Chapter Thirteen
Henry could not sleep that night, his body far too restless after his confrontation with Ramsbury. When he’d returned home, Frampton told him that he had sent Rose to bed as soon as they’d had word that the thieves were caught. Henry had been disappointed, as he’d dearly wanted to see her, but he could not begrudge her the much-needed sleep. He retired to his room, waiting out the dark hours until morning when he could see her again.
As soon as the faintest light of dawn broke against his window, he changed and went downstairs. He was not even certain she would be awake yet, but he could not contain his impatience any longer. Frampton waited for him in the entry.
“Where is she?” Henry asked, not bothering with preamble.
Frampton very nearly smiled, which would have been a sight indeed. Instead, he nodded at the door to Henry’s study. “She’s waiting to speak with you, my lord.”
Henry nodded and started away, but then paused. “Remind me to thank you for everything you did last night, Frampton.”
“Of course,” he said. “I shall add it to your schedule myself.”
Henry smiled as the butler walked away. Even if Mrs. Morton had turned out to be less than loyal, he still counted himself fortunate in his staff.
Especially in his maids.
He strode to his study and stepped inside. Rose was at the window and she turned as he entered. The early morning glow lit her face, the reds and oranges blending with her lovely skin in such a way that caused his heart to pound ferociously in his chest. Her eyes met his and he walked slowly to her, afraid to look away, as if she might vanish into the very air.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked as he came before her.
She offered a half smile. “As well as can be expected. I was glad to hear that you apprehended the thieves.”
She stood rigidly, her hands tucked behind her, and for the first time Henry realized that there was something not quite right. Her face was not open and free as it should be now that the threat against her was gone. “What is wrong, Rose?” he asked quietly. “What has happened?”
She held up her hand, clasping a letter. “I’ve another letter from my father’s jailer.” She swallowed and looked away, but not before Henry saw the tears pooling in her eyes. “Papa is still terribly ill, and the jailer bids me to come immediately or I might not see him alive again.”
Henry’s chest tightened. He stared at her, his eyes moving over her familiar features, her drooping shoulders, and it took him less than a moment to decide. “Then you do not have any time to waste. You should go to him, immediately.”
She shook her head. “I cannot leave now, not when everything is such a mess.”
He took her shoulders and willed her to look up at him. Her gaze was erratic, wild almost, and it was all he could do not to pull her against him and hold her safe in his arms. But she did not need that now; she needed his support and help.
“You do not need to worry about me,” he said firmly. “The only thoughts in your mind should be for your father. Now hurry, go and pack. You will take my coach and be at Marshalsea by nightfall.”
She blinked up at him, her lips trembling. “You are sure?” she whispered.
“I am,” he said. “I wish I could accompany you, but I have to manage things here.” His insides flared with a new anger at Ramsbury. If that man was not such a scourge on society, Henry would be able to do more to help Rose when she needed him the most. But the house would be in chaos, reeling from the theft, and Bowles had asked him to testify against Rambsury in the coming days. He could not leave now. He dropped his hands from her shoulders, forcing them to his sides. “Now go pack, and I will order the coach.”
She nodded and moved across the room. She stopped with her hand on the doorframe and looked back at him, her eyes watery.
“Thank you, Henry,” she whispered, and then she disappeared into the hall.
Before the sound of her steps faded, he had already decided what he would do. She did not need the worries of being away from her position, of hurrying to return as soon as possible. He would release Rose from her debt, do all he could to help her. And she would come back when she could, when her father was well.
Doubt began to wriggle within him. Would she return? There were no promises between them. Once she was free of debt, would she find a new life with her father and never look back? He could not have invented all that had grown between them. He loved her, and she must feel something for him. Or was she kind to him simply because she had no choice, because she was in his debt?
He let out a long breath. If she did not come back, then it was her choice, and he would not take that from her.
His wandering eyes paused on his desk, where he’d left his mother’s mirror locked in the drawer. An idea sparked. She was leaving, but not before he could make clear how he felt about her. A gesture that she could not possibly misinterpret.
* * *
Rose leaned forward in the coach, willing it to move faster. Though they made good time across the countryside south of London, it was still far too slow for the anxiety that gathered inside her, the desperation that reached its cold fingers into her chest. What if she was too late? What if even now her father was taking his last breaths?
She exhaled, trying to break the ceaseless circle of her thoughts. She was already doing everything she could to be at his side.
Though in truth, it was all Henry’s doing. If not for his help, she would likely still be waiting for a mail coach, instead of here in this comfortable carriage, with the protection of a coachman and footman.
Henry’s face flashed through her mind, from their moment of farewell outside Norcliffe House that morning. He had been somber, his eyes worried as he handed her a satchel. He helped her up into the coach, his steady grip reassuring, and said goodbye in a quiet voice that held a strange note of finality. She hadn’t questioned him, her focus completely on reaching her father, but now her thoughts could not help but linger on him.
She glanced at the satchel beside her, still closed. With hours still ahead of her, she gave in to her curiosity and pulled the bag to her. There were several items inside; a letter, bread and cheese, a bag that clinked suspiciously of coins, and a wrapped bundle at the bottom that was particularly hefty. The letter was not sealed, so she opened it.
She read it, and then read it again, staring at the page. It was from Henry, addressed to Papa’s jailer, telling him that as the Baron Norcliffe, he forgave Mr. Sinclair’s debts against him. The jailer was to send Henry any outstanding fees, and to release Mr. Sinclair to Rose’s care immediately.
She lowered the letter, closing her eyes. Oh, Henry. She had never imagined he would do something like this, but now that he had, it seemed like she should have expected it. He stayed behind his towering stone walls, wanting only to keep to himself, but he could not hide his generous heart. Not when she finally knew the man behind the gruff exterior.
She set the letter aside and picked up the bundle from the satchel. It was such an unusual shape, and heavy….
She realized immediately what it was. She held her breath as she pulled away the silk wrappings, uncovering the beautiful hand mirror, all golden engravings and tiny set jewels that shimmered with every movement. She traced her fingers across the frame, her throat tight. Why would he give her this, the thing he valued most in the world?
As she lifted it up, a note fell to her lap.
Rose,
I hope you will accept this gift from me, though I’m certain you will declare it to be far too much. In my estimation, it is still not enough to make up for the life and hope you have brought back to me.
I am determined to ensure you do not have any additional worries as you care for your father, so I release you fully from your debt with no expectation of continued employment. I have included your wages for the past month, as well as extra funds to help with expenses for your father.
Yours,
Henry
Rose stared at the note. What did he mean? Did he not want her to come back? She swallowed, folding the note again, fighting the disappointment that stole inside her. What had she been expecting, a declaration of his feelings and a heartfelt proposal? Henry was a baron; no matter their familiarity during the past weeks, he could never marry someone of her station. Life simply did not happen that way. She should be happy enough for the friendship they’d enjoyed and the new future he had given her.
But her heart would not listen as it ached for all she had left behind in that great, echoing house.