Page 65 of A Stormy Season

Penelope was hurrying her past him toward the stairs. “Henry is here,” Penelope said, by way of explaining Luke’s presence.

“I am well,” Jane said, seeing that Luke was still staring at her. “Just a little wet.” She smiled at the understatement.

When they reached her room, where the servants had brought a tub and were still bringing hot water, Jane groaned inwardly at Luke seeing her like that. But there was nothing she could do about it now.

“We must get you warm and dry before you catch your death.” Penelope fussed over her as the maids set up a screen around the tub to give her the illusion of privacy.

“Don’t worry, Penelope. I never get deathly ill.”

As Jane soaked in the hot tub, she thought about what Catherine had said regarding Luke. Should she ask for Luke’s forgiveness? After all, she couldn’t really blame him for wanting to protect his son. Luke had wounded her pride but he hadn’t actually done anything wrong.

She sighed. Life could be so humbling.

Chapter Twenty

Luke said a silent prayer that Jane would not get sick from walking in the cold wind and rain.

Henry’s sister was a puzzle to him. She was strong-willed and spirited, independent and confident, but she was not like Anne, even though she had reminded him of Anne a few times. He saw now that she’d stirred up something inside him—pain, anguish over Anne and their relationship—but she was not to blame.

Perhaps he simply wasn’t ready to marry. If time healed all wounds, he had not had enough of it yet, obviously.

“Luke? Did you hear me?” Henry interrupted his thoughts.

“Forgive me. My mind was wandering.”

“I asked if you had had time to search your townhouse.”

“I searched a bit. But Lenoir’s men have also searched it, as you know. I even learned this morning that they had ransacked Camille’s—Anne’s friend’s—home.”

“Camille Dupre?”

“Yes. Do you know her?”

“I am acquainted with her. Is she not an associate of Lenoir’s?”

“I believe she used to be his paramour, but she had fallen out of favor with him. Apparently she was so frightened that she has left England as of this morning. My servant told me of it.”

“The servant who had been Anne’s confidante?”

“Yes. But now that Camille has flown, what do you think of me sending that servant away? I do not trust the woman.”

Henry seemed to consider the matter a moment, then said, “Yes, if you do not trust her, send her away. But first . . . have you asked her where Anne may have hidden that important paper?”

“I asked her. But I’m not sure she would tell me even if she knew.”

“Then send her away. She is of no use to us, and we can follow her and see where she goes, where she finds employment next.”

Luke nodded. “And I will search the house again—and try to think where else Anne may have hidden the paper.”

“If it indeed exists,” Henry said with a grim expression. “The man could have lied simply to keep his fingers and toes.”

“I could pay him another visit, accuse him of lying and say we would take those fingers after all. That might jog his memory.”

“I like your enthusiasm in pursuit of the truth. But perhaps we should use that as a last resort.”

Luke realized he and Henry were both smiling. He also realized that, although he might still be feeling the pain and shock of what had happened with Anne and her nefarious activities, he was actually, in some way relieved. He felt a bit guilty to admit it, even to himself, but he’d been so distraught when she was alive, trying to figure out what to do, how to change her behavior, that now that she was gone . . .

Was he some kind of monster to feel relieved?