“Don’t do that,” Anthony growled. “Don’t you dare speak as if I’ve had anything handed to me. We’ve been in the same situation; we only reacted differently.”
“Except you are whole,” Timmons shot back, his gaze firm and accusatory. “You have your hand.”
Anthony would not argue details. He straightened his shoulders. He’d said what needed to be said. He knew better than to expect an apology, so instead, he fixed his eyes on his friend for what could very well be the last time. “I came to bid you farewell, Timmons. And to wish you luck. I hope you are able to find whatever it is you are so desperately seeking.”
Anthony did not wait for a response before he turned on the heel of his boot and exited the cramped stone gaol. He nodded at the constable as he stepped through the door and into the bright Yorkshire sunshine.
He would always look back on Timmons’s participation in this with a tinge of bitterness, but he could not control the man’s actions any more than he could have anticipated Walstead’s. As Anthony mounted his horse and headed back toward Hollythorne House, he focused on what he could control—and he would spend every day making sure he made the right decisions.
Chapter 47
Charlotte should not be so nervous to see Silas Prior again. Yet a thread of uneasiness wound its way around her.
He’d sent word that he would arrive this morning. The King’s Prize belonged to Roland’s estate, and as the executor, Silas would collect the King’s Prize and ensure it was sold and that the proceeds were applied appropriately to Roland’s debts.
The events of the past month flew past her in unbelievable detail. Despite the horror they’d endured, every moment, every shocking experience had led to the point where they were now: Henry was safe. Slowly but surely, Hollythorne House was becoming whole and welcoming again, and she and Anthony would be married. Freeing themselves from the King’s Prize was the last step to freedom.
She glanced up from stoking the fire as Anthony entered.
How handsome he looked. His dark hair was combed back away from his face and curled over his tailcoat’s high collar. A bright white cravat was tied neatly at his neck, and his high-topped boots had been recently polished.
But these were not the things that caught her attention.
She smiled and turned as he stepped farther in the room, relishing his scent of sandalwood and soap. “You’ve shaved!”
He chuckled and ran his hand over his jaw. “I figured it was time. You don’t find the scar too unsightly?”
Charlotte lifted her hand to his face and stroked his smooth cheek and jaw. How could anything about him ever be unsightly to her, when he alone was such a tremendous part of not just her past but her future? She let her fingers drift to his hair and trailed them through it. She fixed her eyes on his—intently, intimately, and shook her head. “No. Not at all.”
He wrapped his strong arms about her waist and leaned in to kiss her, but noise in the courtyard interrupted them, and she stepped back, quickly reestablishing an appropriate distance and remembering the purpose of the visit.
Outside the window, Silas’s carriage, surrounded by several guards, approached in obvious preparation to transport the jewels.
“Do you have them?” she asked, whirling back to Anthony.
He patted his pocket. “Ready?”
She nodded and turned back to the window to see Silas exiting the carriage. She was struck anew by how much the brothers resembled each other. From this distance the man could easily be mistaken for Roland—like a ghost from the grave.
But he was not Roland.
And soon that part of her life would be done, and the new one would begin.
Even so, she braced herself. Conversations with Silas were never easy.
The moorland wind caught the wool folds of Silas’s caped greatcoat, billowing out behind him as he approached the main entrance. At one time the confidence and the intention in his movements would have caused her to buckle under the strength of his presence.
But now she had seen too much.
Yes, she still was fully aware of his power, but Roland’s estate had dwindled. And the last few weeks had taught her she was capable of so much more than she had thought. She was capable of managing Hollythorne House. She could raise Henry here. She could keep calm and make decisions. And she could stand up to Silas Prior.
She met Silas at the door to the screens passage and opened it.
“Ah,” he said with no other greeting as he swept into the great hall, the day’s chill and dampness still clinging to him. He doffed his hat from his head, his white-blond hair disheveled and his complexion ruddy from the cold. “No longer in mourning, I see.”
“Good day, Silas.” She ignored the comment about her gown.
“You know why I am here,” he stated as his face formed with hard lines and he fixed his gaze on Anthony. “We’ve a great deal to discuss. Alone.”
“No, Silas,” she countered. “Mr. Welbourne will stay.”
“The devil he will.”
“Mr. Welbourne saved Henry from the kidnappers. Do not forget it. He will stay.” Charlotte took a step forward, summoning her courage. For as much as she did not care for Silas Prior, he needed to know. “Anthony and I are to be married, Silas.”
His expression did not change at the news, and his response came out almost in a hiss. “You’re a fool then. And you.” He shifted his attention to Anthony. “How dare you take advantage of a situation.”
Charlotte did not give Anthony the chance to respond. “He is taking advantage of nothing. I am in full control of my life now. And after how you insisted that the Walstead Watchmen come and live with me on my property, you hardly have the right to have an opinion on how things have transpired.”
Silas’s face reddened, but his voice remained alarmingly low. “How dare you disrespect Roland in this manner.”
“How dare I disrespect Roland?” she shot back. “Roland was intolerably cruel, and I dare you to say otherwise, for you bore witness to it. I will not live in the shadow of a man who cared so little for me. I will be happy and productive with the rest of my days, and my decisions will forever be my own from this time forward.”
His gaze narrowed. “When you marry you will receive not a single penny from Roland’s will.”
“I don’t need it, nor do I want it,” she countered. “Besides, Mr. Walstead told me that the estate is in dire straits. I cannot speak to Henry’s inheritance, but I expect nothing more from Roland’s estate. In fact, it is time to give you this.”
Anthony handed her the pouch, and she stepped past Anthony until she was quite close to Silas. “The King’s Prize. It belonged to Roland. Do what you need to do with it to set things right with Roland’s estate and settle the necessary debts. From what I understand, once that is done there will be little left of an inheritance for Henry.”
Silas snatched the pouch and looked inside.
“As for Henry,” she continued, “he will continue to live here at Hollythorne House. Permanently.”
Silas’s tone remained hardened, but he was losing his argument—and his power over her. “He will still receive an inheritance from me, and he will need to know the business. What sort of mother would not want her son to be prepared for such things?”