Page 58 of Why Do Earls Fall in Love?
Chapter 12
“I’m telling you, they are all gone.” Before Chester could argue, Whiddon stood up from the spot where they sat concealed behind a stack of casks. He slipped down the alley to the corner of the building that housed the print shop. Holding onto a thick drainpipe with one hand and the rough corner stones with the other, he shimmied up to peer into the high windows.
“Dark as my father’s soul,” he said as he descended. Chester had moved to await him at the bottom. “We should have split up. He must have gone out the front.”
“Two days and we still don’t know which one is Perry,” Chester said on a sigh.
“We do. It’s the man in black. It must be him. Those two louts always emerge before him. They linger and then follow him out of the alley when he leaves. They must be his guards, watching for trouble. But what sort? Who might accost him? Why?”
“None of those bully boys came out this way today, either. Perhaps you are right.” Chester shook his head. “How are we supposed to speak with him, then? The man clearly has no interest in meeting with you. The chit at the counter has turned you away three times. Sterne couldn’t find anything from the building’s lease. We cannot just barge in the back, not with his guards and a room full of tools and large equipment at the ready.”
“I suppose we’ll have to wait until Tensford hears back from Stoneacre.”
“What if he knows nothing about what Perry is up to? Perhaps you should just leave this one be. Move on to the next French refugee on your list.”
Whiddon shook his head. “I can’t. Especially if he is dangerous.”
“He is dangerous. Every sign is there. There’s something going on with this one, Whiddon. We need to proceed carefully.”
“I know. But all the more reason why I must see him and settle with him. I can’t have that sort of debt, from this sort of man, hanging over my head.”
Chester sighed. “Oh, hell. You are right, at that. Perhaps we should follow him tomorrow, when he leaves. See what he gets up to. But we’ll have to be on our toes.”
“You don’t have to get entangled in this, Chester. I would prefer if you would not.” He couldn’t bear it if his friend was harmed because of this business.
“I would prefer that you don’t talk stuff and nonsense. You are not facing this alone.” Chester yawned. “But let’s go and hail a hack now, eh? I want to go home to my wife.”
Whiddon supposed he would go home, too. He’d managed to stay away until late hours, the last two nights. He’d spent the first catching up with Tensford and the next hiding in a private room at the club.
Now, they took a hack to Chester’s and Whiddon climbed out with him, thinking he would walk home. He set off on foot and found himself making an unplanned detour and a purchase he’d been thinking about during those long hours of watching and waiting at the printshop. Heading home, he found his step quickening, the closer he got.
He let himself in the back and paused to breathe in. The house smelled different now. Better. Not stale, but fresh and comforting with the scents of herbs and starch and soap and baking.
He hurried up to his rooms. Two nights ago, he’d returned late and found a box with a bow upon his bed. Inside, he’d found the soft, worn robe he’d seen Charlotte wearing before her fire. It had been freshly laundered, scented with her rose water scent and was accompanied by a note.
Gabriel,
This robe is one of the few things I have left of my father. I have worn it often, as it reminds me of his better days and makes me feel safe and cared for. Now, you make me feel those things. I don’t have much to give, but I wanted to show my gratitude. I’d like for you to have this. I think he would be happy, knowing you wear it now.
Yours,
Charlotte
Such a simple thing,to inspire such a flood of conflicting emotions. He’d been touched, he admitted it. But as he stared at the garment, waiting in its box, his brain had dredged up an old, buried image of a little girl, extending a wilted posy with a smile. He’d seen his brother, wan and pale, pressing a shining medal into his hand, asking him to take it away and keep it.
He’d lifted the robe and pressed his face into it. The flannel felt soft against him, and he’d thought of her tender skin, touching it, being enveloped by it, in the same way.
He had not slept much afterwards.
Last night, he’d entered to find a covered tray upon his small table. Another note had been propped against it.
Gabriel,
We have a new cook. Remind me, sometime, to tell you the story of Mrs. Prigg’s firing. What a dust up! Tonight, I asked Mr. Flemming to make an apple cake, in the way they prepare it in Devonshire. I hope it lives up to your memories. If you wish, there is a lovely custard sauce in the kitchens. Send for it, if you would like to have it poured over the cake.
C—
He had not sentfor the sauce. He’d marveled at the thought that she’d remembered his brief mention of apple cake, then he’d sat right down and moaned in delight at the first bite. He’d polished off the rest, forthwith. It had tasted like home and transported him back to the coast, teasing him with the taste of cinnamon and the memory of sea air. It made him recall the indulgent cook who had pretended to look the other way when he came down to sneak an extra serving.
