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I pressed my hands against his chest and shoved, needing more space and clear air between us. He smelled faintly of both spice and tang, and I fought the curiosity bubbling to identify the smells further and give them a name, pushing against his sturdy chest. But the man didn’t budge. He was constructed of a heavier substance than I’d expected and was difficult to move for such a lanky man. I shoved again, and he lifted an eyebrow.
“You’re trying to remove me?” he asked softly—far too quietly for the intimate situation in which we found ourselves. His voice was hoarse, gravelly with sleep. He rolled to the side and got to his feet. Amusement tipped his mouth into a soft smile, and I forced myself not to notice the perfect symmetry in his bent lips.Of coursethey were perfectly symmetrical. The only thing about Benedict that was not perfect was his personality.
“I assumed you needed assistance, since you’d yet to do it yourself,” I said, struggling to speak normally under the weight of his attention.
“You mean to say that you did not appreciate my fall? I could feel the rapid beating of your heart, Thea, so there is no bother denying your true feelings.”
A heart that had yet to fully calm itself. “You are mistaken, sir. It was not excitement that sped my pulse, but the fear that your enormity would crush me before I could ever taste Cook’s marzipan again.”
Uncertainty flashed in his eyes. “Did I hurt you?”
“No.”
Benedict regarded me for another long moment before offering me his hand. He stood above me in nothing but his breeches and shirtsleeves, a shadow of growth over his jaw and his curly hair in disarray. My stomach tightened, and I noted how unfair it was that my attraction to him could not die as swiftly as my regard for him had all those years ago.
Ignoring his outstretched hand, I pushed myself up and turned away, busying myself with gathering the blankets from the floor and folding them neatly. I pressed a hand to my chest, ensuring that the ring was still there, still attached to the string around my neck, feeling the warm metal press into my skin with relief.
Benedict and I worked quietly in the tiny room to prepare for our departure, and I studiously avoided watching him shave in the small mirror or dress for the day. Never had a braid taken such concentrated zeal, but I managed to direct all my attention to the task of putting my hair up and tying my ill-fitting shoes.
“We will pass through York today. If there is anything you left behind at your school, we can stop to retrieve it.”
“Oh, can we?” I tempered my surprise. I’d left my trunk behind with the request that Mrs. Moulton store it until I returned for my things, but I hadn’t yet found a permanent situation and feared that sending for my trunk would also alert the Bradwell family to my location. Now that they knew, I had no reason not to retrieve it. “That would be good.”
Benedict held the door open, and I gestured for him to precede me. “After you, gov,” I said, lowering my accent as best I could. It was wiser to put myself in a servant’s frame of mind now so I would not slip up and reveal myself when we were in front of others.
He shook his head softly but stepped into the corridor, and I followed him, carrying my valise and his bag.
* * *
Mrs. Moulton’s school had not been a place of unhappy memories. Indeed, I had enjoyed the years I spent there and the woman who directed my learning. When the red brick building came into view, three levels of even windows and a gabled roof above, my heart did a leap.
“I do not think I will have any trouble retrieving your trunk,” Benedict said, watching me. “I’m on familiar terms with Mrs. Moulton now, and I will tell her you are en route to Chelton and have requested that your things be directed there.”
I tore my gaze from the bedroom window that had belonged to me for three years. “Mrs. Moulton will believe you have traveled to retrieve it out of the goodness of your heart? Is that not rather unlikely?”
He ignored my slight. “No. I will mention I was passing through and sought to save our servants a trip.”
“Much more believable.”
Benedict’s lips flattened. “I will return shortly.” He let himself from the carriage, and I sank against the squabs, watching from the shadows as he knocked at the front door and was subsequently let inside. I waited in front of the school for what felt like ages, but was probably closer to a quarter of an hour, before Benedict reappeared behind a pair of servants carrying my trunk. My heart squeezed at the familiar sight of my one constant companion—the leather luggage that had traveled with me while my father was the ambassador in Sweden, to our trips to Vienna, Brussels, and Denmark, then back to England upon my parents’ deaths. It had been easier to leave school and seek a position without being forced to lug the thing around, but I was relieved to have it returned to me.
Benedict reentered the carriage a little time later, and we set off toward Cumberland again.
“How does Mrs. Moulton appear to be faring?” I asked, breaking the tense silence.
His blue eyes cut to me. “I was unable to ask after her wellbeing. She was managing a dispute between two younger girls, so she was a little preoccupied. She requested I send her regards to my mother, but that was the extent of our conversation.”
I nodded.
“Oh,” he said, as though he remembered something. “Mrs. Moulton had been holding some letters for you. She asked me to tuck them into your trunk, so I held onto them.”
“They are likely from your mother,” I said. There was no one else who would write to me. I had not formed any relationships with the girls at school deep enough to warrant a correspondence, and both of my parents had died within a year of each other long before I came to school here. I had no siblings, no other family except my uncle. But he’d turned me away when I arrived in England, and his man of business corresponded with me in regard to my finances. There was nothinghewould wish to write to me about.
I took the stack from Benedict and sifted away the two on top—both from Lady Edith—and a third from Lady Claverley. The final letter puzzled me, for I did not recognize the hand, and there was no direction. I slid my thumb beneath the seal and broke it open, unfolding the thick paper and scanning the words.
Miss Northcott—
I would not typically stoop so low as to write to you, but I am desperate for information about your whereabouts and safety. Those I’ve spoken to refuse to give me a clear answer about where you are, and I cannot help but feel deep within my heart that you are in great peril. Please, heal a miserable man from his anxiety and tell me where you are and that you are safe. I would like nothing better than to call on you. I remain in London at the house in Mayfair, where you can reach me.
