Dawn at Emberwilde (12 page)

Immediately both boys snapped their mouths shut. With
determined steps, Bradford approached them, arms folded across his chest. He towered over their smaller statures and nodded at one of them. “You. Tell me what happened.”

The boy sniffed and wiped his hand across his face. “There was a man, and he had . . . he had a knife! He did! We saw it.”

Bradford drew a deep breath and straightened. He cut his eyes toward Colin before focusing back on the boys. “And where did you see this?”

The youth dragged his hand across his nose. “The Black Wood Forest.”

Colin lifted his gaze from the boy to Mrs. Ellison. She sighed and lifted her eyes heavenward. It was no secret that the locals often referred to the Emberwilde Forest as the Black Wood Forest—a name that Mrs. Ellison detested.

Bradford must have noticed Mrs. Ellison's displeasure too. The color of his face deepened. “I am sure you were mistaken.”

“But we weren't!” the boy protested, the volume of his voice increasing. “He told us to be quiet or else.”

This caught Bradford's attention. “You spoke with him?”

“Yes, sir. And he—”

Bradford's tone shifted subtly, as if he was not prepared to hear what the boy would say in front of others. “And what were you doing in the Black—in Emberwilde Forest?”

At this, the adolescent shrank back.

“You are not to be in the forest. I have made that clear on numerous occasions.”

The boy fidgeted under the weight of so many stares. “But the man, he said—”

“We will discuss this at another time.” Bradford clipped him short. “You will return to your chamber until I summon you.”

The taller boy ducked his head, looked at the other, then turned
to leave. The smaller one followed, and the room once again fell silent.

“I apologize, ladies.” Bradford's chuckle was nervous as he slid his finger between his neck cloth and his throat. “Such an interruption is disruptive.”

Alarm covered Mrs. Ellison's face. “Why, the idea of such men in our forest! I agree with you completely, Mr. Bradford. The idea is ludicrous.”

Bradford stepped toward the older woman. “I assure you, these young men are prone to the dramatic. My history with the both of them, and others like them, has taught me to heed their words with caution.”

Colin shifted uncomfortably, resisting the urge to interject. Bradford may have been able to overlook an odd outburst, but he could not. He reminded himself that he was one of a couple of men who knew about the smugglers' hideaway. The odd sensation that the two events were somehow related plagued him. But it was too early for him to make judgments. Not until he had more facts.

“I'd be willing to take a look, to put your mind at ease,” Colin offered. “We don't need any men around here wielding knives, for certain.”

Mrs. Ellison's hand flew to her throat, her expression insulted. “Of course there are no men wielding knives in our forest, Mr. Galloway. Mr. Bradford is an excellent judge of character, and he knows these boys better than we do.”

Bradford looked from Mrs. Ellison to Colin. “It is not necessary. I run a very tight ship here, and believe me when I say I know these children well. I shall speak with them in more detail and contact you if I suspect anything untoward. Do not trouble yourself.” It was then he turned toward Miss Creston. “I am only sorry that Miss Creston's introduction to our establishment was so marred.”

Miss Creston offered a pleasant smile. “You forget, Mr. Bradford, that I have spent the last years at a school with a great many children. I am surprised at very little.”

Colin returned his attention to Bradford. “I will be visiting Mr. Ellison later today on other business. I will advise him to have his gamekeeper be observant of any suspicious activity. I know Mr. Ellison is on constant watch for poachers and would find any information helpful.”

It was a direct rebuttal, he knew. His comment was not well received by either Bradford or Mrs. Ellison, but he had not expected it to be. Mrs. Ellison did not care for him and believed—or desired—the Emberwilde Forest to be above its jaded reputation. Bradford and he had not been on friendly terms since they were young men. But his responsibility was to keep the townspeople safe. And that he would.

Chapter Eleven

F
rustration fueled Colin's steps away from the foundling home.

He turned and lifted his eyes just past the building. The Emberwilde Forest was a majestic backdrop. Thick-trunked trees and deep green foliage were the hallmark of the forest that had stood for hundreds of years. Perhaps the boys had overactive imaginations as Bradford claimed, or perhaps they had seen Ellison's smugglers. Had Aunt Lydia not been with him, he would have investigated immediately. He would see her safely home and then call on Ellison.

His aunt, on the other hand, seemed undisturbed by the recent interaction and even a bit amused.

“Well, that was unexpected,” she exclaimed as they cleared the gate and headed back to the village.

“To which part are you referring?” Colin fell into step with her and adjusted his broad-brimmed hat to guard against the rising morning sun. “The fact that the Ellisons were there, or the boys' odd outburst?”

“Neither,” she responded. “I was referring to Miss Creston. My, what a beauty she is. Seeing her there was quite a surprise. I had no idea she was in the county. Did you?”

“I did,” he responded, squinting toward the sun as he looked away from the forest and across a hay field.

Aunt Lydia stopped short. “And why did you not tell me? You know how I would be interested in such news.”

“I do know you are interested in such things.” He smiled.
“But I only learned of her presence in Northrop late yesterday. Mr. Ellison and I encountered her carriage as we were returning to Emberwilde.”

His aunt resumed her steps and adjusted the bonnet atop her graying head. “Miss Creston's mother was a great friend of mine, a very great friend.”

“Oh?” Colin was hardly one to find interest in local gossip, but he was grateful that she wanted to talk on a topic other than the boys' outburst or Mrs. Ellison's coolness.

His aunt continued. “You are probably too young to remember her. Anna Hayworth was her name prior to marriage.”

“I am not familiar with the name.”

“Oh, I do not doubt it. She died very young, when Miss Creston was but a child. She died on Emberwilde property, in fact. Do you not remember that scandal, Colin? She took a fever while a guest at the home and passed quite suddenly. Miss Creston was with her at Emberwilde when it happened. Anna's husband was not. He was never welcome at the estate, for they had eloped under mysterious conditions, but when he learned of her demise, he traveled to Emberwilde to claim his child. Then he simply vanished. To my knowledge, the Ellisons did not know his whereabouts for years after Anna's death.”

Colin searched his memory as they walked down the road. He vaguely recalled a story of a woman dying on Emberwilde property. He had been a boy then, and he recalled Freddie sharing a bit of the tale. He did not remember specifics, but neither did he recall Freddie ever mentioning a female cousin. “I wonder what brought her back after all this time? Surely there is a reason.”

“I daresay there is, but you know how the gossips of Northrop will sniff out a story as fast as anything. One thing is certain, though: Miss Creston is a stunning young woman, I will say. Do you not agree?”

Colin could feel his aunt's gaze shift in his direction, anticipating a response to her leading comment. Aunt Lydia made no effort to hide her desire for him to marry. Ever since he returned home from the war, she had tried unsuccessfully to match him with any lady who might catch his eye.

When he did not take her bait, Aunt Lydia continued. “Miss Creston is the very likeness of her mother—that flaxen hair and those icy eyes. How envious I was of Anna's beauty. Imagine how I felt as a girl, her with her long blonde curls and me with hair the color of a common field mouse. But as it turns out, beauty does not guarantee a happy life.”

He chuckled at his aunt's comparison. “Aunt, I would hardly compare your hair to that of a field mouse.”

“You are kind, Colin. Too kind, in fact, to this old woman. But if you truly want to be kind, you will put my mind at rest and marry. It will do my aging heart good to see you cared for. I do not understand your delay. You still have Darbenton Court and the living there. Of course the house is gone, but you can rebuild easily enough. Any young woman would consider herself fortunate to be the mistress of such an estate. But here you are, a landowner, living like a pauper in a boardinghouse.”

“Do not forget Henry lives there,” he reminded his aunt.

“But that is different. Do you not see?” she explained. “Henry will have to work to make his way in the world in a different way, just as his father before him. And the law is a noble profession, do not doubt it. But you have the opportunity to do something greater.”

He inhaled the scents of the damp earth as they passed a field being turned. It was their age-old conversation, and he could guess the direction it would take next.

“One must wait to meet the right lady,” he said.

“If that is your argument, then you have the perfect lady in front of you. One who knows your faults and cares for you anyway.”

Colin sobered. He did not want to have the conversation he knew was forthcoming and tried to change the subject. “And what faults would that be?”

“This is no joking matter, Colin.” Aunt Lydia's tone grew pensive. “What of Miranda?”

His cousin's widow.

He had known her most of his life, and she had always played a role in his. When they were children she was a neighbor and friend, then as they grew, their relationship deepened. He had loved her and believed that she shared the sentiment, but when he returned from university to learn that she had formed an attachment with his cousin, a deep rift formed. He was blinded by rejection's pain, and instead of facing his responsibilities at Darbenton Court as he should have, he found it easier to abandon the situation, and he and Freddie joined the army.

The urgency of war masked the agony of betrayal, and by the time he returned, he had grown callous to the fact that William and Miranda had not only married but had a child. War had matured him, and he was able to see past the actions of both. But when William died suddenly, leaving Miranda a widow and young Charles fatherless, Colin felt the pressure to care for his cousin's family. It was impossible for Henry to marry Miranda, for by law they were now considered siblings. But as William's cousin, Colin felt it was almost expected of him to care for the family. Guilt was a strong persuader, but something deep within him cautioned him to leave the past in the past, despite Miranda's obvious interest in rekindling their past love.

But his aunt thought otherwise.

“Miranda is quite fond of you. And that boy of hers idolizes you. Do you want to spend your days in that boardinghouse? La. I should think not. Ever since William's death, Miranda has been searching for peace, and she is understandably eager for a home
of her own. And you have been searching for peace ever since you returned from the war, do not deny it.”

Yes, he did want to marry. Yes, he wanted someone to welcome him home at the day's end. He longed to call somewhere other than that tiny room home. Miranda was beautiful, full of abundant charm and a pleasant nature. His heart had belonged to her at one time. Could he trust her with it again? Betrayal, though distant, still stung. Their romance had been long ago, but time cast long shadows.

He would not marry out of guilt, but perhaps it was time to reconsider his position. He thought of Ellison's words. The man was right, of course. A wife would undoubtedly be a part of both his future and Darbenton Court's. Ellison's suggestion held merit. Miss Creston. Whether the older man's words regarding marriage to his niece had been in jest or in earnest, they weighed on his mind. She was mysterious and new, lovely and charming. Was she his path to pursue, or should he repair what was once whole?

Time would reveal the best course, he was certain, and he would not marry until he, in his heart and mind, felt at peace with the idea.

His aunt's hand was resting on his arm, and he patted her hand encouragingly. “I assure you, my dear aunt, when I find peace, you will be the first to know.”

Chapter Twelve

I
sabel stood as still as possible in the middle of her bedchamber, chewing her lower lip, studying her reflection in a narrow mirror.

She did not move a muscle, fearing that any movement might disrupt the seamstress's work.

Mrs. Tindan, the seamstress hired to fashion her gowns, held fabric up to Isabel's chin and pivoted to assess the colors in the reflection—first a pale raspberry muslin, then a pale yellow silk. They had only just returned from their visit to the foundling home, and the seamstress was already waiting for them.

From the corner of her eye, Isabel noticed Constance stand from the nearby settee and step closer to the dangling fabric. Her cousin ran the delicate cloth through her long, elegant fingers. “Definitely the muslin, do you not agree, Mother?”

Isabel cast a glance back over her shoulder at her aunt, who remained seated on the room's only sofa.

A conversation ensued about the benefits of one fabric over the other, but Isabel was too preoccupied with her own thoughts to hear it. The morning outing had tired her, and her heart was strangely heavy. It had been pleasant to see Mr. Bradford again. He was handsome. Gracious. Well-spoken. Just as she thought he would be. But the rest of the morning's events left a chill over her. The sight of the unwanted infant being handed over haunted her, and she did not care for the manner in which Mr. Bradford dismissed the boys' concerns and fears with such condescending haste.
For should he not consider that they had encountered a man with a knife?