A Dreadful Splendor (57)

The lack of affection in his voice did not go unnoticed, but the remark itself fit well with what I had gathered about Audra. Her room was decorated with patterns of flamboyant flowers. Maybe this winter rose meant nothing.

Picturing her list reminded me she that would never wear her beautiful wedding dress. It would hang in the back of her wardrobe, waiting for her eternally. I was beginning to understand the justice that Mr. Pemberton was trying to give her. And in a way, she was the very reason that Mr. Lockhart had saved me that night. I was in her debt, and yet I would never be able to thank her.

A windy gust rattled the large panes. Resigned to stay inside longer, we continued our walk until we came upon the fountain with the weeping angel. I sat on the edge and noticed a few coins at the bottom of the pool. Instinctively, my fingers started to reach forward. Only when I touched the water did I come to my senses and pull my hand back. Old habits.

Mr. Pemberton eased in beside me. “Have you seen the rest of the grounds beyond the gardens?” he asked.

I shook my head. I had no desire to explore the cliffs.

“I confess,” he started, “the stables are the only part of Somerset Park I’ve ever found attractive. I have little use for the sea.”

I couldn’t agree more. And it wasn’t lost on me that he hadn’t mentioned Audra among Somerset’s attractive qualities. I tried to ignore the tiny flame of hope igniting in my chest. It was reckless of me. And there was also, for the first time, a sense that I was being disloyal to Audra herself.

“You know, Miss Timmons,” he said. “We may be here for a while, so I would appreciate any attempt at conversation.”

“Yes, my lord,” I replied.

A rare burst of laughter escaped him. “Are you doing this on purpose? I already invited you to call me by my Christian name. And even some of the staff call you by your first name.”

I took in his smug expression. Here was my chance to learn a bit more about him. “Your scar is more noticeable when you laugh, Lord Chadwick.”

“Ha,” he said stiffly. Reaching up, he touched the spot under his jaw.

At once I felt foolish. “I hope it has a good story,” I said, disguising the reason for my interest. “I’ll be disappointed if there aren’t pirates involved.”

Looking down, he turned the gold ring. “Barnaby mentioned he’d told you the story of when he saved my life.”

“You lost control of the horse you were riding,” I confirmed. My cheeks burned with shame, hoping his friend hadn’t also told him about how I’d declared he should have been shot instead of the horse.

Mr. Pemberton nodded. “When my father ordered for the horse be put down, I felt a part of myself die as well. The innocence of childhood, possibly.” He was speaking to his shoes. I watched the muscles of his jaw tighten. “I declared I would never go near a horse again. But my father insisted and forced me to ride again that very next day. Afterward, I realized he was right. He said if I make my decisions based on fear, I will never live life as I was meant to. Fear leads us down the wrong paths, only to be met with misery.”

He took in a sharp breath. “To be sure I’d learned this lesson, he struck me. He was wearing this ring and the stone caught on my flesh.”

I could only imagine the force that would be required to leave such a mark.

“When he died, I inherited this ring, just like his father before him and many generations back. I did not wish to break tradition and refuse to wear it. But I had the stone removed.” There was something different in his voice, almost a quiet embarrassment. “You see, I already have a daily reminder of that legacy.” He smiled, and although it was weak, it was the first one I’d seen on him. It took me aback. “I’m afraid I possess no talent for inventing stories, Miss Timmons. I can only tell you the truth.”

I peered down at the ring again.

“I’ve never told anyone. Except, I suppose, now you.”

It felt like an unearned honor to be considered a confidant. I relished the compliment, until it occurred to me that he might have only shared this to earn my trust, so that I would be more likely to share my secrets in return. It was a technique I had often employed myself.

He must have been able to detect the conflict warring within me. When he spoke next, his tone was hesitant, uncharacteristically so. “I should be completely honest. Once I was aware of your police record, I gave your name to a well-trusted solicitor friend in London. He’s been sending additional information. After our unfortunate encounter in the library, I received a small envelope from him. Inside were various statements from families who employed your services years ago. There was no mention of robbery, only how you were able to ease their sorrows. They even described you as an angel.”

I worked to keep my bottom lip from quivering. I’d forgotten what pride could feel like.

“I deeply regret my insult to your skills,” he said. “The testimonials also afforded me another chance to consider your capabilities—how you can reach out to people from all different levels of society and comfort them in their most crippling time.” A strand of blond hair fell across his eye, but he ignored it.

A strange energy rolled across my skin. I could feel my body absorbing the humidity of the greenhouse.

He continued, “I’m envious of the intimate connections you make so quickly. I’ve never been naturally at ease where strangers are concerned.”