull of duty toward my brother—the desperate urge to rush to his side, to do something, anything to help him. Yet the urgency of the mosaic tugged at me, refusing to let go. Could I abandon the work that could bring much-needed funding and stability? The two burdens warred within me, twisting my emotions into knots.
Rafe’s voice broke through my turmoil. “You will not be granted entrance into that hulk even if Daniel languishes,” he said gently, his expression stricken. “I’m afraid all we can do is wait for further news. I’m truly sorry.”
The apology hung in the air, heavy with regret. He stood to match me, rising from the low settee, and I caught the brief flicker of discomfort that crossed his face as he steadied himself. His leg must still ache from his injury, yet he never complained.
Instinctively, my hand reached out, as though I could offer him the support he had so freely promised me. But just before our fingers could touch, I hesitated, drawing back. The moment between us lingered—charged with concern and something deeper, something unspoken. His presence so close to mine, his breath warm against my forehead, stirred an unsettling sensation within me.
His height loomed over me, the stark mismatch between us all the more evident in that moment of proximity. I let my gaze drift over his features—the crooked nose, the set jaw, the dark eyes that seemed to bore into mine with tenderness I hadn’t expected.
Rafe cleared his throat, and I pulled back, my knees weakening the longer I stood near him.
“Vicar, I will do everything within my power to assist you and Miss Littleton,” he said, his tone measured but sincere. He glanced toward me as he spoke, and I couldn’t help but feel that promise extended far beyond words.
Father thanked him, and I walked with Rafe to the door. As he paused, his hand resting on the handle, his gaze softened.
“I will do what I can for your brother,” he repeated, his voice quiet.
Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them back. Despite the destruction of the orchard and Mr. Talbot’s visit, Rafe had remembered Daniel and sought to help.
“Thank you, Rafe,” I whispered, catching my mistake as his dark eyes flared. “L-Lord Hawthorn, I mean. Forgive me—”
“No,” he interrupted, his voice holding a note of surprise. “I much prefer the former. If you’re willing... Bridget.”
He said my name almost like a caress, and I felt the flutter of something dangerously close to yearning. But his next words rooted me in reality.
“Promise me you’ll call for me if trouble arises? Please, do not take matters into your own hands, no matter how capable you are. I won’t see you come to any harm.”
A calm settled over me at his promise. No one, other than my mother, had ever watched over me. Not Father, who needed more care than he could give, and not Daniel, whose reckless choices had led to his imprisonment. I had always been the one watching out for others. And yet, here was Rafe, promising to look after me.
My mouth must have moved of its own accord, forming words I wasn’t entirely conscious of. After Rafe bid me farewell, I resumed my pacing, feeling trapped between the weight of Daniel’s fate and the looming disaster of the theft. The mosaic work needed my attention, but how could I think of that when my brother lay ill?
I halted near the window, watching as Rafe mounted his horse. How capable he seemed, how determined. He had suffered losses, yet he remained formidable—strong in ways I admired. Could I really live my life alone, facing these battles without someone by my side?
“Whatever are you staring out the window for, Bridget? You won’t spy any thieves during this hour of the day,” Father protested as he stepped away from the fireplace.
A thrill rippled through me when the horse and master galloped away. Never had Father and I needed an ally so much as in this moment.
Father joined me at the window to see what I was staring at. He pushed again on his spectacles. “Oh.”
26:Bridget
Prosperity is a restless thing; it drives itself to distraction. It addles the brain, and not always in the same way, for it goads people in different directions—some toward power, others toward self-indulgence.
