17. Returned

RETURNED

U ndisclosed location near a tributary of the Pra River

Luke unrolled the classified correspondence and, upon reading the contents, exhaled slowly. Mentally calculating the timeline of the next thirty-six hours, he held the curling paper to the flame of his lantern and watched until the amber glow licked across the words. Only when it had crawled to his fingertips did he drop it onto the dirt floor and crush it into a million pieces of ash.

The enemy's location had been identified and confirmed. This time, Luke was certain that there was no possible way for his men to be led into another trap. This time, his men would come out the victors. They would eradicate this particular danger once and for all.

The time was upon them.

The insurgents were pirates of a sort, traitors to the Crown who had amassed piles of weapons and ammunition—British weapons and British ammunition, which had been stolen secretly and methodically over the course of the past several months. Not only that, but they had attacked innocent civilians, people whose only mistake had been traveling down the wrong road at the wrong time. It wasn't as if the monsters killed to defend their freedom or their territory, they had simply killed out of greed.

The pirates were nothing short of evil, but even worse was the fact that they did not appear to have been working alone.

Evidence discovered by War Office personnel pointed to a traitor from within, feeding the pirates information and sabotaging military efforts. Possibly someone under Luke's command.

Luke's veins had turned to ice when he found out.

He would capture whoever it was, and justice would be served. By the looks of things, this particular traitor was also behind the ambush that took the lives of six of Luke's men, that took Gil's life. All to serve his own self-interest.

Luke rose and paced back and forth within his tent, anger spurring his mind. He would know the man when he saw him. An English soldier would be easily evident amongst untrained fighters, by the manner in which he walked, the manner in which he carried himself. He would be made to answer for his crimes, along with all the rest of them.

Luke's men would soon be ambushing the pirates' compound, a location that appeared to be loaded with explosives, defended by the most dangerous type of foe—one who cared nothing for life or honor.

And, irony of ironies, for the first time in his life, Luke had something to live for, something more meaningful than his own selfish existence. He had a future.

Luke paused and stared down at his desk and quill. He needed to write to her in case… If he wrote an ‘if you're reading this' letter, she might never need it. If he didn't write one, it would likely be his last regret.

Luke lowered himself onto the chair at his desk and opened the jar of ink.

To my beautiful, sweet Naomi…

"We will return as soon as the Season winds down."

Although she was about to embark on a daylong journey by carriage to London, Lady Tempest didn't appear as though she was dressed for travel. Instead of wearing something simple, something comfortable, she'd chosen a heavy black muslin gown with dark gray trim. Atop hair that was almost purple, she'd pinned a midnight velvet hat adorned with raven-colored feathers.

"Amelia will likely double in size by then," Naomi joked as she watched the older woman climb into a heavy but lavish carriage. At the rate her daughter was growing, Naomi did not consider the prediction an exaggeration.

"You know I wouldn't make the trip if dear Tempest didn't require me to act as hostess for the state dinners required of him."

"But of course," Naomi reassured the older woman. Lady Tempest was nothing if not a stickler and would likely make this excuse dozens and dozens of times in the weeks to come.

Two weeks ago, Naomi had stood on the same steps and wished Lydia luck when she'd come to kiss Amelia goodbye the day before journeying to London. Blackheart had stood unsmiling at the bottom of the steps waiting for her, his wife, the new duchess, standing serenely at his side. He'd only had to glance at his timepiece three times before Lydia had given Naomi one last hug and bid her farewell.

Lucinda had already left to be with her husband and his family by that point. It had honestly been a little strange to see Lydia without her twin sister after all the time Naomi had spent with the two of them, but she supposed it was only natural that the girls would go their separate ways as they grew into adulthood.

She'd felt melancholy as she watched Luke's family drive away on that day but felt mostly relief as Lady Tempest disappeared into her coach. And disappear, she did. Heavy drapes covered the windows, not allowing bystanders even the slightest glimpse of the lofty passenger.

Lord Tempest made to follow after her but then paused at Naomi's side. "Instruct Mr. Webbs to send for me if you have need of… anything," he offered with a brisk gesture toward the butler. Tempest didn't speak to Naomi often. If he was at the estate, he mostly kept to his study or else wandered the grounds, which was fine by her. It wasn't as though he'd ever spoken harshly or been unkind. It was just that the expression on his face was persistently ill-tempered.

On one occasion, when she'd been idling in the garden with Amelia, she'd caught sight of him striding toward the gardener's hut. For an instant, she'd thought he was Arthur. Although physically he didn't resemble his brother, his gait and his posture were very much the same as Arthur's had been.

He was a difficult man to know in that he gave away nothing of his thoughts, and this made her uncomfortable. The woman he eventually married would have to be something of a clairvoyant if she was ever to know the man. That or a person who didn't care to try.

And as he stood before her today, he was no different.

"I—thank you, My Lord." Like his mother, he wore mostly black along with a black band around his arm. "But I will be fine."

"You…" He glanced over his shoulder toward where a groom held his mount. "My brother married you, and you are a member of this family. You will always be afforded our protection. I apologize that you ever had reason to doubt this."

When he turned back to her, the corner of his lip twitched, and it was possible it was only a trick of the light, but she thought his eyes might have softened just a hint. It was the closest thing to a smile she'd seen on him.

This was the Lord of Tempest being… friendly.

He was so very different from Arthur.

"You and your mother have been most kind," she said.

He stared at her thoughtfully and then blinked. Without another word, he bowed and mounted his horse, signaling to the entire entourage to proceed.

Living at Galewick Manor with Lord Tempest and his mother was nothing like living with her own family had been. Whereas the corridors here were quiet and the inhabitants solemn and withdrawn, her father's home had been lively, and she and her siblings had not given their parents a moment of peace.

But Lord Tempest and his mother had taken her in. They had welcomed her, even.

She wondered if they had always been so serious or if they merely excelled at mourning. Perhaps they had been lively before. Likely, Arthur had been the one who'd brought laughter.

In the days following their departure, with an abundance of time to herself, she missed Luke even more than before. And even more disconcerting, with the residents of Crescent Park away, there was no one to deliver any letters from Luke—if he had written any—and she could only hope that he was safe and well.

She assured herself that this was the only reason that she hadn't heard from him. She refused to allow herself to imagine the worst.

It had been over a month since his last letter.

With far too many thoughts and worries echoing in her brain, she spent hours and hours writing in her journal. It was the one place where she could express the turmoil she'd felt over the past year, where she would not be judged.

She wrote to her sister and mother twice and once to her brother. She also wrote one long letter to her father, telling him about his granddaughter in hopes he would want to know her.

They had gone, as of yet, unanswered.

For the entire length of Naomi's stay at Galewick Manor, the servants had maintained the household under the strictest conventions of mourning. Black crepe covered the windows, the manservants wore black on their arms, and the maids' uniforms consisted of dark gray gowns, worn beneath the blackest of aprons. It would remain this way until at least a full year had passed from the day of Arthur's death.

While observing mourning, Naomi hadn't made any friends in the nearby village, nor had she been able to accept any of the invitations she'd received. Though she had mostly made her peace with her late husband's death by now, she often felt trapped and lonely. Outside Galewick Manor, the world was moving along without her, leaving her behind.

Naomi had security, she and Amelia lacked for nothing, and yet her world was dim and colorless. It was not until late spring that she found relief in the garden. Inside, the manor was dark and depressing, but outside, Mother Nature was slowly unveiling a variety of blossoms in the most spectacular fashion. The myriad of colors and sunshine finally gave Naomi permission to breathe.

If flowers could come back to life after the bitter cold of winter, then hope would always have meaning.

There would always be winter. There would always be death. But spring never failed to usher in life and sunshine.

Amelia, Naomi's brightest spot of color, loved being outside as well. Naomi made it a habit to walk her daughter outside in the sun following her morning nap despite the nurse's concerns. Naomi had put her foot down, insistent that the fresh air wouldn't hurt Amelia.

In addition to the enjoyment of strolling through the gardens, Naomi loved dressing her daughter up for their outings in pretty muslin gowns and the little pastel bonnets Lady Tempest had ordered made, along with the tiniest shoes Naomi had ever seen. She refused to dress her baby in blacks.

"Oh, look here, Amy." Naomi crouched onto the perfectly manicured lawn. "It's a butterfly."

"Ba." Almost five months old, her daughter was becoming stronger but still wobbled in her mother's arms when she turned to see what she was pointing at.

Naomi steadied her sweet girl by placing a hand on the back of her head. "Butterfly," she repeated.

The colorful creature hovered and flitted about, and Naomi stilled when it landed on her arm. Amelia's eyes widened and Naomi laughed out loud when her tiny arms began flapping in excitement, sending the butterfly off in fear for its life. Watching her daughter was the one thing that provided absolute joy.

The sound of one of the terrace doors opening and closing and then uneven footsteps crunching along the path had both she and Amelia turning to glance toward the house. Naomi likely was going to have to argue with the nurse again. That woman was like a dog with a bone about some things.

But instead she saw two people approaching, and from what she could make out between the hedges and vines and trees, neither of them appeared to be female.

Her heart lurched and then dropped to her shoes when she caught a glimpse of red. Both wore a uniform. The last time a soldier had come to visit her, it had been Luke. His visit had heralded the news of Arthur's death.

"Who's there?" Her voice caught and was barely more than a whisper. "Hello!" She waved so that whoever was there would see them.

A man ducked beneath some branches and blue eyes locked onto her.

"Luke!" Her breath caught, and her heart sent bubbles of happiness flowing through her limbs. If she hadn't been balancing Amelia on one hip, she would have thrown herself into his arms.

He was alive and he was here, and except for the dark shadows under his eyes, he seemed as healthy as he'd been before he left. Love shone from those eyes.

He'd come back to her.

And he smiled, but then a bleak look entered his eyes, almost as though he was apologizing for something.

Whatever it was, it did not matter. Surely, nothing could diminish her joy in this moment. "I missed you so much."

She couldn't contain how happy she was just to know that he was uninjured and safe. But before she could say another word, the second soldier stepped out of the trees as well. He moved haltingly and leaned heavily upon a cane. He was thin and bent over, and when he finally glanced up to catch her eyes, his face was thin and pale and sallow.

But those eyes, even yellowed with jaundice, were quite unmistakable.

Because they were the eyes of her husband.

It was Arthur. He wasn't dead. He was here.

Arthur.

Was here.

Luke rushed forward just in time to keep Amelia from falling as black encroached on Naomi's vision, and the world tipped and spun around.

"Arthur?" His name passed her lips. Was it really him? Was she dreaming? Was this a nightmare?

"Naomi, sweetheart." He was a shadow of the man she'd married almost one year ago to the day.

It wasn't him.

It couldn't be him.

And then there was nothing.