She waited.
“I don’t know how to express myself. What I feel.” He looked down at her and smiled faintly. “And that is very unusual for me, as you know by now. I can only say that I am glad that I’ve met you, Lucy Craddock-Hayes.”
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. “And I, you.”
He took her hand and gently uncurled her fingers so that her palm lay cupped between his own like a flower nestled among leaves. “I will remember you all the days of my life,” he murmured so low she almost didn’t hear. “And I am not sure whether that is a blessing or a curse.” He bent over their hands, and she felt the warm brush of his lips against her cold palm.
She looked down at the back of his head, and one of her tears fell to his hair.
He straightened. Without looking at her, he said, “Good-bye.” And walked away.
Lucy sobbed once and then she had herself contained. She remained in the garden until she could no longer hear the departing carriage wheels.
SIMON CLIMBED INTO HIS CARRIAGE and settled into the red leather squabs. He rapped on the roof, then leaned back so he could watch the Craddock-Hayes house recede out the window. He couldn’t see Lucy—she’d remained in the garden, still as an alabaster statue when he left—but the house could be her surrogate. They jolted forward.
“I can’t believe you stayed in this country village as long as you did.” Christian sighed across from him. “I would’ve thought you’d’ve found it terribly boring. What did you do all day? Read?”
John Coachman whipped the horses to a trot down the drive. The carriage swayed. Henry, sharing the seat with Christian, cleared his throat and cast his gaze to the ceiling.
Christian glanced at him uneasily. “’Course, the Craddock-Hayeses were very hospitable and all that. Good people. Miss Craddock-Hayes was nicely solicitous of me during those ghastly dinners. I fancy she thought she was protecting me from her father, the old blowhard. Very kind. She’ll make a good vicar’s wife when she marries that fellow Penweeble.”
Simon almost winced, but he caught himself in time. Or thought he did. Henry cleared his throat so loudly that Simon feared he’d dislodge some vital organ.
“What’s the matter with you, man?” Christian frowned at the valet. “Have you got some kind of catarrh? You sound like my father in one of his more disapproving moods.”
The house was a toy now, a small, bucolic spot surrounded by the oaks of the drive.
“My health is quite all right, sir,” Henry said frostily. “Thank you for inquiring. Have you thought of what you will do on your return to London, Lord Iddesleigh?”
“Mmm.” They’d rounded a curve, and he could no longer see the house. He peered for a moment more, but that chapter of his life was gone. She was gone. Best forgotten, really, all of it.
If he could.
“He’ll probably want to do the rounds,” Christian nattered on blithely. “Catch up on the gossip at Angelo’s and the gambling dens and the soiled doves at the more notorious houses.”
Simon straightened and closed the window shade. “Actually, I’m going on a hunt. I’ll have my nose to the ground, ears flapping, an eager bloodhound racing to find my attackers.”
“But wasn’t it footpads?” Christian looked puzzled. “I mean, pretty hard to do, track down a couple of lowlifes in London. The city’s full of them.”
“I have a fairly good idea who they are.” Simon rubbed his right index finger with the opposite hand. “In fact, I’m almost sure I’ve already made their acquaintance. Or at least the acquaintance of their masters.”
“Really.” Christian stared, perhaps realizing for the first time that he was missing something. “And what will you do when you have them cornered?”
“Why, call them out.” Simon bared his teeth. “Call them out and kill them.”
Chapter Seven
“. . . And I really do think the repairs to the roof over the vestry will last this time. Thomas Jones assured me that he’ll do the work himself instead of letting one of his lads bungle it.” Eustace paused in his dissertation on the church improvements to carefully guide the horse past a rut in the road.
“How nice,” Lucy interjected while she had time.
The sun was out as it had been the previous Tuesday. They drove into Maiden Hill on the road Eustace always took, past the bakery and the same two elderly ladies haggling with the baker. The ladies turned as they had the week before and waved. Nothing had changed. Simon Iddesleigh might never have landed so suddenly in her life only to fly away again.
Lucy felt a mad urge to scream.
“Yes, but I’m not that certain about the nave,” Eustace replied.
This was new to the catalogue of church problems. “What’s wrong with the nave?”
He frowned, lines etching themselves into his normally smooth brow. “The roof has begun to leak there as well. Not very much, only enough to stain the ceiling so far, but it will be harder to get to the damage because of the vaulting. I’m not sure even Tom’s eldest will enjoy that job. We may have to pay him extra.”
Lucy couldn’t help it. She threw back her head and laughed, silly peals that were overloud and seemed to echo in the bright winter air. Eustace half smiled in that embarrassed way one does when one isn’t quite sure of the joke. The two elderly ladies trotted across the green to see what the commotion was about, and the smith and his boy came out of his shop.
Lucy tried to calm herself. “I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t apologize.” Eustace glanced at her, his coffee-brown eyes shy. “I’m glad to hear your mirth. You don’t often laugh.”
Which only made her feel worse, of course.
Lucy closed her eyes. She suddenly realized that she should have cut this off ages ago. “Eustace—”
“I wanted—” He started talking at the same time as she, and their words collided. He stopped and smiled. “Please.” He indicated she should continue.
But Lucy felt awful now and not eager to start what would no doubt be an uncomfortable discussion. “No, I beg your pardon. What did you mean to say?”
He took a breath, his wide chest expanding under the coarse brown wool of his coat. “I have wanted to speak to you about an important matter for some time now.” He turned the carriage behind the church, and suddenly they were secluded.
Lucy had a terrible premonition. “I think—”