Chapter 13

"You've been quiet all day."

Harlan glanced over at Hugh as they sat about a campfire. The horses were tied to nearby trees, and Lucas and Benjamin were already showing signs of feeling the dizzying effects of the crackling smoke and flames. Likely the brandy they had consumed earlier might have added to their current malaise.

Harlan, however, was tormented by his thoughts—and the memory of his unforgettable night with Leah. He also held on to the knowledge that it might have been the only one they might ever share. When she woke and realized he was gone, no doubt she would be furious, cursing his name and vowing to never forgive him for using her so ill and walking away so effortlessly.

Except, there had been nothing effortless about it. In truth, he'd considered whisking her away somewhere they could never be disturbed again. He wanted to forget everything but her. In the end, it was his honor that kept him walking out the front door. He had a job to complete and he couldn't rest until he was successful in this mission. The queen's life depended on it.

Realizing that Hugh wouldn't leave him alone until he offered a reply, he reached down and threw a random stick into the fire. "Have I?"

"Indeed. And considering you won't look me in the eye, I have to suspect that something significant must have happened with Miss Lindquist."

Harlan clenched his jaw and slid his focus to his friend. "You don't know when to leave well enough alone, do you?" he snapped, finding his patience was worn thin by his misery. He stood and started to gather his things from his horse to settle down for the night. While he didn't see any immediate sleep in his future, he would lay on the ground and close his eyes if just to blot out Hugh's incessant queries.

"I have never known you to avoid any sort of confrontation before."

Harlan stopped what he was doing and pinned his companion with a glare. "Who says I'm doing that now?"

Hugh's stare was just as steady. "Whenever your captive's name is mentioned, you close yourself off. I don't understand what is going on in that head of yours. You have never acted this rashly before."

Harlan frowned, because he couldn't explain what he didn't yet understand. But rather than admit the truth, he remained silent.

"She seemed a decent sort. I liked her."

Harlan tossed down his bag and set his hands on his hips. "We have an early start in the morning." He hoped that would put an end to this conversation.

"Are you sure you should be here and not riding back to her as if the devil himself was on your heels?"

"That wouldn't accomplish our goal to stop this assassin," Harlan pointed out. He busied himself by rolling out his pack.

"You aren't the only man who is tasked with keeping the monarchy safe. You could have just as easily sent a missive to Wellington—"

"I'm an agent for the Crown. It is my job."

Hugh sighed heavily. "I know I shouldn't overstep, but—"

"Then don't," Harlan snapped. He had reached the end of his tolerance. "I know what I'm doing. And if I have already made a mess of things, it is up to me to sort them out. What I don't need is for you to tell me how to live my life or conduct my personal affairs!" He lowered his tone when he realized that he had been shouting. "I appreciate that you are doing your best to help, but when the occasion calls for me to require your advice, I shall ask for it then. However, I do not need it now, when I am trying to focus on matters of life and death."

Hugh nodded, appearing to consider his words. "I merely wish for you to have the same happiness as I have with my Marie. I've known you for many years, ever since we were both sowing our wild oats. I want to make sure you aren't just trying to push Miss Lindquist away. You have had a tendency to do that in the past, claiming that it was your job that required it of you, but I have to wonder if it might be more than that compelling you to hold yourself at a distance."

"Again, what I do is my choice. Let's leave it at that." Harlan averted his gaze as he continued to set up his makeshift bed for the night. As Hugh tossed out his tea and doused the fire, Harlan couldn't stop thinking that Hugh was right. He did have a habit of blaming his line of work as the reason he couldn't marry anyone and had kept his liaisons relatively brief. Then again, Harlan had witnessed the decline of his mother when his father had died. He didn't want to put anyone through that sort of grief when he passed. Certainly not Leah.

Forcing himself to lie down and shut his eyes, he also willed himself not to think about Leah. But he knew that would be a losing battle.

The coach stoppedin front of the modest vicarage cottage on the outskirts of Birmingham in a little village called Dudley. Passing the landscape dotted with sheep and green rolling hills, Leah couldn't help but compare her surroundings to that of Paris and what a markedly different turn her life had taken in such a short amount of time. A fortnight ago, she was packing up her belongings in the house she'd shared with her aunt, and the next, she was crossing the straits and looking upon the white cliffs of Dover following a lengthy absence.

But it wasn't until she'd met Harlan Mathis that her life had irrevocably changed. She was still trying to figure out if it was a good—or bad—thing.

She forced down the lump that formed in her throat every time she thought about him, which was often. She remembered the feeling of loss when she'd awoken to find the bed empty and a single note on the pillow where his head had been the night before.

I pray that you will be able to forgive me in time. Know that I did not want to leave as I did, but I knew it was the only way I could keep you safe. Matthew will be by later this morning to take you to your brother.

That was it.A brief missive with no flowery prose or promises.

She'd stared blindly at the ceiling for an indeterminate amount of time, willing herself to feel some sort of emotion other than this terrible numbing void that had abruptly taken hold of her. She didn't cry, or scream, or do anything but get up and gather her things, pin her hair and calmly wait for Matthew's arrival.

When he assisted her onto the coach, it brought more painful memories, because she remembered the black velvet and interior lanterns all too well.

As the coach made its way over the countryside, she didn't look solemnly out the window, or sag against the cushions to rest. She just remained as she was—stiff and… numb.

When the coach pulled into the vicarage yard and the door was opened, Leah alighted with the assistance of Matthew. He offered her a silent glance that said more than words ever would. It wasn't until he was preparing to depart that she could feel the tide of emotion starting to well up within her as he finally bent down and whispered a few words of encouragement in her ear. "Don't hesitate to send for me if you need anything. Rest assured, Harlan hasn't deserted you. He is a good man and as loyal as anyone. He will come for you."

When she glanced toward the door of the house and saw her brother standing there with a firm expression on his face, she turned to Matthew and said, "I fear by then it may be too late."

Walking toward the entrance to the house, she waited for Henry to speak first. He looked just as she remembered him, tall and husky, but perhaps having more gray hair on his head and in the length of his generous muttonchops. "I see you finally made it," he sniffed in obvious disapproval.

"I'm sorry I'm late," she returned demurely. "But if you received my letter, you will know the reasons."

"Indeed. It was good of you to write so that my wife didn't fret about you."

Not him. And neither did Henry ask how Leah was faring after her ordeal. It would have been the polite thing to do, but she was not surprised at his lack of concern. It had always been thus between them.

As the coach rolled away, she wanted to run back and climb inside and beg Matthew to take her back to Gravesend to the cottage that had become more of a home to her than this place ever would. She forced herself to turn around and put that part of her life behind her, with all the other disappointments and grief she'd faced.

From the moment she walked inside Henry's house, it was as if she was entering a mausoleum. Everything was gray and simple, so as not to be boastful unto the Lord, or so Henry claimed as he gave her a tour of the structure. Leah would never go so far as to call it a home.

They entered the parlor and Henry's wife, Agnes, stood when they entered. She bowed her head to Henry and waited for him to make the introductions before she spoke. "It's lovely to meet you at last, Miss Lindquist. I am sorry that you were not able to attend our wedding these three years past, nor been able to pay a visit until now."

Leah decided it was pointless to say that she had not been invited to take part in the ceremony, nor had her brother written to her since. It was following the death of her aunt that he found it necessary to perform his duty and send for her. Before that time, Leah was quite sure that he would have happily removed her presence from his mind.

"Please, call me Leah," was all she offered in return.

The woman nodded but retreated back into silence as Henry spoke. No doubt that was a common occurrence. Leah had always thought Henry was a scoundrel in sheep's clothing. It was likely a blessing that they had yet to have any children, because she didn't believe he would make a very caring father. She wondered if he was unkind to his wife, and considering the way Agnes maintained her humble demeanor, Leah believed that was true.

"Dinner is precisely at eight o'clock each evening. Breakfast is at seven each morning," Henry announced, pacing about the floor with his hands clasped behind his back as if he were her father. But as a guardian, he had the same sort of power, regardless if she had reached her majority or not. She was still an unmarried relation beholded to his generosity. "Agnes has taken to a brisk walk every afternoon for her constitution and you may join her if you wish. Sunday services are strictly observed and other than illness which keeps you abed, it will be expected that you attend. You may use the library, but no fanciful novels will be tolerated. Books that will improve the mind and spirit are acceptable…"

He continued to rattle off what was expected of his household and Leah couldn't resist looking at Agnes to gain her reaction, but she knew there would be no help from that quarter, as her sister-in-law had yet to glance up from the floor again. It was worse than Leah could have imagined. If this sort of existence was to be her fate, she prayed she would find a husband sooner rather than later. But then, if a husband was hand selected by her elder brother, no doubt her future would be rather bleak indeed.

Once his instruction had come to a halt, he said, "I will send for one of the maids to see you to your rooms."

"Thank you, Henry."

He cleared his throat and immediately admonished, "It would be best if you referred to me as Mr. Lindquist henceforth, sister. I am a faithful follower of Mr. Fordyce's sermons. I aspire to be so revered, which is why I demand respect from, not just my followers, but those who would share the same roof as I."

"Of course, Mr. Lindquist," Leah said, although her teeth clenched as she uttered the words.

"Very good." He inclined his head, and she was effortlessly dismissed.

As Leah was shown to her room, she expected to be led to the attics in some drafty, rat-infected room, but surprisingly enough, the bedchamber was humble, but comfortable. It was larger than the one at the cottage, but the nostalgia for her previous lodgings struck her hard. Once the maid departed and Leah was left alone, the tears finally started to seep from her eyelids.

Minutes later, they were silent sobs, hot tears sliding down her cheeks.

By the timeHarlan arrived in London, he was ready for clean clothing. He was also anxious to check into his lodgings there to see if Matthew had sent word about Leah. When he entered his bachelor quarters in Pall Mall, he sifted through the small pile of letters on his desk that his housekeeper had gathered for him when he was gone, Harlan was disheartened when the one he'd been hoping to find wasn't there.

"Disappointed?" Hugh said from the doorway. Benjamin and Lucas had parted ways to stay at Mivart's, but Hugh generally joined Harlan when they embarked on a journey to the city.

At the moment, Harlan was regretting that decision.

Feeling restless once again, he said, "If you will excuse me, I should make myself presentable before I call on Wellington to discuss our next course of action."

"We will stand at the ready," Hugh noted, as Harlan dismissed him and headed to his rooms.

Once he was alone, Harlan closed his eyes temporarily, and then crossed the room to his dressing table. As he looked at his reflection, he clenched his fists. If his mother was still alive, she would surely say that he looked a fright. And she would be correct.

In all of his years of service to the Crown, he had never felt so haggard or reluctant to finish a job. But neither was he tormented with leaving someone so special behind before. It bothered him that Matthew was taking his time writing to him when he'd made it abundantly clear that he wanted an update as soon as he could secure pen and paper. He prayed that something had not gone awry.

As he stripped his clothes and washed from the full pitcher of water and the bowl that had been left behind by the housekeeper, he would have to make sure to give Esther a raise. She was worth her weight in gold.

Once Harlan had donned fresh garments, he headed out the door and down the steps. His first stop was the personal home of Wellington, Apsley House, to whom he'd written before he'd left Gravesend.

When he arrived on the front step, Harlan was told he was expected, and he entered the parlor of the man from whom many would have loved to gain a coveted invitation. At least, those who believed that he was a war hero. He wasn't always popular when it came to his political dealings, but Harlan had admired him for his decorated military service. Wellington's strained relationship with his wife, Kitty, was another subject that had left a bitter taste in many a mouth for those who had admired his heroics during the war with Napoleon. But extramarital relations were common practice in the nobility, of which Harlan was aware and preferred not to judge anyone's behavior in spite of it.

"Ah, Mathis." The duke walked in with a grim expression, but a friendly welcome. "Normally I would say it was good to see you, but considering the circumstances that have brought us to this impasse, I have to wonder. Tell me everything."

Harlan inclined his head out of respect to Arthur and as they sat down together for tea, he explained everything that had happened during his time in Gravesend.

"This is a very grave matter, indeed" Wellington agreed, as he nodded his graying head. "You were right to alert me at the earliest opportunity. We shall speak with the Home Office directly. You may ride with me in my carriage so there is no misconception that we are a united front."

Harlan nodded. "I should appreciate that very much, Your Grace."

The rest of the afternoon was spent speaking to those that held the true power behind the monarchy, from the Prime Minister and the cabinet, the threat for safety was discussed at length.

"We shall provide additional security for the queen and her household," Lord Melbourne proclaimed. "We must also ensure that the papers do not discover the plot trying to unfold. With a new monarchy upon the throne, and those in favor of the King of Hanover, unrest will grow to unprecedented heights."

There was further discussion on the subject, until late afternoon, when Harlan and the duke left with a tentative plan in place. At least Harlan could rest easier knowing that they had trusted his word and that the future of English royalty would be protected, the threat lurking in the shadows taken seriously.

After Wellington dropped him off at his residence, Harlan walked in the front door, prepared to speak with Hugh. But he stopped when he noticed the square, white missive sitting on a table. With Hugh nowhere in sight for the moment, Harlan's heart began to pound when he walked over and picked up the letter with Matthew's handwriting emblazoned on the front.

Tearing it open, he read the brief message.

Miss L has been restored to her relation. I daresay it did not seem a joyous reunion. I told her that you would come for her. I hope I was not mistaken because I feel very confident that she will need your intervention posthaste.

Harlan crumpled the note in his fist without truly realizing he was doing so. His thoughts were not pleasant when he considered anyone being unkind to Leah. But then, he supposed he might fall into that category with his reprehensible actions. He'd believed he was doing the best for her, but now he wondered if he hadn't just made another terrible, unforgivable mistake.