His eyes fixed on her, poignantly, as if she were the only person, the only thing that mattered.
“But how could this . . .” Her questions felt inadequate. “If this goes on, how do I . . . ?”
His thumb caressed her cheek. “I don’t know the answers. All I know is that I care very much about what happens to you. And you’ve come into my life for a reason. I know that as surely as I’ve ever known anything. And I think we should explore why.”
Could this feeling be trusted? Could he be trusted?
Cassandra had trusted before—Mrs. Denton, Frederick—and she’d been hurt. And now everyone seemed to be aware of her possible inheritance. Was that what he was attracted to? Had not Peter Clark insinuated that very thing?
Movement over his shoulder snagged her attention. There, in the study window overlooking the main drive, stood Mrs. Towler. Watching them.
He followed her gaze and looked over his shoulder to the house. His touch on her cheek grew rigid, and he dropped his hand to her shoulder. “You should go on inside now.” His hand fell from her shoulder completely.
Suddenly she felt very pathetic and inched backward. She looked back up at Mrs. Towler, feeling very much like the seventeen-year-old version of herself having just been discovered in compromising circumstances with Frederick.
In that moment Mrs. Denton’s words screamed loudly. “What have I told you? Emotions will cloud your judgment and weaken your ability to react rationally.”
She was doing exactly what she’d been warned against. Her emotions regarding Mr. Warrington were gaining dangerous power.
Her cheeks flamed. What a fool she’d been.
Chapter 35
James braced himself. He was outraged. He curled his fists at his sides as he stalked back to his study.
He respected his past with Elizabeth. He loved her; he always would. Her presence would always be felt with Rose. Maria. But he could not remain frozen in grief and in the past, not when new feelings were flourishing. His interest in Cassandra Hale was not wrong. It was a natural progression—one afforded by time. Attraction. Mutual trust. A desire for something more.
It didn’t matter that she was the governess. Not to him. Those onlookers would judge him for it, but what did he care? What did he have to lose?
The disparity in their stations was not as uncommon in his upbringing. He was from a humble place. This new world in which they existed—Elizabeth’s world—cared much more for those social strictures.
Now, as he approached the study, he was going to be called upon to defend his thoughts. His actions. To the woman who was closer to his late wife than anyone.
Mrs. Towler stood in his study, as expected, in her customary black gown and severely arranged silver hair. Her expression was pinched, but she was pale. She spoke before his foot even crossed the threshold. “I’m leaving Briarton Park at week’s end.”
He had been prepared to hear a lecture from her, but not this.
A strange guilt crept in, and he searched for words. “There’s a misunderstanding, I think, that—”
“No,” she snipped. “No misunderstanding. Things are abundantly clear.”
He cleared his throat. “Where will you go?”
“To my cousin in Devon. She will be happy to see me.”
“The girls will miss you,” he offered. “Have you told them yet?”
“No. But I think this is for the best. ’Tis past time.”
James suddenly felt shame, as if his actions had contributed to this departure. “Is this because of what you witnessed just now?”
“I already told you the day of that murder that I was leaving if Miss Hale was not removed as governess. But as for what I saw just now, did I not tell you this would happen? That she was looking to advance herself? At one time I did respect you. I thought you above such things, but I’m surprised at nothing anymore.”
She said nothing else but stormed past him, out to the corridor.
And he was alone.
Control was slipping. He felt it. The past as he knew it was falling further away, and something entirely new was taking its place, whether he was prepared for the transition or not.
He looked to the portrait of Elizabeth sitting atop his desk—where it had sat every day since they arrived here. How familiar the shape of her face was.
He ran his finger over the image lovingly, as if trying to recapture the feel of it.
But it was impossible—she was gone forever.
The pain, although still present, had dulled to an ever-present ache. He lifted the miniature closer. “I miss you. Everyone misses you,” he whispered. “Tell me what to do.”
Yes, he was torn, but deep down he knew she would not want sadness—not for him and certainly not for the girls.
He returned the portrait to its spot on his desk and stared out the window. The last bits of light were fighting their way through the gathered clouds, and he looked to where he had stood with Cassandra.
He and Elizabeth had talked about death. They’d always said if something happened to one of them that the other should marry again. And now, years after becoming a widower, he found his heart pulling in that very direction.
What was more, he believed that Miss Hale might return his regard.
So where did that leave everyone?
His heart was in dangerous territory, but it was not just his heart that he had to consider. He knew the truth. And he had to let her know where he stood.
* * *
It was late by the time James and Milton prepared to leave the Green Ox Inn. The day had been an unsettling one, with the interaction with Miss Hale and the talk with Mrs. Towler.
But it was not over yet.
Night had already fallen, and they’d just concluded their business with a handful of sheep farmers from the southern villages. The atmosphere at the Green Ox Inn was the same as it was every time James had been there—smoke from the broad fire hovered in the air, locals and travelers alike filled the tables, and rowdy, raucous laughter rang out. And yet, chatter of the supposed arrest was on everyone’s lips. But no one had concrete details—merely hearsay and rumors that became more elaborate with each telling.
He and Milton bid their farewells and were about to vacate their table and depart, just as Vincent North was entering.
James knew the man had designs on Miss Hale. Everyone knew it. Even so, he did not believe that she returned the regard—especially not after the moment they’d shared earlier in the evening.
But he was not ignorant.
She may not feel romantic affection toward North, but young women were often eager to marry. And no doubt Mr. North was considered a catch. His eagerness suggested he’d be ready with a proposal any minute. James was not at that point yet.
The very thought of actually offering a proposal startled him. Had his feelings really developed to that point?
Yet here he was—his thoughts never far from her as of late. She’d wrapped her way around every part of his life.
James had no right to stand in the way of her happiness, her security, especially when he was not prepared to act. But it did not mean he had to like it.
“Ah, Mr. Warrington. Mr. Milton.” North stepped next to them, just inside the door. “May I join you?”
James nodded toward the empty chair in response.
North placed his wide-brimmed hat on the table and reclined against the chair’s high back. “I was just out there earlier today to call on Miss Hale after I heard the news about the arrest. I’m sure you’ve heard, of course.”