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CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
Their carriage rumbled down the road in the filtered sunlight of the early morning as Clara stared listlessly out the window.
The letter had held the exact contents she’d feared. Her mother’s illness had taken a turn for the worse. Her father wished for her and her brother to return home immediately. They’d needed the afternoon to prepare, but they’d loaded their goods into the carriage and set out driving through the night.
Wyatt and Priscilla had decided to leave with them and they rode in the carriage behind Clara and Marcus.
And Ralph…he’d come too.
But he did not ride with Wyatt, as Clara had assumed he would, but with her and Marcus. She’d given her brother several questioning glances, but her brother had done an admirable job of avoiding her gaze.
Why would Ralph be riding in her family carriage when his family was just behind?
Much as she tried not to ask...several other questions, at least mentally, flitted through her thoughts. Had he finished his investigation so that he could leave with them? What had he wished to know about Kinross that he’d been investigating his death, and why had he lied to Clara?
Why hadn’t she asked these questions yesterday? Because her mind had been muddled and…she’d been afraid of the answers.
But he had given her one rejoinder, and every time she thought about his assertion that he did care for her, her breath caught.
Did he mean it? Did he still feel that way after she’d emptied the contents of her stomach onto his coat?
Did she still want him after the way he’d lied to her? And even if she did, what would her parents think of her choice?
She shook her head. How wretched.
“Try to get some sleep,” Marcus murmured. “You had a rough day yesterday and we’re not stopping tonight. We’ll ride through again and reach London in the morning.”
She gave a quick nod, though dread knotted her stomach. She was sleeping in a carriage with her brother and Ralph? She’d not slept a wink last night and exhaustion already pulled at her limbs. “I’ll be glad to reach mother’s side as quickly as possible.”
Marcus gave her a small, closed-mouth smile. “Me too.”
Her hand pressed to her stomach. “Tell me again what the letter said.”
“Just that her condition had worsened, and we were needed at home.”
“Do you think we’re too late?” Clara whispered, tears pricking at her eyes again.
Marcus shook his head. “I honestly don’t know.”
Her gaze returned to the window, her gloved fingers lifting the curtain. “Why is Mister Fitzroy with us?”
Silence met this question and she looked back first at Marcus and then at Ralph where they sat side by side, hands folded in their laps. So that’s how it was. They’d united in silence.
She didn’t wish to be kept in the dark today. “Did you complete your investigation?”
“No,” Ralph answered, his liquid brown eyes meeting hers. “This is more important.”
Her mouth opened and then closed again, aware that those words melted away some of her anger. “This is more important to you?”
“I promised you yesterday, and besides…” He shrugged. “I heard what you said on the journey to Kinross’s funeral about your mother. I’ll see you safely home.”
There was something in the way he’d murmured safely that made her blink. Safe? She’d been slow to catch everyone’s true intentions, but her hand climbed up to her throat. “Are you worried about our safety?”
Ralph moved off his seat, filling the entire carriage for a moment before he came to sit next to her. He didn’t reach for her hand but his arm brushed hers in a way that felt comforting. She released a long breath at the touch. What did Marcus think of the man sitting next to her? She’d been sent to bed for most of the afternoon yesterday, and certainly several conversations had been had without her. Like Ralph joining their carriage—what else had her brother learned?
Did he know that Ralph had kissed her? Did Marcus understand the particulars of the investigation Ralph was conducting? Or had been conducting.
“Mister Fitzroy is riding with us as a precaution.” Her brother scrubbed his neck. “The highwaymen and all that.”
