“But where, in such a rush?”
“It hardly matters! Somewhere else. Toward Leatherhead, I suppose. Lie low and await the Opportunity of Return is all we can do.” He turned toward his trunk, toward the linen press, back toward the trunk. His confusion would have been comical if he’d looked less anguished. He examined his collection of waistcoats as if he’d never seen any of them before, then threw them in the trunk, turning back to add a couple of coats. He picked up his dressing case and closed it, adding that to the top, and closed the trunk. “Enough,” he said in a doubtful tone. “Unless—No.” He shouldered the trunk and began downstairs. “Start packing!” floated up the staircase behind him.
Instead, I followed him downstairs, where I found him looking out the front window, apparently already anticipating the arrival of Tom and the horses and carriage, though it could not possibly happen so soon. In the kitchen, Mrs. Smith, Sarah, and North were huddled together and whispering. They wheeled around guiltily and stepped apart at my arrival.
“We have received bad news,” I said. “My brother must set out tonight. Can we get some tea and cold meats before he starts his journey?”
IN THE FRONT ROOM, LIAM HAD UNLOCKED THE STRONGBOX AND was counting money. “Sixty-two pounds and change,” he said, looking up. “We can’t assume Edward won’t spread his news among Henry’s banker friends—we can’t assume we’ll ever see any more money than this before the Opportunity of Return. Assuming the portal even still works, that is.” He sat down and buried his head in his hands. “Oh, Rachel. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”
“What are you, crazy?” I stood over him and ran a hand through his hair, admiring the sweet, clean line of his neck. “You’ve been amazing. If Henry hadn’t told Edward he was planning to marry me, none of this would have happened.”
“If I’d been more convincing, it would never have occurred to him to wonder.”
“You were very convincing. It’s Edward. He’s cautious.”
“I’ve done everything wrong from the start.”
“Of course you haven’t. Don’t be silly.” I wanted to take him in my arms, take him in my mouth, anything to cheer him up. If we left together tonight, perhaps we could finally make love with our clothes off and without fear of making noise. I pictured rumpled sheets in a coaching inn’s bedroom by the raking light of a single candle; the vast darkness outside, the whinny and stamp of horses below in the yard. Lying naked next to each other as long as we wished and talking freely, as ourselves. “I’m serious. Look at me.” Taking his hands away, he raised his face to mine, expression solemn. “You’ve been amazing. I’ve never met anyone like you.” I hesitated, took a breath. I love you was what I wanted to say, but the words stuck in my throat. I’d never said them; if I did, what might happen? Instead I leaned down for a kiss.
There came the creak of the door opening, the grating voice of Jencks: “Mr. Henry Austen.”
I jumped back, and Liam stood up as we turned to face the door with guilty abruptness that was possibly worse than our original pose. Jencks stood in the door, eyes fixed on us with a ferrety sharpness, Henry just behind, looking horrified.
Jencks moved aside and gestured for him to step in. “As I thought, sir, they are at home.”
The door closed behind Jencks, and Henry stood, hands behind his back, speechless, pink, and very straight. The silence lengthened. Finally Henry moved into the room, gingerly. He kept shifting his gaze from me to Liam and back, as I wondered what he had seen, and how it might have looked to him.
Liam stepped forward and held out his hand, oddly normal. “Austen! Did you reach a price on that horse in the end?”
Henry did not take his hand. “I come, I fear, in response to a startling letter from my brother Edward.” He glanced at me and away. “In hopes of some explanation.”
There was another long silence, and in a flash, an idea came to me.
“Will you have some tea?” I heard myself asking; my voice trembled. “We were about to. My brother was feeling faint, and I was searching for a pulse. The shock of Sir Thomas-Philip throwing us off like this has been devastating. We can only suppose that, after we left Jamaica, someone was spreading lies against us which he had the misfortune to believe.” I sank into a chair, trying to look fragile. “As you know, our manumission project did not make us popular there. But I never imagined it would come to this: outright slander, and betrayal by one we considered a friend.” I felt a sob rise in my throat.
“Mary!” Henry looked at me again, confusion in his face and voice.
“You see our difficulty,” Liam said, taking a turn around the room, gloomy. “To seek to defend myself is to impugn the honor of Sir Thomas-Philip. It seemed, in such a case, best to preserve a dignified silence. But—”
“He has impugned your honor. You cannot let this pass unchallenged.”
Liam was silent. I had another inspiration.
“I will not let my brother—He fought so many duels in Jamaica, for the planters are quick to anger, and every time I had to fear for his life or his freedom. I will not endure another. And Sir Thomas-Philip is there, and we are here, so it can hardly be arranged.”
Henry looked amused. “Forgive me, Mary, but this is not a subject on which ladies need have an opinion.” He turned to Liam. “You must write to him, at once, and demand satisfaction. The thing may take months to arrange, yet it must be done.”
“You are all enthusiasm to send another man into the line of fire,” I said before I could stop myself, nettled by his patronizing reply to me. “And consider this. If anyone has insulted my brother, it is Mr. Knight. He did not take your word about who we were, but went behind your back and spread Sir Thomas-Philip’s calumny without concern for its truth. He imagines himself above reproach, yet I must think this very badly done.” Both men looked at me in astonishment. “If my brother should send a challenge to anyone, it is Mr. Knight.”
A huge pause followed; I had gone too far. It was as if the temperature in the room had dropped. Liam, arms folded across his chest, was staring at the floor. Henry grew pale, his expression masklike in his effort to suppress whatever he was feeling, his eyes narrowing.
“Women are easily led astray by their feelings, so I take no offense at the insult just hurled at my brother,” he finally said in a dangerously quiet tone. “Yet you do not correct her—you are silent. Do you concur in this view of your . . . sister’s?” He paused and added, taking me in with a glance, “And indeed I cannot but wonder, in view of what I had the misfortune to walk in and witness tonight, if she in fact is your sister?”