“A fine idea. Let me fetch the prayer book and my Bible.” She checked on Jack while she was upstairs and smiled at the way his arm dangled off the bed, at the parting of his lips and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.
Another boom shuddered over them, causing Gwyneth to jump again, but the boy slept on. She shook her head and left him to his peaceful dreams, praying her own of the other night had indeed been a promise from the Lord. That come spring, she and Thad would welcome a babe into the world. Certainly it was too soon to know, to do anything more than wonder, but she would hope and believe. And if she were proven wrong, well then. She would take it instead as a promise of the future, which would require her husband returning to her.
Rosie awaited her in the drawing room, some mending already out on her lap, and Gwyneth settled in with all the calm she could muster. For the next two hours she read, pausing only a few seconds at each blast upon the fort.
Jack’s cry of “Grandmama?” came at the exact moment a knock shook the front door.
Gwyneth rose even as Rosie did. “Would you fetch Jack? I daresay it is a neighbor, perhaps one with news.”
Rosie nodded and headed for the stairs while Gwyneth walked to the front door. She paused when she spotted the musket resting beside it. Thad had left strict instructions, so she picked it up before wrenching the door open. Another shell struck, but this time she didn’t so much as flinch. This time, it seemed somehow fitting.
At the sight of the handsome man on the porch, her fingers whitened around the gun she gripped so hard. Darting a frantic gaze beyond him, she didn’t spot her uncle anywhere. And she didn’t know if that was cause for relief or alarm. “What are you doing here?”
Sir Arthur doffed his hat and bowed, his somber face giving her no answers. “Our ship departs on tomorrow’s tide. Am I not permitted a farewell?”
“Of course. Farewell, Sir Arthur.” She swung the door shut.
It caught on the boot he had wedged in the frame, and his sigh sounded exasperated. “Really, Gwyneth, do I not deserve a mere five-minute audience?” He pushed the door open again and stuck his face in, looking, now, more like the man who had caught her eye on that first turn through Hyde Park, with his golden curls falling over his forehead and that boyish grin in place.
But that didn’t change that it was the wrong grin, the wrong man for the here and now. She didn’t go so far as to point the weapon at his chest, but she raised it enough to make certain he saw it. “’Tisn’t a good time, sir.”
“’Tis the only time I have. Please, Gwyneth. I want to give you a letter I found. From your mother to your father.”
The thought of something in her mother’s hand…but she shook her head and leaned on the door. Not enough to hurt him, but to make her point. “How would you have such a thing?”
“It was in your father’s study. I found it when I was looking for some clue as to where you might be.”
He had rummaged through Papa’s things, in Papa’s study? Now she pressed harder on the door. “Then hand it to me and be on your way.”
“Please.” The word barely made it past his clenched teeth, and his eyes reflected pain. His attempt at a smile looked more like a grimace. “Much as it offends my pride to have to ask for it outright, I need to rest for a few minutes. I have ridden at a breakneck pace through a rather treacherous twenty miles, and my old injury has flared up. I need a soft seat for just a few minutes so I might stretch it out. And a glass of water. I beg you.”
She considered telling him to help himself to a porch step, but when he tried and failed at controlling a wince, compassion won out. With a heavy sigh, she lowered the musket and opened the door. “Five minutes, and I will tell you now that I am not alone.”
“Of course you are not.” He limped his way in, and she shut the door quietly behind him. Turned, jumped, and cursed her own stupidity when he tugged the gun away from her. She made a lunge for it, but the pistol in his hands stopped her cold. “You have here still the slave woman and the boy. I suggest you tell her to take him to the kitchen for a snack, my dear.”
Tears stung her eyes when she considered the or what of the situation. Never would she have thought Sir Arthur capable of harming a woman or a child, but the dark glint in his eyes shouted that she knew him very little. Dear Lord, protect us. Protect Rosie and Jack, and protect me. If Thad learns of this…
Her heart ached. She nodded when he waved the pistol at the ceiling and went to the base of the stairs. “Rosie, would you take Jack to the kitchen for a few minutes?”
“I sure will,” the woman called back, sounding that particular kind of happy that Jack always brought.
“Good. Now, a private audience, if you please.”