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“Yes,” she said quietly.
“Shall I direct the coachman to stop?”
“No. We are almost home.”
“We can pause for just a moment though so you might breathe—”
“No,” she snapped. “We are nearly there.”
We rode the remainder of the way in silence, and when we reached the stone bridge that spanned the river in front of the house, Lady Edith groaned. I looked at her sharply, concerned to find her face had gone white.
“Stop the carriage!” I called, and we drew to an abrupt halt.
Lady Edith bent over the side of the conveyance and cast up her accounts. I remained motionless, hoping to grant her the privacy she undoubtedly desired, and noticed the servants facing away as well, unruffled. This must not be the first time they have found themselves in this situation.
Footsteps along the gravel road came toward us, and I looked up to see James and Benedict approaching, both in only their shirtsleeves, waistcoats, and pantaloons, and my stomach did a pleasant swoop. Benedict held a shovel, and James pulled a handkerchief from his waistline to dab at the sweat beading his forehead.
Lady Edith sat tall again, and I handed her the handkerchief from my reticule. She took it and dabbed at her brow, then mouth.
“Mother, are you unwell?” Benedict asked.
“I think I shall walk the remainder of the way,” she said weakly.
James quickened his step and offered her a hand, which she graciously took. I followed her down from the carriage. She gave the coachman a sweep of her hand, and he took off toward the house.
Lady Edith leaned heavily on James’s arm. “To think I had been considering going to York myself in search of Thea.” She laughed quietly, without mirth.
Benedict’s gaze snapped to her. “You needn’t go to the trouble.”
“Nay, I cannot go to the trouble. I can hardly make it from Bakewell to Chelton.”
“Put it from your mind, Mother,” James admonished.
“But you know that I cannot,” she said quietly, and my heart ached from the acute distress she was under. I understood feeling so helpless—wanting so badly to do something, but my body not permitting it. I wanted, more than anything, to have control over myself when dancing in public, but I could not manage my nerves regardless of how hard I tried.
It was much the same with Lady Edith and her carriage sickness. I understood her suffering.
Benedict remained quiet, watching the interaction with a deeply furrowed brow. When he caught my gaze, he smoothed his forehead and sent me a wink. “I nearly have your road completed, Felicity. That rut will no longer bother you.”
James cast me a glance. “I did not know you cared for the rut.”
“Henry mentioned that it nearly threw her from the curricle last week after church.”
James’s expression tightened. “That is more likely due to his driving than this rut.” He shifted his attention back to his mother. “Come. Let us get you home.”
James and Lady Edith walked ahead of us, and I fell into step beside Benedict. We walked past the rut, fresh dirt and rocks packed into where the scar on the road once ran. “Shall I walk you to the house?”
My lips curved. Now would be the perfect time to ask Benedict about the situation. “Don’t be silly. I can walk myself there perfectly fine. But I did hope to question you a little now that I’ve found you alone.”
He ran a hand through his curly hair. “Oh? What about?”
“The maids. Did you find anything missing from your drawers after they were searched?”
“I did not.”
“And the maids in question here—Molly and Janet—have you any history or discord with either of them?”
“Not much. Molly approached me once, but”—he looked away sheepishly—“I did not allow it to proceed.”
