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“But she did, and we will watch her. All will be well,” Andrew said, infusing his words with meaning.
“Andrew, have you looked at Charles’s hand yet?” Amelia asked. “He’s hurt it.”
Andrew looked up, confused. Drat. Charles hadn’t told his friend the extent of his injury. He’d been too eager to return Howard to Falbrooke.
“No,” Andrew said, turning accusing eyes on Charles. “You told me it hadn’t hurt. I took that to mean that you weren’t injured.”
Charles shrugged. “It will heal.”
Mrs. Halpert sucked in a breath. “Gracious, Mr. Fremont. That does not look good.”
Andrew rose, crossing to Charles and bringing his hand closer to the fire to see it better. He was careful, but still, his prodding fingers sent a bolt of pain up Charles’s hand, and he jerked on impact. Andrew cast him a mildly disapproving look. “Nothing looks broken, but this inflammation does not bode well. I shall have to keep watch on it.”
Amelia took a seat near Mrs. Halpert, leaning close to look at the babe. She glanced up and sent Charles a small, warm smile that made his stomach flip over with anticipation. Kissing Amelia had felt like a hot cup of tea on a brisk day—soothing, warming, and full of flavor.
“When you hit the man, was your thumb—”
“You did what?” Amelia asked, her mouth falling open. “Good heavens, I think you need to explain what happened on the Tuckers’ property.”
Charles stepped around the bed to lean against the wall opposite Amelia, while Andrew took the seat beside his sister. “We found the horses in a barn on their land and nearly made a clean escape, but James Tucker and Paul Harris”—he paused when Amelia looked confused—“Oh, you know him. The blond man with the scar on his eyebrow from Melbury. He played cricket. Well, they were arguing in the front garden and caught sight of us leaving. They chased us down, but we managed to get off the Tucker property before they could waylay us.”
“But your hand,” Amelia said.
He rubbed the back of his neck with his good hand. “Paul Harris ran me down. He tried to take the horses back, and I stopped him.”
“With a swift uppercut to the jaw. Could have broken your fingers,” Andrew cut in, facing his sister. “He was a hero.”
“But that’s just it,” Charles continued, ignoring his friend’s remark. “This man—this Paul Harris—has been causing all sorts of trouble. When Andrew confronted James Tucker, he tried to peg everything on the Melbury man. Rigging the cricket, persuading Jolly to run the betting from his inn, even organizing the horse-thieving. He was the brain of the operation. Evidently, he owes a bloke in Plymouth a lot of blunt, and he roped James Tucker into it all.”
“What of Tim Tucker?” Amelia asked.
Charles shrugged. “James claimed that Tim’s innocent. Knew about it the whole time but wanted nothing to do with it.”
“Wise man,” Mrs. Halpert muttered.
“What did James have to gain?”
“A cut of the profits,” Andrew said. “Same reason why Jolly wouldn’t give us information. They promised him a cut, too.”
“Blasted Jolly,” Amelia muttered, putting a smile on Charles’s face.
“What will happen to them?” Mrs. Halpert asked.
Andrew’s voice softened. “We aren’t sure. Boyle promised to see it through to the end and keep us informed. Sir Percival is a fair magistrate. I have faith that he will see justice done.”
The room was quiet as the women seemed to absorb this information. A soft mewling broke the silence, and each head turned to look at the bundle in Mrs. Halpert’s arms as her tiny little arms flung about and stretched.
“I should go,” Charles said, pushing off from the wall.
Andrew stood. “I will see you out.”
Nodding, Charles bowed to the women. “Goodnight, Mrs. Halpert. Mrs. Fawn.” He was inordinately excited for the moment he would be able to call her Mrs. Fremont. Hopefully in the not-so-distant future.
Standing, Amelia crossed toward him. “Before you go…” She took his good hand in hers and turned to her brother. “We have some news.”
Andrew’s eyes widened momentarily, looking down at their clasped hands.
“Charles has asked me to marry him, and I have agreed to do so.”
