Authors: Jillian Hart
“I assure you, it would be my pleasure.”
Before he could say more, Henrietta moved to intercept them. Though Ruby knew the bluestocking's role was to play chaperone, she felt a distinct annoyance that she had to share Whit so soon.
“I have read,” Henrietta said as they stopped beside her, “that sailors have a way of predicting the weather at sea. âRed sky at night, sailor's delight.' There is a lovely sunset, my lord. I hope for good weather tomorrow.”
It was but a few steps to the doors leading to the veranda to see. To the right, rosy light outlined the trees, setting the very air to glowing. Doves cooed from the river. A sigh escaped her, and Whit's arm stole about her waist. For a moment, she thought he meant to hold her close, and her heart started beating faster. She glanced over at him, caught the tender look in his eyes and sucked in a breath.
He still cared. He still cared!
As if she were oblivious to the emotions sizzling in the air, Henrietta continued talking from the other side of Whit.
“I never saw your cascade up close,” she reminded him, gaze on the sunset. “Perhaps you and Miss Hollingsford would be so good as to show it to me tomorrow.”
“Would you like that, Ruby?” Whit murmured.
Ruby nodded, unable to tear her gaze from his face. The soft light bathed every angle, his golden brows, his perfect nose, his firm lips. He smiled, so warmly, so sweetly, and she leaned closer, ready to press her lips to his despite her chaperone and the rest of his guests. But he turned to Henrietta.
“I'd be delighted,” he assured the bluestocking. “I've been meaning to inspect the slide in any event. It is possible, however, that the path to the falls is still blocked.”
Henrietta smiled around Whit to Ruby. “Oh, I'm certain we can find a way. Aren't you, Ruby?”
“Isn't she what?” Charles asked, joining them. “Charming? Beautiful? Witty?”
Lady Amelia came hurrying to his side. Her panicked look told Ruby she'd tried to dissuade him from joining them.
“You are too kind, Mr. Calder,” Ruby said, knowing the reply was neither particularly charming nor witty.
“Henrietta wishes to see the cascade,” Whit informed his cousin. “Care to join us, Charles?”
Oh no! This trip could be the perfect opportunity for Whit's cousin to get him away from the others and do him harm!
Lady Amelia was obviously more concerned about protecting Ruby's time with Whit, for she met Ruby's gaze, then raised her head. “Oh, but, Mr. Calder, I was counting on your help tomorrow.”
Charles stilled. Ruby could see the struggle in him. He wanted to go with Whit and Henrietta, perhaps to harm his cousin or perhaps to plead his case with the woman he loved. Unfortunately, he would raise questions as to his character as a gentleman if he refused Lady Amelia outright.
“Surely so lovely a woman has no need for my humble assistance,” he tried.
Lady Amelia nodded earnestly. “But I do! Lord Danning attempted to teach me to fish today, and I was an utter failure.” She put a hand on his arm and trained her big blue eyes on his. “I thought surely an angler of your stature could help me improve.”
Lady Amelia might never land a fish, but she had clearly hooked her man. Charles's smile visibly grew, going from polite to downright pleased. “I would be delighted to teach you to fish, Lady Amelia. The others can dine on our success when they return.”
Ruby puffed out a sigh of relief. Her feelings must have been evident, for Whit frowned at her.
She offered him a bright smile. “That's settled then. Tomorrow, we attempt the cascade.”
He did not argue with her, and when Lady Wesworth demanded his attention a few moments later, he inclined his head to Ruby and the others and went to speak with the marchioness.
But though he played the dutiful host the rest of the evening, Ruby kept remembering the tenderness in his eyes when he'd looked at her. That was the love she'd once dreamed of, that was the future she could claim, if only she could be the woman for him!
Somehow, she made it through the evening and retired with the other guests for bed. She felt certain Quimby would make sure Whit was safe that night. But just in case, she offered a prayer before closing her eyes.
Lord, please protect him. You've taught me so much on this trip, but please be patient with me. I simply don't have the knack for this trust thing.
Then she smiled, realizing that the Lord had just given her an opportunity to practice, for even praying took trust!
So did going with Whit and Henrietta the next day. She kept glancing about, half-afraid to see Charles lurking behind a shrub. She was actually relieved when Henrietta's father insisted on coming with them. Surely the three of them could keep Whit safely away from his cousin. And she couldn't help smiling when she thought of how Lady Amelia would have to learn how to sew a worm.
Just as the sunset had promised, the day was bright, and Ruby's green-striped walking dress, now cleaned and refurbished from her previous adventure, felt a little warm as she and Henrietta, in a blue-striped walking dress, accompanied Whit and Mr. Stokely-Trent up the hill. Henrietta's father chatted with Whit at first as they walked, asking about his estate in Suffolk, the number of horses in his stables, his various financial interests. Ruby listened, watching the way the sunlight played across Whit's features under his broad-brimmed felt hat when he lifted his head to make a point.
Henrietta, however, was clearly grieving. Her face inside her straw gypsy hat was pale, and she contributed little to the conversation. She didn't once lift her Claude glass, which hung from a chain around her neck, as if she thought there nothing picturesque left to admire.
They'd passed Bellweather Hall and had started the climb toward the Edge when Whit loped ahead to check on the path. Henrietta paused beside Ruby.
“Does he know you care?” she asked.
Now there was plain speaking. For once Ruby found it difficult to answer.
“I hope so,” she said, watching as he stood near the crest and surveyed the area like a king considering conquest. “But I haven't told him I love him.”
“You should,” Henrietta advised, gaze on the path ahead. “We never know what the future brings.”
No doubt she wished she'd told Charles her feelings before her father had refused him. But these were different circumstances.
In truth, Ruby longed to talk with Whit as she had when they'd made the walk the first time. But she kept remembering that adventure, the way he'd helped her up and down rocks, the way he'd encouraged her when she'd been afraid, the way he'd kissed her under the cascade. With her mind so full, small wonder her mouth was blocked!
Whit came back along the path toward them, stride confident, head high. In his tweed jacket and chamois trousers, he was the angler who'd first charmed her. When he smiled at her, she felt as if the world had settled just as it should.
Yet she knew it for a lie. He had asked her to trust, and she wasn't trusting. She was within an inch of declaring her fears to Henrietta, of taking her story to the local magistrate, of having Charles arrested. Anything to keep Whit safe! Panic seemed to be building inside her again.
She felt as if the day had dimmed, the breeze chilled. Whit had a vision of the woman he planned to marry, just as she had had a dream for her future husband once. She could not bear to look at him knowing she'd betrayed him by failing to live up to that ideal as surely as Philip had betrayed her.
She excused herself from Henrietta, who went to stand by her father, and moved to meet Whit partway up the hill.
“Whit,” she started, “I must tell you something.”
He held up a hand. “You know I would ordinarily listen, Ruby. But can you feel that?” He stomped his feet in the mud of the path, and Ruby did feel it, a subtle shifting.
She gasped, and he caught her elbow as if to steady her.
“It's all right,” he assured her as Henrietta and her father came up level with them. “It's still unstable,” he explained to the group. “I'm afraid I cannot risk taking you to the cascade.”
“A shame,” Henrietta's father said, drawing a pistol from his coat. “I was hoping to get farther from the house. But this is as good a spot as any to be rid of you, Danning.”
He aimed the pistol at Whit's heart.
Chapter Eighteen
W
hit stared at the gun, held so firmly in Stokely-Trent's gloved grasp. This couldn't be happening. Just when he'd thought Ruby might be coming around to believe in the good in people, here was someone else proving the bad. Had the entire world gone mad?
“You!” Ruby cried, clearly as shocked, body stiffening beside his. “You caused those accidents!”
“No, he didn't,” Henrietta protested, as if that somehow made the current betrayal better. A bead of perspiration ran down her cheek from under her straw hat. “They truly were accidents in the beginning.”
“But they gave me the idea,” her father said. “Who would question one more accident?”
“So you shot his fishing rod!” Ruby accused, as if that were the worst sin.
“What?” Henrietta demanded.
Whit edged closer to her father. If he could just push the man's hand away, cause him to shoot wildly, Ruby would be safe. The pistol could only hold a single shot. But the thought of that ball striking Ruby nearly stopped Whit's heart.
“I was merely practicing,” Stokely-Trent assured his daughter. He waved the pistol at Whit, who froze. “That's close enough, Lord Danning.”
Whit held his ground but spread his hands. “You needn't do this, sir.”
“Easy for you to say.” His bulldog face was lined with disgust. “You refuse a fine daughter from an excellent family, for what? Coppery curls and an impertinent mouth. Without you, Mr. Calder can have the title and my girl will be a countess as she deserves.”
Whit scanned down the man's body, looking for any weakness in the thrusting gut, the sturdy legs. Henrietta stepped closer to her father, as well.
“That's your plan?” she cried. “You promised me you'd reconsider Charles if I did as you asked and arranged this trip. You can't just murder Lord Danning! You have a witness for one, and where would you put the body for another? It just isn't logical!”
“Not particularly moral either,” Ruby pointed out as Whit stared at her.
The gun swiveled toward Ruby, and Whit's muscles tightened.
“Oh, Miss Hollingsford is going, too,” Henrietta's father promised. “And as for the bodies, I'll simply push them off the cliff and into the mud. We'll claim they fell and were washed down the stream. It will be years before anyone comes upon them.” He gestured to the cliff ahead. “Now walk.”
Whit felt cold all over. He took a step back, blocking Ruby with his body. If he went down, at least she might have a chance to run before Stokely-Trent could reload.
Ruby pressed her hands against his shoulders, and he felt her breath on the back of his neck. “Act when you can, Whit,” she whispered. “I trust you.”
The words brought a brief spurt of joy, then determination tamped it down. Before he could act, however, Ruby raised her voice again. “Even the condemned are allowed to speak before they are hung. And all I can say, Lord Danning, is I TOLD YOU SOMEONE WAS TRYING TO KILL YOU! HA!”
Stokely-Trent jerked back in surprise, foot catching on the soft edge of the ground. He wavered, eyes widening, pistol pointing upward. Whit leaped to reach him, clutched the hard barrel in his fingers.
“Father!” Henrietta darted forward, and the path crumbled beneath her feet. She slid away, fingers scrabbling at the dirt.
Her father yanked the pistol from Whit's hand and ran to where she'd disappeared. Out of the corners of his eyes, Whit saw Ruby start forward, as well.
“Back!” he cried. “Stay back, or it will swallow you, too.”
Of course, being Ruby, she didn't listen.
Whit's only thought was for her safety. Gathering himself, he shoved back in a loosening shower of dirt. Ruby collided with him, but he turned, nearly falling anew. Blood roaring in his ears, he grasped her about the waist and caught her up in his arms. She gasped, but he didn't allow her a moment to protest. He scrambled up the slope, boots slipping, ribs complaining, found a boulder and shoved Ruby up onto it.
She scrambled to her feet and glared down at him. “Why won't you let me help?”
Chest heaving, he leaned against the rock and glared back. “You said you'd trust me.”
Her face crumbled, and she sank onto the rock. The look nearly broke Whit's heart, but he knew he couldn't spare the time to soften his words.
“If anything should happen to me,” he called up to her, “remember what I told you. Stay on rock. You know the way back to the Lodge.”
Tears were flowing down her cheeks. “But, Whit...”
He turned back for Henrietta.
Just beyond where they'd stood a few moments ago, the slope had sheared off steeply, tumbling down to the stream. Stokely-Trent stood at the edge as if frozen with fear. Whit approached cautiously, feeling his way. Mud sucked at his boots, pulled at his legs. He stopped just short of Henrietta's father. “Put down the gun and help me save her.”
Stokely-Trent swung toward him, gun once more pointed at Whit. This time his hand shook.
“No!” Ruby cried from her vantage point, and he heard her feet scratching at the rock.
“Stay there!” Whit ordered, knowing the rest of the hillside could come down any moment. He kept his gaze on the man before him.
“Your daughter is in danger, sir,” Whit said, keeping his voice level. “If you kill me, you lose the chance to save her.”
Stokely-Trent blinked as if he'd lost his way. Then he tossed the pistol aside. “Anything you want,” he begged. “Just save her.”
Whit tugged him back, away from the edge, then knelt to peer over.
Just below the level of the path, the bluestocking clung with one hand to a jutting rock, skirts half buried in mud.
Balancing himself, Whit reached for her. “Give me your hand.”
“Why?” she said, sucking back a sob. “There's no reason to live. My father will be hung for attempted murder, my family's reputation will be ruined and I'll never be able to marry the man I love.”
He could see the despair on her face. “Listen to me. Take my hands, and let me pull you up. I'll talk to your father. We can forget this ever happened.”
For a moment, she vacillated, face twisted as if she feared to hope. Then she reached up her free hand.
Whit lay flat, stretched as far as he could to get both arms under hers. But even as he pulled, he felt the slope beneath him giving. Instead of pulling her up, he was being sucked down. The panic on her face told him she knew it, too.
“Stokely-Trent!” he shouted. “Help us!”
Behind him, nothing moved. Was the man too afraid to help his own daughter?
Whit dug in his knees, his elbows. Still he slipped. He would never marry Ruby, or catch the King of Trout. It seemed Charles would be Lord Danning after all, but Henrietta would not live to see it.
Lord, please, help us!
Something pressed against his boots, tugged him toward safety.
“Easy,” Charles said. “We have you.”
Glancing back, he saw Ruby clinging to one of his ankles and his cousin the other. Her face was white, her body straining. What was to keep her from being pulled over, too?
He looked to the front again. Terror lined Henrietta's face, and she clung to Whit. His arms strained to hold her, pain building.
He refused to give in to it. All his life he'd lived by duty. If he was to die, he'd die by it, as well.
“Pull!” he shouted to Ruby and Charles.
Slowly, his body came back up the cliff, until he could find purchase again. Henrietta scrambled over him to collapse in Charles's arms. Her father stood aside, looking as if he'd fallen in on himself.
Breath coming in pants, Whit sat on the cold ground. Though his limbs felt as heavy as the mud around them, that didn't stop them from shaking like leaves on a gusty day.
Ruby slumped beside him, threw her arms around him and hung on as if she'd never let go. Somewhere along the line her bonnet had fallen behind her, so that her glorious hair tumbled free down her back. He leaned into her warmth, buried his face in the cinnamon-scented tresses. Thanksgiving rose up inside him, brought his arms around her, held her close.
Thank You, Lord, for Your mercy.
They were both alive, and now he just had to find a way to convince her to marry him.
* * *
Even Ruby's bones seemed to be shaking. She'd thought she'd known terror yesterday when the shot had rung out by the stream. But when she'd seen Whit start to slide, she'd felt as if she were the gold her father melted in his crucible, coming apart and on fire at the same time. All she'd known was that she had to save him.
“I'm so sorry, so sorry,” she said, breath catching in a hiccup. “I wanted to do as you'd asked, but...you could have been killed.”
Whit patted her hands where she had them wrapped around his chest. “I'm all right, Ruby.”
Next to them, Charles had cradled Henrietta in his arms and was murmuring assurances while her father looked on, face drawn and pale.
“He wouldn't have done it,” Henrietta said, meeting Whit's and Ruby's gazes in turn. “He couldn't.”
Ruby pulled back to stare at her. “You can say that after what he tried? For all I know, you both encouraged him!”
Charles flinched, but Henrietta struggled to sit upright, mud-streaked face ashen. “We didn't. I didn't know what Father had planned when he insisted I arrange this trip today.”
“She's telling the truth,” her father put in, lifting his head. “I never explained my plans. Couldn't say them aloud. I doubt I would have pulled the trigger, in the end. I shook for an hour after practicing yesterday. But you just wouldn't see reason, Danning. You were so sure this girl was better than my own daughter.”
Henrietta pressed her hands together, face anguished. “Oh, Father! I didn't feel slighted. I wouldn't want Danning to choose me, not when I love Charles so much I can't bear the idea of living without him.”
Ruby felt ill looking at them. “So run away to Gretna Green,” she retorted, hugging Whit close once more. “Tell your father to mind his own affairs. Kindly do something to keep your love without depriving me of mine!”
Henrietta hung her head with a sob, and Charles pulled her back into his arms.
“Have you never felt desperate, Miss Hollingsford?” Mr. Stokely-Trent scolded. “You people have no idea what we endure.”
Ruby felt a laugh coming up and knew it for pure hysteria. “No, we certainly don't. I expect that's because we're too busy trying to feed our families or put clothes on their backs.”
“Easy,” Whit murmured beside her. “He doesn't know what he's saying.”
“I know desperation,” Charles put in. “That's why I left Lady Amelia and followed you. I hoped to convince Henrietta to marry me, despite her family's wishes.” He gave his love a squeeze.
“My wishes no longer matter,” Henrietta's father said darkly, shifting on his feet. “I suppose you'll call the constable when we return, Danning.”
Whit rose and offered Ruby his hand to help her to her feet. Though she didn't need the help, she refused to let go of his hand. Henrietta's father took a step back as if expecting Whit to strike him.
“No one is going to the constable today,” Whit said.
Ruby stared at him. “Why not? He tried to kill you!”
“But I didn't!” Mr. Stokely-Trent protested, holding out both hands as if begging for mercy. “And I only considered it in the first place out of love for my daughter!”
Love? Was that the excuse he would use for such a betrayal? Anger made Ruby release Whit.
“You call that love?” she demanded, voice shaking along with the rest of her. “I've heard the vicar speak of it often enough. Love is patient and kind. It doesn't rejoice in wrongs but at the right.”
From beside her, Whit spoke up. Though his voice was quiet, it seemed to echo along the hillside just the same. “âLove bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things.'”
He gazed at her, and Ruby felt the look like a blow to her heart. She knew his statement was another part of the verses she had summarized, but still she struggled with it. If she had simply sat on that boulder and hoped for the best instead of acting, would he be alive now?
Her chin was trembling, too, now, and Whit's face was blurring with her tears. “You asked me to believe in you, Whit, to trust you. I didn't, not to see to your own future. I distrusted your cousin until the end. And I wasn't far off. Do you truly expect me to stand by and do nothing when I believe you to be in danger?”
Even through her tears, she saw his face tighten, as if she'd hurt him again. “And do you ask me not to protect you?” he replied. “I would sooner stop breathing.”
So would she. Her chest felt heavy, painful. She dashed a hand across her eyes to clear her vision. But all she could see was the need for distance, from these people, from this place, from Whit, before he broke her heart. Fear was closing in, and she knew only one way to truly escape it.
She raised her chin, widened her stance, let her hands swing freely. “I would not ask that of you. You are a man of honor, of duty. You have always, ever, been true to yourself and what you believe in. But I can't live the way you expect. I'm so sorry.”
She turned and fled.