“I ’ave to say, after my last job for a Prior, I thought this would be a bit more excitin’. That job was for Roland Prior though, not Silas Prior.”
Anthony’s ear pricked at the mention of Roland, and he took the opportunity to learn more. “I forgot that the Prior job was for Roland Prior and not his brother.”
“Aye. Roland Prior were purchasin’ some sort o’ machinery, very expensive, for t’ updates to t’ mills. Parts of it were comin’ from overseas, so ol’ Roland hired an escort to meet it at t’ dock in Plymouth t’ make sure it made it without any problems. Roland Prior and Mr. Walstead were both present on the assignment, so ye know it was of consequence.”
Anthony raised his brow. “Did you see what kind of machinery it was?”
“Nay. It was crated from t’ time it came off t’ ship ’til we carried it inside an outbuilding at Prior Mill.”
Anthony ignored the tinge of shame he felt for prodding information from Timmons without divulging the truth about why he wanted to know. But Timmons was not a discreet man, especially if ale were to become involved. Sharing that Charlotte was part of his past would only open her up to gossip.
Timmons pivoted. “So what o’ this change o’ plans?”
“Tomorrow Mrs. Prior’s maid needs to go to Leeds. You’ll escort her.”
Timmons leaned with his elbows on the stone wall. “What’s t’ purpose?”
“Not sure exactly. Mrs. Prior said it was personal. She’ll take the carriage. You’ll accompany it.”
Timmons laughed and adjusted his stance. “We could be goin’ to buy ribbons for all I care.”
“And while you’re in Leeds I’ll have you stop by the office. I’ve a letter for Mr. Walstead.” Anthony handed him the paper.
“And if ’e’s not in?” Timmons tucked the letter in his coat.
“Leave it for him. And, of course, you’ll want to change horses at Walstead’s stables.”
Timmons’s expression darkened, and a sharpness heightened his tone. “Good thing ye told me. Never would ’ave thought t’ change the ’orses on me own. But then again, you’re clever, aren’t ye? After all, Walstead made ye lead watchman.”
Anthony felt the full brunt of the sarcasm and masked a wince at the unexpected brashness of the tone. Of course Timmons would know to change the horses—everyone would have. Anthony regretted the careless statement. Timmons had always been sensitive about his rank in the organization. Whereas Anthony seemed to be gaining traction, Timmons was not.
Anthony would not argue with his friend over a trivial slip of the tongue and forced a chuckle. “Yes, and as lead watchman I’m telling you to be a gentleman with the lady’s maid.”
Timmons snorted and raised a brow. “I can’t promise t’ lady won’t fall for m’ charms, but I’ll fend ’er off if need be. No doubt it’ll prove the most interestin’ part of this assignment.”
They parted ways, and Timmons headed to the perimeter while Anthony settled to guard the house. Darkness fell quickly, and as he rounded the house toward the front courtyard, he looked up to the window in Charlotte’s chamber. The image of her holding her son flashed again in his mind’s eye.
He’d expected to be attracted to her—he had been since the moment he first glimpsed her. But the strength of his emotions and the direction his thoughts were taking had caught him off guard. His initial assumption upon seeing her again was that she was a grieving widow. As such it wouldn’t be appropriate to breathe life into any romantic thoughts of her. Yet the longer he was in her presence and the more he learned about the nuances of her situation, he realized he might be misconstruing the facts. Indeed, she was likely grieving, but she also seemed to be fighting for control.
It was possible that just maybe, if her heart had not been fully given to another as he’d assumed, there might be room for him once more.
He drew his hand over his face and rubbed the back of his neck as he looked out toward the moorland. Desolate. Turbulent. Untamed. A strange disappointment dripped over him.
He was not quite the same person he had been, but he had not died. He was still alive. And just as he fought to keep air in his lungs during the war, he would fight for Charlotte.
Chapter 16
Charlotte bolted upright in bed. Perspiration dampened her hairline. Her chest heaved.
The midnight blackness shrouded everything.
A nightmare.
Roland was there—in the recesses of her slumbering mind.
In these listless musings his death had not happened.
He was alive. And angry. And wanted Henry.
She pushed the curtained canopy away, leapt from her bed, and stumbled across the corridor to push open the nursery’s wooden door. Her eyes adjusted to the soft amber glow from the simmering fire, and she spied Henry, asleep in his cradle.
“Is everything alright, Mrs. Prior?”
Charlotte jumped at the voice and whirled. She’d all but forgotten about Rebecca, who’d been sleeping on a cot in the chamber’s corner. “I-I was only checking in on Henry.”
She turned back to observe Henry’s little chest rise and fall with each breath. He was here, in her ancestral home. Safe.
It had been a dream.
No, more than a dream.
She withdrew and returned to her own chamber’s east window, turned the handle, and pushed the window open to invite the raw wind to curl into the room.
She blamed her nerves, mostly, for conjuring such vile thoughts.
After all, Roland was dead.
She’d seen his body for herself.
Roland could not hurt her anymore. But Silas Prior could, and the words Roland hurled at her in the dream—an accusation and a threat—refused to be silent.
With the window still open she crawled back beneath her quilt and hoped the night sounds of the windswept moorland would calm her anxious thoughts, for despite the fact they were tucked away at Hollythorne House, she feared her worst nightmare was yet to come.
* * *
The next morning, Charlotte stood inside the screens passage as Sutcliffe donned her cloak in preparation to depart for Leeds. In her hand she clutched a satchel containing the pearls and ruby that Roland had given Charlotte.
“Are you certain you’re comfortable doing this?” Charlotte asked as Sutcliffe secured her cloak. “If you’re not, we can find another way.”
“Nonsense.” A smile brightened Sutcliffe’s round face. “I’m quite confident. I’ve done this before, remember? I’m not at all distressed about meeting with the jewelers.”
“I was referring to traveling alone,” Charlotte pitched her voice low to avoid being overheard, “with no one but Mr. Timmons to accompany you.”
Sutcliffe shook her head dismissively. “Don’t give it another thought. Tom will be driving the carriage. We’ll not be alone. I’ll be back with money before you know it. And what an adventure it will be! I’ll be traveling over the tempestuous moorlands in a lovely carriage transporting secret jewels with a mysterious watchman as my protector. What a story I will have to tell.”
Charlotte raised a brow at her friend’s enthusiasm and cast a glance through the open door toward Timmons and Anthony, who were checking the carriage horses. Her suspicion was that the lady’s maid was more interested in the watchman than the adventure, but her options were limited. If Charlotte thought there was a possibility of not being recognized, she would go herself. But with Silas’s colleagues and workers everywhere, being prudent was essential.