The youngest brightened. “You remember, Mama. The London gentleman who was so attentive at the assembly.”

  Mrs. Bee’s brow cleared. “Ah, yes. Presentable enough fellow. Banker, I believe.”

  “But you only met at the assembly?” Abigail put in.

  Mrs. Bee regarded her as if wondering why one of her urns would elect to speak. “Yes. He claimed to have had dealings with Mr. Bee.”

  Meredith sighed. “So like him. Encroaching, Mrs. Bee. You may count on it. More likely to ask for a favor than to grant one.”

  The younger daughter squirmed in her seat. It seemed Abigail hadn’t been the only one to be taken in by a ready address.

  Meredith leaned closer, as if about to impart a secret, and Mrs. Bee’s eyes widened.

  “A word of advice,” Meredith murmured. “I have found him to be inconstant. You would not want him for your girls.”

  Mrs. Bee raised both her chins. “Certainly not.” She glared at her daughters. “They have had no contact with Mr. Netherfield since the assembly.”

  The youngest studied her hands in the lap of her fine kerseymere gown. Her sister cringed. “Actually, Mama, we saw him at the linen draper’s yesterday. I had the impression he had expected us to be there.” She looked to her sister.

  Miss Bee the younger raised her head in a look entirely like her mother’s. “He asked me to meet him. He wanted to speak about friends in the area.”

  He’d wanted to speak about Abigail. Finn had been right. Preston was spying on her, using the younger Miss Bee as his eyes and ears.

  “Your beauty is a curse,” her mother said with a shake of her head, before looking to Meredith. “Every gentleman is drawn to her. I have to be careful, I can tell you.”

  “It is the job of every mother,” Meredith agreed.

  Mrs. Bee frowned at her youngest. “But there will be no more of that, young lady. From now on, if you leave the house, I’ll be coming with you.”

  Miss Bee the younger glared at Abigail, as if this was all her fault. Miss Bee the elder’s shoulders relaxed.

  Abigail smiled politely. Funny how composure was easy when she couldn’t care what the other person thought of her.

  Meredith managed to extricate them from the house in quick order then, though Mrs. Bee insisted on following them all the way to the door.

  “We must see more of each other,” she warbled as they crossed the entry hall. “We have so much in common.”

  “Should opportunities arise,” Meredith said before escaping.

  “Masterful,” Abigail said when they were safely back in the coach and headed into the village.

  Meredith gave her a small smile. “One learns. A part of me would like to pretend she doesn’t exist, as Fortune did with Mr. Netherfield, but Julian and her husband have had dealings. I should not like to alienate Mr. Bee.”

  “The illusive Mr. Bee,” Abigail said with a laugh. “I would like to meet the fellow who can survive such a family!”

  “I will make a point of introducing you at the next assembly,” Meredith promised. “Provided the man makes an appearance.”

  “Then you expect me to be in residence in the next month,” Abigail hazarded.

  Meredith smiled. “You may stay as long as you like, but I have a feeling a great many things will change shortly.”

  She began to hope as well.

  Finn was pacing up and down in front of the linen draper’s when they came back through the village. He had the door open the moment the coach came to a halt. His narrowed gaze swept the interior, as if he thought to find the highwaymen holding Meredith and Abigail hostage. She almost expected him to bark “report” like Roth.

  Instead, Meredith spoke first as he was climbing in. “What news of our so-called friend?”

  “He appears to have found a friend of his own,” he replied. “It may be our spy with the squinty eyes.”

  Abigail stared at him. “Preston hired him too? How dare he!”

  “And his purpose now?” Meredith asked with a frown.

  Finn shook his head. “Unknown. What did you learn from the Bees?”

  “Only that Preston introduced himself at the assembly and sought to manipulate the daughters into giving him more information,” Abigail told him. “Mrs. Bee was not pleased.”

  Finn narrowed his eyes. “Then I will be on watch until we know Preston Netherfield has left Weyton for good.”

  She could only take comfort in that. Bad enough that Preston had convinced Miss Bee to carry tales. How could he have hired someone to spy on her! He knew she was innocent of any crime. And if he had been so concerned for her safety, he could have come sooner and stayed by her side, like Finn.

  It was clear he liked the revelations no better than she did, for he did not leave her all afternoon. Yet as her indignation cooled, her daring idea from earlier popped into her mind again.

  Could she help Finn see her as a candidate for his wife?

  She was certainly a better candidate than the daughters Bee. She would not expect him to cavort with royalty or be an ornament for her arm. But it felt like forever since she had attempted to catch a gentleman’s eye. She remembered dressing carefully, but all her prettiest gowns had been sold. Her only jewels were a small strand of her mother’s pearls.

  But surely courting was more than dressing and flirting. It was finding commonalities like an appreciation for poetry and a devotion to duty. It was an understanding of what it meant to lose family and find another. It was seeing the world through complementary frames, crafting friendship, trust. She and Finn already had that foundation. She just had to build upon it.

  She came down to dinner with her head held high and her heart full of hope. The maid had dressed her hair in braided loops, Meredith’s pink ballgown draped her curves, her mother’s pearls hugged her neck, and a white shawl embroidered with roses covered her shoulders. She knew Finn noticed her finery, for his gaze lingered on her as she joined him and Meredith in the Great Hall.

  Her shawl slipped. He caught it and slid it back into place, his hand grazing the tender flesh of her neck. She found herself captured by the glow in his eyes.

  And she’d thought to attract him!

  He offered her his arm, and she allowed him to escort her in to dinner. Meredith smiled a knowing smile as she took her place at the head of the table.

  Finn watched her as she ate. She should be used to it by now. Yet she found herself fascinated by the sweep of dark lashes against his cheeks, the curve of his mouth in a smile. She should think of something to say, but she found herself strangely tongue-tied.

  Meredith had no such trouble. “Keller was telling me that you enjoy poetry, Finn,” she said. “What drew you to it?”

  Abigail hurriedly swallowed her mouthful of roast to hear the answer better.

  “There is a power to it,” he mused, slicing off a bit of beef. “The language, the meter of it spoke to me. Often, it conveys thoughts I cannot put into words.”

  “Just so,” Abigail said. “And in a language so compelling it is impossible to ignore.”

  He nodded. “Do you have a favorite poet?”

  She smiled. “Too many to count, I fear. Blake, Wordsworth, Marvell.”

  “Writers for the ages,” Meredith agreed. “And you, Finn? Who do you favor?”

  “You likely would not know her,” he said. “She earned the title of Poet Laureate to the King in Batavaria before the war with Napoleon, but she passed away before our victory was secured. Madame Ursula LeBrun Hofer.”

  A lady poet. How wonderful. “What do you like about her writing?” Abigail asked.

  “She understood the soul of Batavaria,” he said. “She wrote of the mountains—how they shelter us, offer us food and wood for the fire, yet can cause such devastation. Every Batavarian could appreciate the feeling.”

  With his family lost in an avalanche, he certainly could.

  “We will have to see if we can order a copy of her works when next we’re in London,” Meredith said.

  As dinner ended, Abigail knew he would leave. Tonight was Tanner’s evening to stay with them, but she doubted she would take any comfort in his smiling face. As it was, she clung to Finn’s arm as he escorted her out of the dining room. Meredith went ahead of them, Fortune passing with an arch look.

  Abigail must have been sufficiently hesitant, for he stopped in the middle of the Great Hall. The fire had been banked, and only a few candles remained lit, giving the place a soft glow.

  “Must you go?” she murmured.

  “It is time,” he said. “Unless you have a reason you wish me to stay.”

  A dozen reasons, a hundred! “I am coming to care for you,” she blurted out.

  He stilled.

  Oh, what had she done! Where was composure, subtlety?

  “Forgive me,” she hurried on. “I had no right. I know you have your duty, your plans for the future. It’s simply that I…”

  He swept her into his arms and kissed her.

  Warmth, joy, a security she had missed for so long—they tumbled through her until she couldn’t untangle one from the other. She clung to him, gave him back his kiss, accepted another. How had she ever considered anything but being at his side?

  At last he drew back, but only a little, as if he too was loathe to part. “I care for you too,” he murmured, resting his forehead against hers. “Enough to know that you could do better.”

  She shook her head, skin pressed to his. “Never. But I fear the same for you. What if this scandal doesn’t ease? What if associating with me stains you as well?”

  He straightened and brought her hand to his lips for a kiss that made her knees tremble. “Perhaps we can worry about that tomorrow. For now, I must be a gentleman and leave you.”

  With a bow, he did just that.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Abigail had no idea how she managed to sleep that night. Finn cared about her! He cared! There was a chance for a future, if only they could find their way, together.

  As it was, she floated down the stairs the next morning for breakfast. Normally, Finn would have joined them afterward, but she found him already in the dining room, as if he couldn’t wait to meet again either. Every mouthful, she was smiling.

  He smiled back.

  “What a lovely morning,” Meredith said, applying herself to her kippers and eggs. “Perhaps a walk in the garden after breakfast?”

  “Delighted,” Abigail said.

  With Fortune on her benighted leash, they wandered the paths, where leaves trickled down in the sunlight and seedpods rattled in the breeze. Finn walked beside her, reaching down to cup her fingers and sending a little thrill through her. He even sat beside her when they returned to the library. Fortune brushed between them, as if offering them a blessing.

  “Mail, your ladyship,” Mr. Cowls said, delivering the pile of letters that had just been brought in from the village.

  At the desk, Meredith perked up and began to sort through them.

  Finn’s hand dangled down the side of the chair, close enough that Abigail could tickle the back with her fingers. His mouth twitched.

  “And for you, Miss Winchester,” the butler said, offering her a missive.

  Finn straightened, and his hand fell away.

  “Me?” Abigail took it with a frown. “Thank you, Mr. Cowls, but who would write to me here?”

  “You will only know if you open it,” Meredith teased before bending over her own pile again.

  Abigail did not recognize the handwriting, but she broke the seal and unfolded the note.

  My dear girl, forgive me for not contacting you sooner. I had hoped not to trouble you with that sorry business about Poyais again.

  Oh, why now! She glanced to the bottom of the note to determine the sender, then drew in a breath. “It is from Mr. Benchley, my father’s friend at the bank.”

  “Good news, I hope?” Meredith asked.

  “We shall see.” Conscious of Finn’s gaze on her, Abigail kept reading.

  I learned your direction from Mr. Netherfield. I do hope you have found it in you to accept his abject apologies. He has become something of a watering pot, bemoaning his mistake in letting you go.

  She snorted, and Meredith raised a brow. Finn leaned closer.

  Regardless, some news has reached me that I do not wish to put into print. I was traveling through Surrey and thought to speak with you directly. Given our association with that horrid scandal, I would not want to impose myself on your benefactress. Yet the news is such that it could have dire consequences if not addressed immediately.

  She swallowed in a throat gone tight. News? What news? Did the bank intend to press charges? Or had the other investors succeeded in getting the government to punish those associated with the scheme? She pulled her shawl closer against a growing chill.

  I will attempt to stop at the village church in Weyton at one on Saturday. I pray you will remember the affection that once passed between our families and meet me there. If you cannot, I will understand. Regardless, I remain your dear friend always, Cornelius Benchley.

  “You are pale,” Finn said as she raised her head.

  “Very likely,” she told him. She looked to her patroness. “Meredith, might I have the afternoon off and the use of the coach?”

  Meredith regarded her. “May I ask why?”

  “Mr. Benchley will be in the area and wishes to meet me in Weyton. Something to do with Poyais, which is why he would prefer not to bring you into the matter.”

  “Very well,” she allowed. “But you will take Finn with you?”

  “I will insist on it,” he warned her.

  “And I would have it no other way,” Abigail assured him.

  Yet the lovely autumn day had darkened with her mood. The letter was proof that she might never be free of her father’s transgression.

  {♥}

  Finn couldn’t like it. A letter, out of nowhere, inviting her to meet alone? That promised trouble. Accordingly, he sent a footman to the cottage to alert Roth and the others. They were waiting on the drive when he escorted Abigail to the carriage at half past twelve.

  “I seem to require an army,” she said with a look to him.

  “Merely outriders for the queen,” Tanner told her, holding open the door.

  Roth rolled his eyes, but once she was safely inside, he and the others bent closer to Finn to plan their attack. Finn informed the coachman, who nodded agreement. Then Roth climbed up beside the coachman, and Finn, Tanner, and Keller climbed in with Abigail.

  “It may be nothing, truly,” she said as the coach set out for the village. “Mr. Benchley and my father were good friends. He has been tarred by the same brush. He has no reason to harm me.”

  “You assume the letter is actually from Benchley,” Finn said.

  “I did wonder,” she said in the gentle tone he had heard her use with her students. “But who else would know the details? Mr. Netherfield, certainly, but we know he is here in Weyton. The letter bore a postmark from London.”

  “That does not mean it is innocent,” Finn insisted.

  “Then I will be all the more glad for your escort,” she said with a smile that included Tanner and Keller.

  By the tightness in their shoulders and the angles of their gazes, Finn knew his friends were just as watchful as the coach approached the village, then rolled to a stop where a copse of trees shadowed the lane.

  Abigail glanced among them. “We haven’t reached the church. Why are we stopping here?”

  “A preventive measure only,” Tanner assured her. With a nod to Finn, he and Keller climbed down. Roth joined them, and the three loped into the woods.

  “They will meet us at the church,” Finn promised her as the coach set out once more.

  “You are taking no chances,” she commented.

  “None,” he told her. “We guard something too precious to lose.”

  Her cheeks turned pink.

  After their kiss last night, he had only wanted to gather her close once more. By word and deed, she had won his heart. He’d imagined a position, a home, her at his side. Now he couldn’t afford such a distraction, not when her life might be in danger. Duty must be all.

  When they reached the church, Finn helped Abigail out onto the grass. Inside the wrought iron fence, the gravestones were low enough that they would have been hard to hide behind, but there were trees along the edge that might provide cover. He could only hope his comrades were already nestled among them, watching.

  His gaze came back to Abigail, waiting patiently beside him. Trusting that he would protect. And he would, always.

  “I will go into the church first,” Finn told her. “Wait here until I call for you.”

  As he started forward, she grabbed his hand. “Please, Finn. Be careful. You are precious too, you know.”

  He brought her hand to his lips for a kiss, savoring the little shiver that went through her at his touch. Then he released her and went through the gate.

  He saw nothing moving in the churchyard as he crossed it. Yet everything had a brightness to it, as if he could make out each detail, anything that could be a danger to her—the tilt to the roof’s edge that might signal a loose tile, the shadow of the recessed doorway, where a villain might lurk. When he had squired Lady Giselle, he had lost track of the location, the time. Now, he felt every second.

  Abigail was the air he breathed, the song that rang in his heart. Despite all his efforts, she had become a part of him.

  The main door of the church swung open silently, and he slipped into the little vestibule, noting the light filtering in blue and red and green from the stained glass windows, the musty scent of incense and beeswax, the stillness.

  The click of a pistol cocking.

  “Do not move, Mr. Huber,” Preston Netherfield said, stepping closer. “I should hate to mar the church floor with blood.”

  {♥}

  Abigail waited beside the coach, head cocked as she watched the door of the church. Very likely Finn was checking every pew, the altar, and the loft, the dear man. All to ensure she was safe. How had she earned such devotion, such love? How could she ever thank him for it?