Anthony squinted in the afternoon sunshine. “All is well, I trust?”
Ames scoffed and tipped his hat lower. “Yes.”
“Any updates?”
Ames paused to adjust the glove on his hand. “The magistrate was by early this morning. He’s heard from Leeds, and the transport will be coming to collect both Timmons and Rebecca tomorrow.”
His stomach lurched at the thought. It would take him some time to come to peace with this news of Timmons. But Timmons was a grown man who had made his own choices. He would have to face the consequences. “Did you have any inkling at all that Walstead was involved in this?”
Ames shook his head. “At first, no. But something was not right about that Broadstreet fellow, and Walstead was unusually involved in the assignment. Then, when I was riding back through the village on the way to Leeds with the letter, I encountered Walstead outside of the traveling inn, and in that moment I knew he was involved. So I abandoned the plan and went straight for the magistrate and drummed up all the help I could. Looking back, I suppose I should have been suspicious. But Walstead always was an intense man. One could hardly tell what was normal for him and what was not.”
“Do you know how exactly Broadstreet fit into the scheme?”
Ames nodded. “Apparently both Timmons and Broadstreet were involved with the King’s Prize from the very beginning. Prior hired the both of them to make sure that the emeralds never made it back to Leeds so Prior wouldn’t have to pay his workmen. Something about work at a place called Swendel Bay.”
Anthony stiffened at the familiar name. “Swendel Bay?”
“Aye.”
Anthony thought back to their conversation after the dirty workmen had confronted him with a message for Walstead outside the pub. Timmons had clearly stated he was with the Raunten Bay assignment. It must have been the first of many deceptions.
Ames continued. “The relationship between Roland Prior and Walstead soured when Prior was falling behind on payments for services rendered by Walstead. When Prior died, he still owed Walstead a lot of money, since most of their transactions had been conducted with a gentleman’s agreement and had no formal paperwork or documentation. Walstead knew Prior was likely still in possession of the King’s Prize, so he started to search for it.
“Since Timmons knew of the King’s Prize from the time they stole it from the mill workers, Walstead tasked him with the job of finding out if Mrs. Prior knew anything about it. Timmons wooed the lady’s maid until he learned what he needed. Once they were certain who had the King’s Prize, the three of them planned the kidnapping for a ransom situation. Timmons and Rebecca abducted the baby, and Broadstreet rode to Leeds to inform Walstead that the act was happening. That is why Walstead was already in the area at the time of the abduction.”
The facts raced through Anthony’s mind. They sickened him. Frustrated him. Embarrassed him—because he should have foreseen it. “Are you returning to Leeds when this is over?”
“No. From what I’m told, the details are coming to light, and it is causing quite a stir. Men in our profession have unique reputations as it is. This is going to make them worse.” Ames shifted. “And you? From what I see you seem to have found your place here. I can’t imagine you’ll be leaving anytime soon.”
Anthony chuckled and looked out to the moors—to the vast expanse that he had at one point been so eager to escape for something grander. But now, as he took in the wavy grass and rocky mounds, he felt as if he’d finally found freedom. He drew a deep breath of the earthy air, and a deep sense of gratitude settled over him. “You’re right. This is now my home.”
Chapter 45
A few days later the gloomy clouds parted at last, and the gray morning had given way to a bright bit of sunshine as Anthony waited for Charlotte to emerge from Hollythorne House. A month ago, he never could have predicted how significantly his life would change—he’d been challenged and betrayed. But from a bewildering situation, such clarity and beauty had emerged, and he now stood on the precipice of a different life. And it infused him with optimism.
After days of being inside and resting his shoulder and arm, he was eager to be out of doors. When Charlotte joined him, they would ride out to the mill. He’d not had the opportunity to visit it until now, for his responsibility and attention had been here at Hollythorne House. But Ames had the grounds under control, and Anthony could feel comfortable leaving. What was more, he had no choice but to take up residence in the mill house, for it would be weeks before he and Charlotte could marry. Banns were required to be read and a great many things needed to be settled. He was her fiancé, and as such, he could not reside under the same roof as her, regardless of whether he was injured or not. He would not compromise her reputation with her tenants.
At length Charlotte joined him in the back courtyard, and his breath caught at the sight of her approaching. Her expression was bright in the morning glow, and her cheeks were vibrant with the chill of the air. She was every bit as captivating as he remembered from that summer four years ago—if not more so. He’d always known her to be confident and outspoken, but he’d witnessed a different side of her over the past month—the side that confronted injustice and would stop at nothing to protect those she loved. It was an attractive quality—one he respected perhaps more than any other.
She smiled brightly as she approached and called, “Are you ready?”
His breathing slowed as she drew nearer. Charlotte had been clad in severe black and dark hues of browns and grays almost every day since they arrived at Hollythorne House, but now she was in a riding habit of pale green wool, with ivory flowers and vines embroidered along the hem and on her sleeves. An ivory satin ribbon was woven in her hair and beneath her bonnet, and for the first time, a shade of pink was returning to her cheeks. Gone were the dark circles beneath her eyes, and her warm hazel gaze enticed him and invited him to share her secrets and her heart.
The sight—the powerful allure of her—made him almost forget to respond to her question.
He whispered, “You are beautiful.”
An even prettier flush rose to her cheeks. “I-I thought it only appropriate that if we are to build a new life together, we should start over. I can’t abide black. Not anymore.”
“I wholeheartedly agree.” He longed to reach out and take her hand, but he refrained. They would be married, but people were still milling about. In the last few days a new housekeeper had been hired, along with a groom and a stable master and two maids. Workmen were finishing repairs to the roof, and glaziers were busy tending broken windows. Discretion was still key, regardless of what they had recently endured.
He pivoted to hand her the horse’s reins, and he winced when a sharp pain jolted through his shoulder.
Her brows furrowed in a sympathetic arch. “You’re in pain, aren’t you?”
He grinned reassuringly. “No.”
“You’re lying. I saw the wound myself. There is no way you are not still in pain.”
He sobered. When she saw the wound she undoubtedly saw the other wounds too—the hastily repaired ones that, even though healed, were far more physically altering than a bullet wound. He was not embarrassed by the unseemly scars, but they were like a window into his past—into the dark things he had done, seen, and survived. As a result, he relived them every time he saw the grisly marks. He did not want her to think the same.