Chapter 19

C hapter 19

The sounds of pots and pans clanking from the inn’s kitchen woke me the next morning. I squinted, the dim light slowly bringing the tap room to life around me—the ceiling beams, the crackling fire, the blanket hanging beside me. Other than the noises of the kitchen, though, I heard nothing from the rest of the tap room.

I sat up, not daring to peek beneath the blanket. “Nathaniel?”

“I’m here,” he called from the other side. “I haven’t abandoned you at some wayside inn, I promise.”

I pushed aside my covers and stood, straightening my dress. Then I drew back the edge of the blanket and peered out. Nathaniel stood at the window overlooking the street. He offered a small smile when he saw me.

“We are the first awake?” I asked. His mattress had already been stowed, his bedding a neat pile on a nearby chair.

“Well, I was,” he clarified with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You do snore ever so much.”

My mouth dropped. “I do not .”

Did I?

He laughed and made his way toward me through the tables and chairs. “No, you do not. You slept rather peacefully, in truth.”

Now my face heated for a different reason. I silently prayed I had not talked in my sleep. Heaven only knew what I might have said, considering the dreams I’d had. Dreams that heavily favored Nathaniel—and his lips.

But then my eyes widened, and my hands flew to my dark curls, so disorderly that they had begun to overtake the edges of my vision. I knew very well how I looked when I slept without braids or curling papers. But I’d been a bit distracted last night and hadn’t remembered to tend to my hair. Likely, the back of my head was a mass of tangles, which was not charming, no matter how I tried to convince myself.

Nathaniel followed me as I stepped back inside our little room. I knelt beside my portmanteau and pulled out my brush and a small hand mirror. I tried to prop the mirror on a nearby chair, but it kept falling.

“Allow me?” Nathaniel took the mirror and sat on the chair, holding the mirror at eye level.

I met his eyes briefly, then looked away. “Thank you.”

I wrestled with my hairbrush, trying to tame my chaotic curls. All the while, Nathaniel watched, quiet. When at last I could pull my brush through without snagging, I began pinning up a tolerable coiffure.

In the light of day, the events of last night seemed impossible. Had we truly kissed, right here where I sat? Had I fallen asleep with his hand in mine, his voice a whisper in my ear?

“Nathaniel.” My voice was creaky. “About last night.”

I hadn’t yet formed my next words. How could I tell him nothing could happen between us when every illogical part of me was begging for another kiss?

“It won’t happen again,” he said softly. “It should never have happened at all, especially while working a case involving your friend.”

He was right, of course. What a terrible friend I was, wrestling my feelings for this man— kissing this man—while Elizabeth remained missing.

I grasped onto his words. “Yes,” I said firmly. “We must focus on Elizabeth. We cannot allow any ... distractions.”

He hesitated, searching my face. Did he sense there was so much more I was not telling him? “Agreed,” he said.

I nodded as I placed my last hair pin, though I felt more unsettled than before. I should have told him the truth—that I did not think I could ever share my heart with another. Except, was that still the truth? My heart campaigned against my mind, railed against the logic of my long-held convictions.

But I refused to allow it any purchase. Nathaniel and I felt something for each other. That much was clear. I could not think beyond that now, though, not when I had too much else to preoccupy my mind—Elizabeth and the mystery surrounding her disappearance. I had to put her first. My confusing feelings for Nathaniel had to be second.

At least for now.

I reached to take the mirror from him, and my fingers brushed his. My skin seemed to remember him, welcoming his touch. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he said. “I hardly want to travel with a madwoman. What an improvement a few pins make.”

I threw my hairbrush at him, but he caught it, laughing. I found I was grinning.

The inn came alive soon after, Mrs. Rutts serving us a thick porridge accompanied by sweet bread dappled with raisins. When the mail coach arrived, we claimed our seats inside, no lone mothers needing shelter from the rain this time. We sat across from an older couple, who seemed perfectly content to snap at one another.

Beyond a few exchanged looks of amusement, Nathaniel and I said little to each other throughout the morning. I was glad for it, in truth. I did not know what more I could say to a man the night after we’d kissed each other breathless. And I was terrified of what he might say to me.

The morning passed quickly. I spent most of the drive peering out the window, entirely enchanted by the passing scenery. We wound through gentle hills and wooded coverts, the sky a brilliant blue after the rain of yesterday. I loved London, but there was something about the country in springtime that made a girl’s heart yearn to make flower crowns and walk barefoot through the grass. It made me miss those years as a child when we’d traveled with Mama’s many acting troupes, Jack and I always together, running about the countryside, causing mischief.

We arrived in Bibury just before three o’clock. We claimed our bags from atop the coach while fresh horses were hitched and new passengers boarded. Then the mail coach was off with a plume of dust.

Bibury was a little village settled into meandering green hills. Thatched-roof houses perched on either side of the road, sleepy and quaint even in midafternoon.

“Turn right at the corner, then follow the lane over Hawker’s Hill,” the barkeeper instructed when we stopped at the tavern for directions. “There be a sign. Ye can’t miss it.”

Nathaniel headed up the lane, and I trailed behind him, heart in my throat. We’d traveled two days for this. We’d given up the lead in Bath to pursue Marianne’s urging. We’d trusted her, but would her information prove correct? Or had this all been a wild goose chase?

I stopped right there in the middle of the shaded lane and closed my eyes, trying to push down the wave of crushing fear, clutching my portmanteau in both hands.

“Verity?”

I shook my head. “We’ve come all this way, Nathaniel. What if she’s not here?”

Gentle hands tugged the bag from my grip. I opened my eyes to see him take my bag in the same hand as his valise, then he held out his free hand to me. “There is only one way to be sure,” he said quietly.

I took the deepest breath I could summon and slipped my hand into his. We continued, birds twittering in the thickness of the trees above us. A low rock wall ran along both sides of the lane, overgrown with ivy and speckled with purple flowers I could not name. Every so often, a gate would interrupt the wall, but none bore the name we sought.

Until we turned a bend, and there it was. A few uneven steps led up to an iron gate, and on a stone plaque were etched the words Rosemont Cottage . A small yard in the front burst with color, flowers of every shape and size, and as I stood there, I heard laughter.

I knew that laugh.

I released Nathaniel’s hand and rushed up the stairs, desperate now. As I came to the gate, I grasped the top, the iron warm in the sun.

A young woman sat in the tiny garden, a blanket spread beneath her skirts. Her back was to me, but her golden curls gave her away.

“Elizabeth?” My voice was barely above a whisper.

She turned. Her mouth parted. “Verity?”

Then she was on her feet and running to me. With the gate still between us, she flung her arms around me, clutching me tightly. I held her in return, my face pressed into her neck.

“How did you find me?” she breathed.

“Marianne,” I said, my words muffled.

“Oh, that girl.” She sniffed and pulled away, crying unashamedly.

“Oh, Elizabeth.” I touched her face. “Are you all right? Are you in danger?”

She shook her head. “No. Not here, at least.”

I grasped her shoulders. “What happened? Why did you run?”

“I’m sorry, Verity,” she said, swiping tears from her cheeks. “I did not know what else to do.”

“You must tell me everything,” I said. “We will face this together.”

She began to nod, then noticed Nathaniel for the first time. She froze. “Mr. Denning.”

“Miss Harwood,” he said with a slight bow. “I cannot say how relieved I am to see you.”

Elizabeth looked back at me, her eyes once again afraid. “Are you working with Bow Street?”

“I know you did not want them involved,” I said apologetically. “I am sorry, but after you went missing, I could not think what else to do.”

She closed her eyes a moment and inhaled. “Of course. I don’t blame you. Only ...”

“Only what?”

A high, gurgled laugh came from the blanket behind Elizabeth. Elizabeth turned immediately, taking a step before pausing. She looked at me, apprehension filling every inch of her face.

I could not seem to breathe. I opened the gate and moved forward, staring at the blanket on the grass where a little cherubic arm flailed.

Elizabeth bent and picked up a beautiful baby in a white gown, hair as fair as the sun, cheeks pink. She turned back to us, her eyes guarded as she tucked the babe into the crook of her arm. “Verity,” she said, “I should like you to meet Rose. My daughter.”

“Your daughter?” I wasn’t sure how I managed to form the words. “Are you certain?”

She managed a half smile, though it faded quickly. “Quite certain, I assure you. Very difficult to make that mistake.”

A daughter. A baby. Elizabeth’s baby. My lungs struggled to hold air. This was what she had been hiding all this time? But how? Why had she not told me?

My mind raced, trying to connect so many thoughts that I could not voice them. So instead, I stepped forward, meeting the baby’s curious blue eyes, and reached out a bent finger. She looked at it, then grasped it tightly in one fat little fist. I exhaled a laugh. “Good day, little Rose. I am very glad to make your acquaintance.”

She blew a bubble and released my hand, her fingers finding her toes instead.

My eyes lifted to Elizabeth, my throat dry.

“Let us go inside,” she said quietly. I saw the shadow of weariness in her eyes. “Then we might talk.”