The Vanishing at Loxby Manor, Abigail Wilson [best value ebook reader .TXT] 📗

my mind. It wasn’t Piers I was afraid of—it was me.

Chapter 23

Piers said little on the remaining carriage ride back to Loxby, though he acted normal enough. Perhaps I’d read too far intohis innocent gesture in the first place. Intimacy had always come naturally with us. It was a kind move he’d intended fora friend . . . Nothing more—an olive branch, so to speak.

At least that’s what I told myself as I was forced to take his hand while he helped me out of the curricle, and then againwhen he delayed me on the front drive. “Will you be willing to accompany me back to Rushridge? After what Tony said aboutHugh coming to Whitecaster, we have no choice but to approach Hugh again.”

“When do you plan to go?”

“Tomorrow if at all possible.”

I looked away, my gaze following the sweep of the horizon, the subtle shades of an evening preparing to rest. “I’m afraidI’ve sorely neglected your mother and father. What they must think of me, I cannot guess.”

He paused. “I’ll be happy to wait for you if you so desire, but if you’d rather I go alone, I can certainly do that as well.”He gave me something of a smile, but it wasn’t an easy one. The tenuous nature of our friendship hung so delicately in thebalance.

I did my best to appear unfazed. “Wait for me.”

It was an innocent enough response, but the way Piers’s face changed made me acutely aware of the bond we’d forged in thepast and how those precious moments would affect us forever.

He gave me a little nod, doing his best to lighten the mood. “Two days, then. In the meantime, I certainly have estate businessI’ve been avoiding. I’ll send Hugh a letter to expect us.”

“Thank you.”

Piers moved to walk away, but I grabbed his arm. “Seline will appreciate all you’re doing to help her.”

He paused to roll a stray piece of gravel back into place with the toe of his boot, and then his face fell. “Assuming she’sstill alive to thank me.”

*  *  *

Piers’s ominous words followed me throughout the evening and into the next day, like a vicious specter hovering constantlyover my head, threatening to descend at any moment and expose that which I feared the most. A tremor flashed across my skinas I glanced at the small casement clock in my bedchamber, the roots of fear plunging ever deeper into my heart. With everypassing day, the likelihood of finding Seline alive slipped farther and farther away.

Glad no one was present to read my thoughts, I rested my hand on Mr. Cavanagh’s door latch. The very decision to stay at Loxbyhad been difficult enough, but now things had taken a dark turn and I had been left to drown in a muddy lake.

Mr. Cavanagh’s visits proved to be the only respite I got from the overwhelming anticipation of the household.

Every last person was awaiting something. Mrs. Cavanagh, a letter from Charles; Piers, his duel with Lord Kendal; Avery, the curricle race; and all of us most of all waiting desperately for a word about Seline. I couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be before someone reached their breaking point.

Carefully pushing into the room, I was a little surprised to find Mrs. Cavanagh at his bedside. She seemed a bit shaken bymy sudden arrival, for she dropped her sewing onto the floor and fumbled rather dramatically to retrieve it.

Though my eyes went straight to the bed, I was equally startled to find Mr. Cavanagh seated in a large wingback chair nearthe fireplace, his cane gripped in one hand, the other busy patting the armrest of the chair. “What do you think, Miss Halliwell?I’ve managed two hours today.”

I darted Mrs. Cavanagh a worried look, then turned back to Mr. Cavanagh. “That’s wonderful.”

A smile spread across his face and I knew I’d made the right decision to come.

“Won’t you join me by the fire for a coze?”

I forced my legs to carry me across the rug to his side, knelt to kiss his hand, and took a seat in a nearby chair. ThoughI could feel Mrs. Cavanagh’s eyes on me, I kept my voice light. “How did you know it was me at the door?”

He folded his hands in his lap. “You have a nervous little twitter to your steps, my dear. I hadn’t noticed it before, butI certainly do now.” He rubbed his whiskered chin. “What has kept you away the last few days? I’ve waited for you to comeevery afternoon.”

“I’m afraid that’s my fault.” Piers’s deep voice startled me, and I turned to see him waltz into the room.

Mr. Cavanagh had always had a hearty laugh, and it slowed my pounding heart. He grasped the hand Piers laid on his shoulder. “Here I lie day after day with not a single visitor, and then everyone arrives at once. Good afternoon, son.”

Piers seemed a bit lost for words, his eyes tracking mine as he neared the fireplace. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I merelycame to discuss repairs, but I can see now that you are more pleasantly engaged.”

“Don’t run away, boy. I’m glad you’ve come.”

There was a shuffle at the back of the room as Mrs. Cavanagh flew to her feet, and her voice came out a bit jarring as shehuffed, “You may take my chair, Piers. I have a basket of letters to attend to.”

I waited to see if Mr. Cavanagh meant to delay her, but he seemed only too pleased to have us to himself. A flounce of muslin,an irritated sigh, and the couple’s connecting room door slammed shut.

Mr. Cavanagh crossed his legs, an expression of derision darkening his features. “Mrs. Cavanagh thinks I know nothing, livingas I do in this room day after day.” He hesitated a moment, then ticked his finger back and forth between Piers and me asif he could see us sitting there. “Now tell me, when’s the wedding?”

A rock hit my stomach, and Piers coughed. “What wedding?”

“Why, Miss Gervey and Lord Kendal’s of course. Who else could I mean?”

Piers’s eyebrows slanted upward as he looked away, a whisper on his